At half time, during the recent marching band shortage, a loud, un-localized voice came over the un-present P.A. system and said, “It’s these choices:  You can either have Total Quality, Total Service, or Total Reality going under the name of ‘Total Satisfaction.’”  And the stadium damn near rioted.


A rather typical man in your City began to see strange, non-existent creatures in his back yard; he first feared he was going mad, but since they appeared to him nowhere else, he decided everything was all right.  (Is it not comforting, the reassurance the mind offers its owner?)


If the intellect won’t
explain itself –
who will?


‘Tis said that the last step is the hardest, but not so if you’re headed in a non-geometric direction; if your journey is to acquire additional dimensions, the question of difficulty never arises.


Waving his hairy hair in the boulevard wind, the street corner speaker declared, “Those who have the truth NEED nothing more.”  And a passing course in history muttered, “Yeah, cause all who have the truth are DEAD!”  (Home delivery of sarcasm with fewer than three toppings will not be made to the Humanities Dormitory after ten p.m.)


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