I Would Have Sold My Wife And

Life Contains These Things: Leakage And Wickage And Discharge, Pus And Snot And Slime And Gleet. We Are Biology. We Are Reminded Of This At The Beginning And The End, At Birth And At Death. In Between We Do What We Can To Forget.

I've Read Plenty Of Amazing Science Pieces Where The Writers Don't Hang Out In Labs. I Just Have Fun Doing It. And I Get Rewarded For It; I Get Gushy, Especially When Kids Tell Me They Expected To Be Bored By My Books, But Weren't.

Instead, I Quietly Excused Myself And Went To The Bar, To Commune With Spirits I Know How To Relate To.

The Nobility Of The Human Spirit Grows Harder For Me To Believe In. War, Zealotry, Greed, Malls, Narcissism. I See A Backhanded Nobility In Excessive, Impractical Outlays Of Cash Prompted By Nothing Loftier Than A Species Joining Hands And Saying “i Bet We Can Do This.” Yes, The Money Could Be Better Spent On Earth. But Would It? Since When Has Money Saved By Government Red-lining Been Spent On Education And Cancer Research? It Is Always Squandered. Let’s Squander Some On Mars. Let’s Go Out And Play.

The Paper Does Not Provide The Exact Number Of Penises Eaten By Ducks, But The Author Says There Have Been Enough Over The Years To Prompt The Coining Of A Popular Saying: 'i Better Get Home Or The Ducks Will Have Something To Eat.