Since We Don't Know Where We're Going,

I'd Take A Look At My Own Self In The Mirror And Wonder How It Was Possible That Anybody Could Manage Such An Enormous Thing As Being What He Was.

The World News Might Not Be Therapeutic.

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.

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.

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