Have Your Brain Call Mine

On a passing whim (after having earlier spent the day sojourning by trolley)
one guy, just as he was about to depart, turned to himself and said,
“Hey, good seeing you, have your brain call mine.”


Things are still pretty
“iffy in Iffy-ville.”


One fellow, who never looked in mirrors,
noted only, “Not necessary, I’m my kinda guy.”


From the great “out-there-land” comes a communiqué from a man taking our correspondence course, (Reminder: Check that we still don’t have one) who says as follows, “I believe the best thing about this inner pursuit of your own revolution is in the fact that you no longer need anyone to tell you ‘what kinda guy you are’ – No, wait,” he goes on, “Let me rephrase and sharpen that: you no longer have any INTEREST in anyone telling you what kinda guy you are.”


No matter where he looked, or how hard he tried, this one fellow could never see the numeral line…(his brother says it’s all “psychological,” except he doesn’t have one.)


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