Sunday Stories

A certain historically invisible warrior king's opening gambit for every new war was to ride up to the edge of his front lines, look across to the enemy, glance off to his right, stare off to the left, then loudly intone, “Hey, I ain't got time for this penny ante shit.”

 

If you know what you're doing
you don't care what you're called.

 

Here's one for you:

Over in this one place there's a guy whose claim to fame is based on the fact that I once used him in a Daily News – but wait, it gets more symmetrically toothsome: unbeknownst to him, a distant cousin in another locale has staked his reputation on the fact that I've NEVER used him.  (Kinda makes you wanna “go figure” – eh what.)

 

More Paradigms Of Justice And Symmetry,
(if not, Monstrous Maps Of Subversive Direction):
Life boats are up high on tall ships, while
escape on submarines is in the other direction.

(Commentator's Note:
Do not let your upper neural circuits think this refers to anything other than maritime matters, and above all don't let your lower ones know you even thought about it at all – know what I mean?)
 

There are these beings over in another area
who are described in that unknown,
“Galaxy Guide,” as being, “verbally uncomfortable.”

 

A self-proclaimed fan,
who says he's been watching our
recent proceedings with at least
one good eye, has concluded that
“Adults want to keep telling kids
‘What kinda guys they are,’

just to decoy 'em into
their own condition.”

J.