“I don’t see the joke.”
 

Should not the existence of the many stories of men on a great mystical quest
having to overcome dragons  --  and the fact that dragons do not exist  --
tell you completely the nature of the forces opposing any alteration in
man’s consciousness.
 

    “I still don’t get it.”
 

Take a bead on it like this: in the eternal debate over whether reality is what we
think it is, or something else entirely on its own, consider:
there would not be any "reality" unless we thought about it in the first place.
 

    “Okay: can something be funny and you not know why?”
         Why not dear boy: look at all that men take to be serious without knowing why.
 
 

In the physical realm: thought makes man’s life more convenient;
applied to intangible affairs: thought makes hypochondria even deadlier,
and fog even foggier.
 
 

As apparently some sort of test, a farmer quizzed a son
who had recently returned from a stay in the city:
“Which would you prefer: to fall into a combine, or have a nice butter sandwich? --
and if neither of those: then to either hear wheat ripening, or political commentary?”

The cry in one land became:
“We must all work together to keep out (or at least collectively ignore)
words which too loosely describe man’s more serious situations.”

The Mature And Meaningful Morality Of Mentation.
The anomalously adult few owe no fidelity to any particular idea or philosophy,

So mused a chap:
“Some have proposed that the whole purpose of human existence is to: find-the-truth, but if this be so  --  then such is also life’s aim.”
   A man flying in a plane suddenly took time to be much impressed by
   this unnatural situation:
   then unexpectedly became even more affected by realizing that such creations are
   entirely the children of man’s mind;
   thus be the vehicle and those therein  --  one.

Contrary to the laws governing life in prison:
just because something doesn’t have a name doesn’t prohibit the real-deal-man
from thinking about it.
Insane Conversation.
“Hi!  --  what’s your name?  --  come here often?”
    “I did until you asked.”
“Now that’s really  not funny  --
how do you expect something that doesn’t make sense to be funny?!”
Reminder: Humor is in the cortex  --  not the brain stem.
“Same as with waking-up, huh?!”                           (Not if you have to mention it.)
 
 

The Never Enunciated Fall-Back Religious Hope-Cum-Position Of
The Intellectually Constricted And City Bound.
    The gods won’t let it rain,
    on us the soggy brained.
And local conditions sighed: “Ah sweet Athena!  --  if only it were that simple,
and so easily described,”  and right there is evidence again of why the real-deal-man must ignore and get over location conditions.
    The plane is always sputtering and making strange noises;
    sometimes the person on your right hears it  --  sometimes the person on your left;
    if you hear it  --  via your natural born consciousness  --
    you have become the people next to you  --  you are where you natively belong:

The business men and technocrats who run the city see no benefit in a thing
that cannot be bought and sold:
no matter now foolish/vaporous be the idea,
if it has public currency  --  it is quite acceptable.
This is why that thing you never hear about  --  you’ve never heard about.
    (“As long as I’m not told that this plane is going to fly into the sun  --
      I can relax and have another drink.”)
 
 

Fashion News Explored Through Conversation.
"Uniformity is what counts in prison."
    “Is that why all cows wear that silly get up?!”
"You’re as sharp as a store bought saw."
 
 

Your mental future already stirs within the perceived irrelevance of others;
Truth +  Falsity = Reality:
if mind could plainly see, this is what it would realize,
(and the city’s icons and institutions would collapse like a mail order barn).
 
 

Regal Rollicking.
The Royal Jester said to some people at the village pub one Saturday night:
“The King still doesn’t get it: he doesn’t understand that I’m not laughing at him,
but trying to knock some sense into him.”
Drowsy Passengers’ Update.
You might as well face the fact that no imaginary plane enjoys being shot down.
(Also: a true claimant of the throne doesn’t need someone else to laugh at him.
    “Nor to knock sense into him, huh?!”
You nailed it, Mr. Decker.)
 
 

As he lay on his death bed, a man declared:
“To posterity I leave  --   My understanding,”
and all the reflections of the local future began running around the room shrieking,
and pulling out their nose hairs as they cried out: “Oh no!  --  anything but that!”

* This is the fun had by the man-who-knows, beyond any otherwise available.