Guy on a street corner says:
“Lemme tell you sumthin’:
People still using their old original mind will say they don’t like being told what to do  --  we know they really do  --  still: everyone says they don’t.
Now that I’ve told you this: a question for you:
Why will anyone sit still willingly  --  even intentionally  --  just to be told the obvious?
Answer: How else you ever gonna know about it!?
Now what d’ya think!”
(And another chap ponders:
“Are episodes such as this yet another reason to avoid the city?”)
 

One man (thoroughly TV-ed) thought:
“I expect to be presented later this year as a seven part series.”              (Why not.)
 

After receiving many email solicitations promising: "Increase the size of your dick,"
one guy kept waiting for one that concerned areas higher up the body.
(“Man!  --  my feet are killing me!”
     “It could be worse.”
“No it couldn’t  --  not with me.")
 

An old local sorehead (who, as a matter of recent fact has become dissatisfied with such a generic description and wishes to be more individually identified as:
Murry The Meshugge Misanthrope) asserts:
“Everybody gets what they deserve!  --
except for those who get more!  --
and they complain!”
 

One man nick named his ready made brain: Bullethole.
 

By the time the fire department arrives on the scene  --  everybody sees the light.
 

In anticipation of perhaps celebrating his upcoming birthday,
a father sat a son down and said:
“I’m going to tell you what my father said that his father told him
just before his grandfather interrupted and denied it:
‘Sometimes the gods talk to man  --
and sometimes they don’t  --
and no one can tell the difference,'”
(and for months afterwards the lad puzzled whether that was the reason
Adam made a run for it.)
    “What men hear in their head
      can make them feel dread.                                                 (Goddamn sissies!)”
 

Might as well accept it: Hormones never forget  --
but a man who can actually think can tell them to take a hike!
"At least be thankful they can’t bug you in words huh?!"
      Yeah, but if you don't stay on top of the case they can get other parts of your
      nervous system to do it for them.                                          (Damn sneaky bastards!)
 
 

In all city recipes you can substitute either: laughter, insight or pinto beans
when the ingredients call for seriousness.
 

One cow got so smart that the herd ignored him.
(What really happened was that he disappeared from their sight;
same kind of special legerdemain that the certain man can pull off
inside his own mind.)
 

Note: A neurally grown hermit is not the same as a biological one.
A naturally tall man is one thing: he who wills himself so, something of another order.
One guy’s professed favorite-song is: “Don’t Give Up On Me Baby”  --
in response to its being sung he always sotto voce snorts: “Screw you!”
Making fun of others falls under a standard city job description;
there is however another special way that what would seem publicly as ridicule
can be privately employed with benefit unknown to the herd.
What in ordinary men is self censure is a poor imitation of a tool quite substantial among a few, chasing a goal that everyday people have never heard of.
(Okay, so they have been accidentally, verbally exposed thereto,
but one of the requirements for being ordinary is to pretend you didn’t really
pay attention to it when you heard about it
[or that most assuredly you didn’t understand what it meant.])
Elephants are able to maintain their prominent position in the animal standing by appearing (to all general observation) to be functionally unaware of fleas’ existence:
it is only by such willpower, planning and determination that anything above the
fern’s ability to fart is ever achieved in life’s overall game.
 

Men cannot feel they are completely what they are without declaring it in words;
so extreme is this that a man with undeniable talent as a painter cannot be satisfied until he says: “I am an artiste.”
Those trying to wake-up should take a deep, long look at this matter.
 

People who don’t know anything, and thus have nothing to talk about,
talk about other people.
 

How To Do Things.
How to keep from going bald: Never leave the house or allow anyone to visit you.
How to not be stupid: Don’t talk.
How not to get taken: Don’t buy anything.
How not to have your heart broken: Don’t have one.
How to keep from being elderly: Don’t think about it.
How not to remain ordinary: Don't go bald.
 

Just as the supreme form of censorship is the prohibition against even mentioning
that there is any censorship,
so too is the ultimate variety of not being asleep & stupid in never saying that you are.
 

It is those with bulletholes where they could have a mind who take life seriously,
and this is manifest specifically in their constant insistence that there are
serious questions to be answered about life --  well:
everyone knows this is not true --
there are no questions period! about life              ......(well......not unless you ask one, of course).
 

Only with thought comes apprehension:
only when whales begin to talk do they reveal a dread of volcanoes.
The solution to everything(?): No consciousness   --  no problems.
 

One man’s current ponder: “Can you be cultural AND be silent?”
 

Said a son to a father: “What is different about talking with you is that you never talk about me or yourself personally, but about that, usually-never-spoken-of third sector:  the area that obviously is the only one with the potential of waking me up.
      (Curious it took me so long to realize this one feature.)”
 

To their great relief, the landing crew were met on the beach by the
friendly seeming chief and his beautiful daughters;
(they quickly lost interest in the chief).
 

One man says: “It just struck me that the basic requirements for being ordinary are the same as for being civilized: the ability to feel uncomfortable and to cause it in others.”
 

The martial arts instructor said: “It is all in the mind,”
yet still uses his feet and fists.
 

On a business card one chap has printed:
“I may be an annoying twit  --  but I have my own show and you don’t.”
 

Taken from an advertisement, one man adopted as his motto:
“After only three months of twenty minute's effort a day…”
(He holds in reserve for future use: “If I can do it  --  anybody can do it,”
a sentiment he says gives his entire nervous system a competition-grade case of