The Good Mother City

One by one, as they are born, the city installs in all of the dense – I mean, the ordinary – the following “Secret Message” in their brain:

“You can trust a man with glasses;
You can trust a man with a hearing aid;
You can trust a man on crutches;
And you can trust everyone who notices
Everyone else’s condition,
But other than them, forget it!”
(A good Mother City doesn’t want her “little-ones” wandering off into the woods, to be possibly eaten up by “god-only-knows-what” – What!)

After spending all day in the car driving together, a man turned to his uncle and said: “My theory is that a revolutionist would be mad at anybody he knew who got sick; which sounds pretty rotten – but I further bet that he’d get mad at himself if he did.”

“Dear Miss Etiquette:

Every time I get too close to my mind I begin to ‘smell funny.’”

The Resident Thinker-cum-Historian down at The Ole Sorehead’s Bar, lays this latest one on us all:  “Kings always build these giant, humongous tombs for themselves, cause they know that along with all-l-l people – they sure ain’t comin back!”

And on your combined screens flashes this short subject:

Whenever he’d think about life as ‘tis normally lived,
this one man would feel bad. 
So he quit thinking about it.


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