A Man Takes A Drink, The Drink

A Village In A Country Which Is Taking Pains To Become Altogether Standardized And Pure, Which Aspires To Succeed Victorian England As The Chief Mediocrity Of The World, Is No Longer Merely Provincial, No Longer Downy And Restful In Its Leaf-shadowed Ignorance. It Is A Force Seeking To Conquer The Earth. Sure Of Itself, It Bullies Other Civilizations, As A Traveling Salesman In A Brown Derby Conquers The Wisdom Of China And Tacks Advertisements Of Cigarettes Over Arches For Centuries Dedicated To The Sayings Of Confucius.

You've Been Telling Us About How To Secure Peace, But Come On, Now, General-just Among Us Rotarians And Rotary Anns-'fess Up! With Your Great Experience, Don't You Honest, Cross-your-heart, Think That Perhaps-just Maybe-when A Country Has Gone Money-mad, Like All Our Labor Unions And Workmen, With Their Propaganda To Hoist Income Taxes, So That The Thrifty And Industrious Have To Pay For The Shiftless Ne'er-do-weels, Then Maybe, To Save Their Lazy Souls And Get Some Iron Into Them, A War Might Be A Good Thing? Come On, Now, Tell Your Real Middle Name, Mong General!

Winter Is Not A Season, It's An Occupation.

Under A Tyranny, Most Friends Are A Liability. One Quarter Of Them Turn "reasonable" And Become Your Enemies, One Quarter Are Afraid To Speak, And One Quarter Are Killed And You Die With Them. But The Blessed Final Quarter Keep You Alive.

You," Said Dr. Yavitch, "are A Middle-road Liberal, And You Haven't The Slightest Idea What You Want. I, Being A Revolutionist, Know Exactly What I Want -- And What I Want Now Is A Drink.