🚀 go-pugleaf

OBSERVER:
I left the Derrida discussion group because I could not afford the
beret.  It took itself too seriously.  I much prefer the comfort and
relative safety of my foil-lined fishing cap.  Its heavy duty aluminum
repels all attempts of the Pope to read my mind.
Is it true -  what John Kennedy said before he died - that basically
we're all a bunch of brains in jars, electrodes trailing out in some
branching will to synapse?
I knew an Entity whose nickname was(maybe still is) Strick.  Strick had
a simple way of dealing with the brain's will to synapse.  If you
mentioned another Being to Strick by means of starting conversation,
say, for example, "Hey Strick, what do you think of that guy over at
the Tastee Dog?", his response was patented, predictable.  He would
always say, "What's WRONG with him?  Why don't he want to DO right?".
It didn't matter of whom you spoke; with Strick, the first thing he was
going to say in reply was always "What's WRONG with ________?  Why
doesn't he (or she) want to DO right?".
He also lectured at great discourse about how he wanted "a woman with
a big butt":  "I mean a BIG butt!"
Wait.
There's one more thing.
I also knew an old woman from the dim recesses of my past whose
simple-minded whiffle ball-like wit still wafts down the corridors of
time to my jar.  She had a line that was so unintentionally laughable
that I find myself quite unconsciously using it in MY conversational
attempts.  If you asked this woman if she knew some particular, you
know, if there was ever a such-and-such or so-and-so around here,
etc., she would always say the same thing.  She would look down, say
"Nossir, not to my nose of".  Isn't that great?  She meant, of course,
"Not that I know of", but no one (of which I am aware) ever corrected
her...
It's not easy being a hedonist in this world, is it, Observer?
One more thing, then I promise I'll let you go.
I think it was Roger Corman who first penned the immortal words, "My
God, it's not a cantaloupe at all -- it's a HUMAN HEAD!".
MAD Magazine editor William Gaines is dead.  His jar, silent.

Have A Nice Day Anyway,

Felonious J. Cubensis