Truman Appoints His Secretary of Strings, Horns & Whistles
Do you have a lot of dust in your apartment? Because what dust is -- it's human skin. So what you really have is lots of human skin in your apartment. "I have just eaten an exhibition of paintings," said the Bohemian glutton, artfully. Get it? There is no such thing as "art" anyhow. Claiming otherwise is just an Insanity Pretense. The goslings resemble rabbits and the mimic thrasher nips the crow in the pooper. Why do you have so much human skin in your apartment? When I say "apart/ment" I do not imply that you suffer from irreparable separation. "C'mon, let's get this procedure over with," the sick man said, impatiently. Get it? There is a fine line between Rapture and Rupture, although the latter can follow from an experience with the former. Nobody hails from that venerable American town, Vaudeville, anymore, our presidents no longer seek wise counsel from yonder, and nobody, in recent memory, has been caught holding the mute's leg, a tragedy.