We Ask The Gods For Answers And

For A While He'd Tried Molding Himself Into The Tragic Romantic Hero, Brooding And Staring Clench-jawed Off Into Space As He Composed Dark Verse In His Head. But It Turned Out That Trying To Appear Tragic In Incontinence, Indiana, Was Redundant, And His Mother Kept Shouting At Him And Making Him Forget His Rhymes. "tommy, If You Keep Grinding Your Teeth Like That, They'll Wear Away And You'll Have To Have Dentures Like Aunt Ester." Tommy Only Wished His Beard Was As Heavy As Aunt Ester's---then He Could Stare Out Over The Moors While He Stroked It Pensively.

Love: The Sickest Of Irony’s Sick Jokes. The Place Where Logic And Order Go To Die.

Ack! Parables. I Hate Parables.

Pondering Is A Little Like Considering And A Little Like Thinking, But Looser. To Ponder, One Must Let The Facts Roll Around The Rim Of The Mind's Roulette Wheel, Coming To Settle In Whichever Slot They Feed Pulled To.

If You Have Come To These Pages For Laughter, May You Find It. If You Are Here To Be Offended, May Your Ire Rise And Your Blood Boil. If You Seek An Adventure, May This Song Sing You Away To Blissful Escape. If You Need To Test Or Confirm Your Beliefs, May You Reach Comfortable Conclusions. All Books Reveal Perfection, By What They Are Or What They Are Not. May You Find That Which You Seek, In These Pages Or Outside Them. May You Find Perfection, And Know It By Name.