In Other Words

It feels like I'm back in school

Or, at least, the good bits of school.

When I went to school in Holland (back in the day when I was still young, the grass was still green and the Wright Brothers were still in diapers, dreaming of poopy rather than the sky) we used to get half days of on Wednesday and it was brilliant. Of course they have gotten rid of that service well enough, can't have kids loitering around the streets, learning things about real life, now can we? Heck, they might just have some fun and if there is anything I hate, its beaming children faces and the tinkling laughter of kids playing in the sun. Its better we put ‘em in school and torture ‘em with maths so that they will learn to hate everything that has to do with academics, in their later life! That way they can be productive factory shop workers, where thinking isn’t required and they wont require sunlight, since they’ve never really seen it anyway.

Right, sorry about that, but I am enjoying today. Hope you are too, where ever and what ever you might be, I think you should enjoy today. No, I have no idea what I’m going on about either, but just let me ramble and maybe something useful will come forth. A bit like a million monkeys with a million monkeys producing the entire works of Shakespeare. I wonder if Shakespeare is ever offended by the fact that we compare his work to the scribbled nonsense of a million monkeys.

I guess we could use Einstein, but then we would be stuck with the problem that most normal typewriters don’t have all the characters necessary for his theories, so then we would have to buy more specialised typewriters, which, as we well know, would be more expensive. So, be logical reasoning, Shakespeare is a better victim of our ruminations.

No, don’t worry, I’m as lost as you are, I’m just waiting for these mysterious monkeys to come and take me away.

“We are Shakespeare’s monkeys, you will be assimilated, would you like to scratch my balls?”

Not that you need to be a monkey to scratch somebody else’s balls. I scratch other people’s balls all the time. Complete strangers, as a matter of fact and they let me! No lie, swear upon my second cousin’s (by marriage) grave! (not that many deaths in the family, you see) I shoot the white ball, hit stripes, instead of solids and I’ve just scratched their balls. Bit vulgar really. (Yes, it was a very bad pun, but at least it was comprehensible). So, I’ll leave you with one final thought.

Can God create a rock he cannot lift?

posted by Symbol @ 2.6.04