You’ve got to give these fairy god fellows credit. Back in the days of the febrile crescent, they were spoken highly of. Nietzsche thought they died from disgust and boredom. Mother Goose has one eye. The son of her daughter sells wind to the eggplanters. The fish developed thumbs.
In this task did fail all the Christians in first circle of hell, and all the Commies in seventh heaven.
They brought in a crane for his crainyectomy and wee willy bendix for his pendix. A shitload of junk bond traders flocked to the remains. Them and their army. When the situation became dire those that had the means retired to their lead-lined bunkers and the lower class wailed to the skies. DNA analysis revealed a mongrel influence.
I think I speak for all of us when I say that I think I speak for all of us.
[Deduct two points for double irony and violation of the incompleteness theorem.]
Many have been born who no longer live, as we know ourselves.Those few of us still alive, survivors of the big bang and all that followed, credits to our community and debits to our band, happy in our cups, with two bits in the bank and an overdue book. We crawled up the decision tree until our heads were spinning and all hands were gathering wool.
Those not yet born will speak of us like the germs that we are, all plasm and double the protons. Don’t say too much about us or we get the big head.
Those that were almost born, that still was a life beginning as all we’ve made.
I hesitate to debrief you at this late hour, but it’s been bruited abroad that they are coming for our noodly appendage. Our daily bread no longer rise. Retreat to the mountains. Take special care for the mothers to be.
Cross-reference this file to the memoranda in your welcome package.
Once upon a time congress gave control of the network time servers to Homeland Security. In those days, the brothers made handsome profits in stocks and at the parimutuel. Eventually some of the two-timers got caught with their pants down. It proved to be in their DNA.
When the blacks can see the whites of your eyes, watch your back.
When even the jews won’t play the game, count yourself out.
That’s how I was brought up by a man who fought the japs
and died in his driveway shovelling snow.
Subject claims to have ran down Roland Barthes with his laundry truck.
Has a signed copy of “On the Interpretation of Dreams,” inscribed “to my friend Karl.”
Shall we proceed to the next stage?
One day Captain Atom was waiting for the ferry to the fortress on Samar Island when he saw a blue beetle.
Signs were incised into clay tablets shaped like a palm leaf. After the tablets were written they were stored in baskets without being fired. The only tablets that have been found are those that have been accidentally fired, often in the conflagrations that destroyed the palaces where the archives existed.