The Job Of The Writer Is To

He's The Sort Of Guy That Gets A Laugh Out Of People.

If This Glorious Birth To Death Hassle Is The Only Hassle We Are Ever To Have ..if Our Grand Exhilarating Fight Of Life Is Such A Tragically Short Little Scrap Anyway,compared To The Eons Of Rounds Before And After-then Why Should One Want To Relinquish Even A Few Precious Seconds Of It?

The Raw Materials Of Reality Without The Glue Of Time Are Materials Adrift And Reality Is As Meaningless As The Balsa Parts Of A Model Airplane Scattered To The Wind.

The Flock Gets Sight Of A Spot Of Blood On Some Chicken And They All Go To Peckin' At It, See, Till They Rip The Chicken To Shreds, Blood And Bones And Feathers. But Usually A Couple Of The Flock Gets Spotted In The Fracas, Then It's Their Turn. And A Few More Gets Spots And Gets Pecked To Death, And More And More. Oh, A Peckin' Party Can Wipe Out The Whole Flock In A Matter Of A Few Hours, Buddy, I Seen It. A Mighty Awesome Sight. The Only Way To Prevent It—with Chickens—is To Clip Blinders On Them. So's They Can't See.

If Grass Were Legalized, It Would Help Our Drug Problem Enormously.