Routine Goo Fields

From the mailbag:
“After listening to you for some time now, I feel that ‘understanding’ what you’re saying is the LEAST of my worries.”



One man pretended to have his own newspaper, and then pretended to write to himself, as a reader.



Routine goo fields
are kept alive
by random lightning strikes;
a rebel controls his.




Sincerity:  The first step to seriousness.



And on your birthday cake was sweetly inscribed:

“Revolutionist Thinking: Riding a tricycle with four feet.”

And in response, the city put on its cake:

“Parochial thinking makes THIS WORLD go round.”



And the mighty, local god of type-setting, ink-stains and jet-printers bellowed:  “And lo, ya’ll, verily, verily and it-came-to-pass, that he who writes the book always has the last word.  (Lo, and out.)”



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