Mid-Week Golden Oldie

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“Do you mean just man or all of creation?” asked a voice from the crowd.  “Aye, the latter”, he replied.  “Then what say ye about the birds and the wind?’ he asked.  “I have an answer for them also,” he replied, and after a pause the voice pressed on, “Then may we have it?”  “Nay,” he replied, “They must come and ask for themselves.”  (Now, even if this didn’t actually happen, in a park, between two people, in a dimensionally determined universe, would you believe – would you believe for one-fitting-flash that the ole philosopher’s words represented an escaped lunatic’s description of the inner sanctum of the asylum – would you?  Could you?)

 

Update of a Golden Oldie:

“One guy used to
talk to himself,
until he realized
how dumb he was.”

 

There were usually several different productions playing in the same theatre – yeah, that’s
right – SIMULTANEOUSLY!

 

Whenever he was ill, or otherwise systemically damaged, this one chap refused to accept a diagnosis from anyone without an engineering degree.

 

One man kept borrowing stuff from his god and confidentially confided that his theory was that, so long as he had something that belonged to the Big Guy, he wouldn’t die.  (In the last reality in which this tale was made public, a brand new, retreaded religion sprang from its linguistic loins.)

J.

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