writing exercise about stan the elf, unedited

 brutus, my cat, is looking out the slider window at the night backyard. the night backyard is a magical place. i assume it is. i am inside now, so how can i be sure? I cannot be sure that the nighttime backyard is a magical place. i almost hope not, because then i would be missing out on wonderful and whimsical backyard magic. elves and fairies and whatnot, lurking around cutely under bushes and toadstools. there were no toadstools back there earlier, but i have no proof that there are none there now. if there are elves and fairies in the backyard, would one of them be a malcontent? would it be sullen and contrary? would his name be stan, stan the elf, and would he refuse to partake in the elvish highjinx they get up to back there? running around and laughing and doing whatever elves do in their spare time, which i can only assume is all the time, because they probably do not have jobs in the conventional  sense. would stan be bored with the entire thing, and decide to leave the backyard? would elves remain in one backyard only? wouldn’t they just wander around, ignoring property lines altogether? and would they only frolic in suburban yards? would they go downtown, under cars in parking garages? to street festivals, dodging human feet as the humans with wristbands wander to and fro between the port-a-johns and the beer garden? stan would be there, wondering what it is all about. under a wheeled dumpster, listening to two cops discuss overtime, or their domestic situations, or politics. the people getting louder and louder under the influence of their beers, and stan would wonder what it is all about. he would find a side-street, and overhear a couple arguing about a third person. one of them is jealous, and stan feels lonely. none of the other elves are interesting to talk to. they just giggle and laugh and frolic around. mindless idiots. elves are, if compared to humans, always naturally high. they have no needs or wants to speak of. they are like animals, really, not thinking, only casting tiny spells on humans, and playing tricks, and mostly frolicking at night and having loads of sex. they are all in great shape, disease free, eternally young, usually naked, and randy for all eternity. but not stan. poor stan. he just doesn’t get it. he will wear pants, thank you very much. he thinks too much. even through the naturally high haze of his tiny elf mind, he can tell that this all does not add up. he flicks his wings sullenly and flies up into a tree. and i suppose it is here that i should introduce a second character. 

"no one," says this person.

  i suppose i could begin some story, but my stories are crap, but if you must have a character, we will have this person do things. this person will say things as well. this genderless, completely unidentifiable person will come alive, and you will help me, gentle reader, bring this person to life. because this person has feelings. this person was brought up in a certain way, and this person believes certain things because of and in spite of this upbringing. this person is, of course, frustrated with life. how can this person be otherwise? look at the world. you have seen it, dearest and most cherished reader. you have seen it. the world. this person finds this person stuck on this world. a planet, to be sure, with gravity, filled with other people. who said "hell is other people?" wonders this person. i know what you are thinking, dearest reader. "i could be that person!" you think, reading on. or the author could be this person. but no, you and i are not that person. we are simply the writer and the reader. no. this person is real, and we will make this person real now.  think about this person. crystallize this person in your mind. make this person solid and real. eyes like that. hair just that way. a certain walk. a way of hold the head. there. now this person is real. now this person must do something. doing is more exciting than not doing. and it is excitement we want. we shall have it, my most loyal and trustworthy reader. we will do this together. it is incredibly important for this person to do something. this person does not exist in a vacuum. this person has a friend. this person and friend will have conversations. but they cannot hang in space having a dialog with no setting. they must be in a place, so we will make them a place. this place has a certain amount of trees and foliage; it is a very green place. you may put a fountain in it if you like, or not. perhaps there is a commercial or retail space a few streets down. but they are walking in this green space, this person and the friend. they are walking near the fountain. a car goes by, and finally the friend says, and this is the first dialog, so pay attention: "should i say something profound?" the friend says. "go ahead," this person said. "say something profound." they walk along for awhile, and the friend says, "i think it has all been said." this person says, "that is profound, it it's own way." i think i should explain here that my characters will be speaking in contractions, although i do not like to use them in my prose. this is a writing tradition to which i have kept true for over an entire page. sorry to interrupt. a car goes by. this person waves, because this person knows the person driving the car. "who was that?" the friend asks. "no one," says this person.

OLIVE LOAF NONSENSE

I have learned of [maledicite oliva tortam,] the curse of the Olive Loaf, but only too late. My sleep at night is banished, and my waking sleep day everlasting. Woe is the day I chose Olive Loaf. What hubris was there, that I would choose this accursed deli-meat, challenging the gods that I too was worthy of such ambrosia. 

A malignant gloom lurks over all my proceedings. Dark figures peer at me at every corner. The commute is darker, the trucks and cars more threatening, swerving in my lane and riding my bumper, they are like an army of well-coordinated enemies, seeking my life by their bad driving. 

Or is it my imagination? Perhaps I am only sick in the mind, but are those little green worms wriggling about up there? Those olive loaf green circles, excreting paranoia into my brain noodles? What difference, fancy or reality? To me they are the same! O cursed deli-meat! I cast thee out!

Oh Olive Loaf! Why did I not shun thee as I have in the past. Oh deli-meats! Why didn’t I choose a less exotic foodstuff? My life is in the balance. I must return to the market and choose a less offensive meat-stuff to appease the gods! Woe! Woe is me!

Let Them Loiter on The Screen Awhile

A chasm has yawned between myself and my writing. I find it difficult to write as I used; it seems an idle pastime of my recent slightly less-old days. My conceit that no one would ever read my words, as if that matters, seems, irrationally, to matter. No one will read my books, it seems. I have no head for self-promotions. The uncounted keyboards of the world, matched with minds yearning to express that inner-world of subjective thought has flooded the Internet with garbage words, these included. These words, spewing forth from my brain like an overflowing sewer, typed off-hand on some Sunday morning, unsolicited by an uninterested world, flow nonetheless. Not edited, no reverse, just typing forth rubbish into the Internet. Howling into the void, an aging man types on the Chromebook of his dead father. Yet here I sit, starting another sentence that might lead anywhere, as this stream-of-consciousness thing, this aging brain attempting to convey its subjective existence, unable to wrestle down its own thoughts, cannot fathom that there is no reason to continue. The sun shines on half the backyard, shade and bright green grass share a plot of land behind the house I pay the bank to let me use. There is a great tree back there, which for a long time I mistook for a Honey Locust, and maybe it is some species of that line, but it is large, and it is there every day, immobile, but more importantly, unthinking, unworried about the purpose of life or the cost of the mortgage. It will be there, if left unmolested, for years to come, yet I will, restless and malcontent, move about in various circles, getting, spending, worrying and finding distraction, all the while approaching a certain and immobile grave. Then I will be as content as the tree in my backyard, immobile, unthinking, unworried about "the purpose of life or the cost of the mortgage." So. A chasm has yawned between myself and my writing. But maybe not. Because here is a cluster of words, more stuffing for the great Internet, read yet unread, loitering on a screen.

back to writing

After a few changes of workplace, a hiatus, and a chess-distraction, I'm back to writing. Bing-watched Game of Thrones with Deb. After watching the series, I got depressed, and wondered to myself, "Why am I not writing? I should be writing."

So now I'm working on something again, and reading all the Hugo-award winning books I can get my hands on, for inspiration.

It feels good to be writing again. I'm creating something. Not much at first, but every paragraph counts.

ACTUAL-REALITY ORBS (A-RO)

Virtual Reality is all the rage, and will soon be everywhere. But I'd like to tell you about something even better.

Actual-Reality Orbs are biologic devices that use light waves to transmit signals DIRECTLY INTO THE BRAIN. Using light refraction technology, if you move your arm, you can actually SEE your arm move. (H.A.N.D.S.) can be used to pick up actual objects in the real world. Audio collectors are located on the sides of the cranium, to deliver High-Fidelity sound directly to the brain.

Physics and gravity aren't only simulated, but actuated by unseen forces that work automatically. Set an object down, it stays there! Momentum, velocity, mass and energy are all synthesized using seamless physics that seem to work all by themselves! It's REAL!

The detail is amazing. Just look around. There are buildings, landscapes, rooms, and weather patterns! Rotate your head left or right, and your perspective rotates as well. Now you can see MORE real objects in the real world. So many objects! Maybe too many. Move them away from yourself if you feel crowded. You might feel crowded. Arrange them any way you want! Use in-game credits to accumulate more objects, or get rid of objects. The choice is yours!

Move around this actual world using (F.E.E.T.) ambulatory technology.

Other players look so real! The people you see in the game are other people, who are also playing in a realistic ACTUAL world. Communicate and interact with other players to unlock various secrets and bonus activities. You could spend a literal lifetime with your new friends (and rivals!). EVERYONE is into actual reality, whether they like it or not!

Experience is earned by repetitive activity. There are different levels. The game starts with the player having almost no abilities, but as the game goes on, the player collects experiences and develops skills. These skills can be used to earn CREDITS, which can be used as actual money. Money can be traded with other players for actual goods and services. It's an imperfect conceptual fabrication, but it works well enough!

There are lots of activities in this ACTUAL WORLD available while using your A.R.O. technology. Literally BILLIONS of players are already playing, collecting credits based on performing lots of tasks, like cooking actual food for others, selling vehicles or household items, or arranging symbols by tapping little squares. There are various rules and limitations put in place to make things interesting.

The game seems to be based on various boxes. Get lucky, or play the game right, you get to spend your time in a FANCY box. Break the rules, and you get put into a PENALTY box, (unless you have lots of credits.) You will probably end up in a AVERAGE box. Make sure you have some kind of box, because weather.

At the end of the game, you are placed in a TINY box.

Surprise! You're already playing. Good luck, play nice. For a limited time only. Act now! Actual reality: try it today!

I wrote you another book. You can order it at Amazon.com

Cheese Bus

...What biblical scholars are wrestling with is how to inform the public and theological leaders that interpretations of ancient scripture must be re-examined after a mistake in translation, dating back to antiquity, has revealed that what has always been taken for the Lord's name, "Jesus," is really a mistaken translation for the two words, "Cheese Bus."

"It isn't figurative," Professor ______ of the _______ institute said on Friday. "An actual bus made of cheese, according to these new, more accurate translations, will ferry souls to the afterlife."

The type of cheese is unknown at this time. "We're working on newly discovered texts, but it may take several months to decipher."

In the meantime, the official announcement is proving difficult to make.

"People will not be happy about this," the professor said. "Believers around the world have been praying to a anthropomorphic deity, when really, it seems as if it is some sort of school bus made of cheese. There's no mention of a driver. I guess it drives itself."

This is my travel coffee mug. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

This is my travel coffee mug. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My travel coffee mug is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

Without me, my travel coffee mug is useless. Without my travel coffee mug, I am useless. I must fill my travel coffee mug true.

My travel coffee mug and I know that what counts at work is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...

My travel coffee mug is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will keep my travel coffee mug full and ready, even as I am ready. We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God, I swear this creed. My travel coffee mug and I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace!

RECEIPT DESIRED?

Today I stopped at a gas station I don't normally frequent because road construction. I filled the tank, replaced the nozzle, replaced the gas cap, and the fuel pump screen said:

RECEIPT DESIRED?

Desired? That's a strong word. It's creepy. It is amazing they were able to cram bad, passive writing into that tiny space. Just give me the receipt. It isn't like:

"Oh Gas Receipt, ever since I first saw you, I had to have you. You are so beautiful Gas Receipt. Run away with me, I must make love to you."

No. It isn't like that at all.

"Da-yum Gas Receipt, you're tight. I would very much like to hit that."

No. I think PRINT RECEIPT? would be the appropriate message.

I FORGOT MY SUNGLASSES

Man it's bright. Jesus, this sun is killing me. Oh man, I forgot my sunglasses. Why? I surf like, every day, and here I am without my friggin' sunglasses. Oh well, can't go back now. Ashley's in there doing that thing in the bathroom. I gotta tell her it's over. How am I gonna do that? Jesus, this sun is like, melting the side of that building. What the hell is going on up there? A crap, a text. Already with the texts. I left the apartment five minutes ago. She can't even spell it out? Three exclamation marks? I'm suffocated. Suffocated. I better text back. If I don't text back, she's gonna send another one. Christ. Terran was right. She's bad news. God, the way she screamed at Luke last night. One drink makes her insane. And that thing in the bathroom. That noise. Crap, another text. What does that even mean? Is she just putting random emojis in texts now? The sun is so friggin' bright. I got to stop drinking. I have to stop drinking, and I have to break up with Ashley right now. I'll text her. God, need some shade, can't see this friggin' phone. Okay, lemme see. crap, caps lock. Lemme try again. God, no. I can't break up with her by text. What's that lady looking at? "I'm just sending a text." Suspicious old woman. Look at that dog. I bet she doesn't pick up the poop when it goes. Probably just buries it in the sand. Jesus, this friggin sun. I wish I had my sunglasses. 

# DOG SKELETONS

And then people started seeing dog skeletons walking around at night. First there were reports of single skeletons, and then packs of ghastly animated skeletal dogs. No one believed the reports at first, but then the sightings were reported nationwide. Each skeleton walking in its own unique way, a permanent toothy snarl on each skull, heads down, as if the habit of sniffing persisted in ghoulish phantasms with no possible olfactory sense. The empty eye sockets were wide and expressionless.

Occasionally a dog collar was spotted, dangling off a short span of spinal chord between the skull and shoulders.

At first people were alarmed, claiming it was a portent of the "end times," but biblical scholars had to admit that packs of dog skeletons fit into no known prophetic writings, old testament or new.  Others conjectured that it was pollution, or radiation, but scientists had to admit they to could find no explanation.

As they passed through the streets at night, the dry, fleshless paws sounded like dry leaves skittering across the pavement, wind or no wind.

Motorists would see them crossing the street. Some would stop and watch the horrifying parade of dog skeletons cross the headlight beams, while others would hit the gas, scattering the bones everywhere, the satisfying crunch of bones sometimes costing them a chipped windshield if a particularly large skull impacted the glass. Later no bones would be found, as the skeletons, animated by some unknown supernatural force, would recombine and continue on toward whatever mysterious destination draws packs of dog skeletons.

E.B. White, from his essay, "Here is New York," 1948

"that cat's gonna get in it."

"You put that box on the floor, that cat's gonna get in it."
"No it won't."
"Yes it will."
"There's no way for you to know that for certain."
"Yes there is. That cat's gonna get in that box. Look at him lookin' at it."
"It's a 'her.'"
"She's gonna get in that box."
"No she isn't."
"Yes she is."
. . .
"See?"
"Shut up."
"I told you. Look at her. Aw, she's so cute. Good kitty. You in the box?"
"Shut up."

FEET FREEZING TREATMENTS, NOW JUST $50.00 / HOUR

Are you tired of paying $75.00 or even upwards of $150.00 an hour for Foot Freezing treatments? Now you can have your feet frozen for a mere $50.00 for one full hour.

My home office features all the amenities you need for completely frozen feet in just minutes:

1. 1960 era tile floor directly over concrete slab brings your feet as close to the permafrost as you can get without going outdoors.

2. A window view on a frozen wasteland. Watch wildlife such as birds, squirrels, and other squirrels scamper for enough caloric intakes to survive sub-zero temperatures.

3. Internet access. View Facebook posts from your old classmates living in warmer areas as they brag about how @#$%ing warm they are.

In just minutes, your feet will be completely frozen. A bone-chilling experience. Added bonus for those of you suffering from Raynaud's disease: watch your affected toes turn bluish-white. Spectacular results! Here are just a few actual quotes from completely satisfied customers.

"My feet were freezing almost instantly. I felt like my toes were made of pure ice!"

"Is there a @#$%ing window open in here?"

"Is the heat off? Why is it so much colder in here?"

"This is like walking into a refrigerator."

Call or click today to learn more. Bring cash.

# Get APP!

With APP, you can be sure you are making the right choices. Our friendly APP will let you know when you are staying focused, and will give you a gentle reminder when you stray off task.

Willpower and concentration are sometimes not enough, but with APP, you'll act with confidence, knowing that APP is there to guide you on your journey.

Click to learn more. Our APP will track your activity. It is your day-to-day activity that counts, and APP is there to guide you on your way.

Your goals are our goals, and our goals can be your goals, with APP.

Simply attach the NR* collar, download APP, and you will be guided and controlled by our machines. You will follow a simple program that will make decision-making a snap.

APP tracks every part of your day, and modifies your behavior to make sure nothing is wasted. Productivity is key, and that's where APP comes in. When you stray, lose focus, or engage in unhealthy or illegal activity (we've all been there, right?) APP is there to set you right again.

And it isn't just activity. Attitude is everything, and that's where APP really shines. Unhealthy thinking, unorthodoxy, and thinking that might conflict with conventional philosophy are all discouraged through a series of increasingly powerful electric reminders.

Get with the Program. Let a Machine take over. Thinking is difficult, let APP do it.

APP: In Control.

*Non-Removable™

# WHICH DIPPING SAUCE WOULD JESUS PREFER?

Biblical scholars cannot tell us which dipping sauces Jesus would prefer, if given a choice of today's dipping sauces. He might choose "mild," for the meek shall inherit the earth, but maybe not. He might choose "honey-mustard," although this too is pure speculation.

The question over which dipping sauce Jesus would choose has plagued theologians for decades, and in 1972 almost caused a schism in Catholic Church, similar to the East-West schism of 1053. In 1972 Pope Paul VI declared that the preferred dipping sauce of Jesus Christ was "ranch," and that all teachings to the contrary was heresy.

Makarios III, Archbishop of Cyprus during that period, declared that no, in fact, Jesus preferred "honey-mustard" dipping sauce.

The question remains. What dipping sauce would Jesus prefer, if given a choice? Some of us believe that Jesus is open to all types of dipping sauces, not preferring one over the other.

What's your opinion? Which dipping sauce do you think Jesus would prefer, when having wings or maybe chicken strips?

Wrote a new book

Hey now. I wrote another book, Robot Stories (Ten Stories for Humans). It is available on Amazon.com, and you should get a copy.

You can find it here: http://amzn.com/1499164793

AMATEUR SPOONBENDING FOR BEGINNERS

Spoonbending is coming back! You've read about it all over the Internet, you've seen it on the news. Perhaps you've seen the flyers in the coffee shops! Everyone is spoonbending, and of course, you want to get in on this hot new trend!

Spoonbending is simple. Get an ordinary spoon. Hold the spoon by the "neck," that supple, narrow part of the spoon under the spoon part where the soup goes. Don't put soup in it. This is a clean spoon. Don't put it in your mouth. No. We are repourposing the spoon to amaze and astound our friends and family.

Hold the spoon between your thumb and forefinger, so the handle hangs down (by gravity!) and the scoopy part is up above where you're holding it, which is the neck (See the above paragraph, above).

Now you've got it by the neck. That spoon knows who is in charge. Yet the neck of the spoon remains stubbornly solid. It is its solidity we must tackle, and we'll do it by this one simple trick:

Simply empty your mind of all conscious thought and completely vaporize your ego, so that you are empty phenomenon, holding what? Nothing! The spoon is gone, and so are you! Now the spoon bends . . . in your mind. The spoon is still exactly as it was before, but will anyone see it? No! You no longer want to impress anyone by spoonbending, because you are now selfless phenomena, one with the universe, and the spoon! Get it?

But that is a cop out. Let's get real. Let's really bend that spoon: How to really bend spoons: First, you need a guru. Perhaps you know some bearded gentleman in your neighborhood. If you are picturing an old, wise Asian gentleman, or some sort of turbaned Hindu mystic, you should check yourself. That's total stereotyping, and you should stop it. God, you are such a racist sometimes, I swear. You need a guru of some sort to teach you mental disciplines and physical calisthenics, yoga or perhaps deep breathing exercises.

Then, after months or years of training, you are ready to bend the spoon. Now: hold the spoon as described above in the above paragraphs (above). Focus all of your mental energy on the neck of the spoon, and as you do so, move the two fingers, between which you have grasped the neck of the spoon, and make tiny circles, focusing all of your mental and physical energies on that point, heating it with friction and the psionic powers you developed over your months of training with your guru, who may or may not have charged you money in the form or "donations," or "dinner," or outright fees. He has to eat, you know. "All of the guru powers in the world don't change the fact that people have rent. I mean Jesus Christ, I can't live on good vibes you know. Why are you always such a tight ass? We talked about that. Your materialism is what's holding you back. And the issues you have at work." So anyway. Make small circles. You will feel your life-force focused exclusively on that point of the neck of the spoon. You might feel doubts. A thought might flutter through you mind, even for a moment, "I should have gone to college like my parents wanted me to," or, "What am I compensating for, trying to bend this spoon? Isn't there some better way to spend my time?" or "I think this 'guru' is taking advantage of me. I've never seen him bend a spoon." Ignore these distractions. Focus. Focus on that god-damned spoon. That spoon that insists on being so solid. Convince it that it is not solid. "You are a spoon, bend already. Jesus Christ, the embarrassment alone should bend you in half. Everybody's thinking this isn't going to happen. Why didn't I practice this alone? They already think I'm a freak, and now this." Make excuses, and after the awkwardness, don't leave right away, or everyone will think it is because you are embarrassed. Have a drink, laugh it off, make some small talk, and then get the hell out of there and try to regroup.

Okay: how to bend a spoon with your mind: This is serious this time, so pay close attention to every word I'm about to lay down, because this is some mind-expanding stuff right here.

Hold the spoon as described in the above paragraphs. BY THE NECK. Got it? Okay. Now: picture someone who is dead. Patrick Swayze is a good choice, because he helps people with various arts and crafts, but he isn't the only choice. What you need is someone from "the other side" to bring a blowtorch from "the other side." I know it sounds fantastic, but if you don't believe in spiritual stuff like ghosts and afterlives, why don't you open up your mind and stop being such a damned nihilist? I mean, if there's no afterlife, what's the point of all this? You always do this! You're always so negative about stuff, no wonder you can't bend the spoon. Can't there be any mysteries in life? Does everything have to be a lab experiment with you? So cold. So god damned cold and clinical. Wait, where was I? Oh yes. Other suggestions would be people who were famous for welding . . . did I just open my web browser and Google "famous welders?" Possibly. Did I find any? Not really. As far as I can tell, there are no seriously "famous" welders you could summon from the Indescribable Paradox of The Afterscape to bring a welding torch to heat the spoon enough to allow you to bend it. Summoning a demon is always a bad idea, although they bring their own heat and could melt the spoon in a snap, but they always want something in return, and I'm not about to go into it, but it is bad news. Believe me. So demon summoning is out. So you are stuck with a spirit of the dead, and I'm thinking the only dead person that could help would be Patrick Swayze, who, as far as I can tell (from his Wikipedia page) has no welding experience, but he does things in clay, and even though that doesn't apply here, for all we know, he could have taken welding in shop class in high school. Anywhoo, summon the spirits of the dead to bend the spoon, somehow.

I think that covers the basics. After reading this essay, you should be able to perform the following tasks:

1. bend spoons with your mind.

# TODAY I AM THANKFUL FOR SLEEP.

When everyone sleeps, the combined weight of billions of heavy eyelids pulls the sun down, and that's why we sleep at night, or that’s why it is night while we sleep. Science doesn't know. Sleep researchers say stuff, I suppose, but I'm too lazy to look that up right now.

If everyone stayed awake at the same time, all of the open eyes would use up all the sunlight, and the sun would burn out, and no one wants that. The stars shine for those who stand the watches of the ungodly hours, and those who fret and lie awake and yearn for the solace of sleep.

I am thankful for the one thing we all agree on, besides breathing and food: sleep. CEOs and drifters are equalized for a few hours. Their material things are equally uselessness. Muslims, Christians and Jews, all believe, for a few hours, nothing, and are at peace. No one is so busy, hateful, or stupid to not sleep.

I am thankful for the death rehearsal.
I am thankful for the ultimate peace before the ultimate peace.
I am thankful for the innocence of unconsciousness.
I am thankful for temporary oblivion before permanent oblivion.
I am thankful for sleep. The universal reset. The snuggled snooze of billions of temporarily harmless souls.

When we dream, our relaxed brains pick up the thoughts of people on the other side of the planet because of gravity and earthworms, and that's how thoughts are recycled, so we do some of the stuff people ran out of time for on the other side of the earth. But what about the excess dreams? The moon acts as a sponge to soak up all the dreams. That's why there are dark spots on the moon. Those are dreams. The moon is held up by dreams, and it scoots—moved by the same force that moves Ouija board thingies—to the edge of the sky at some point because the sun is waiting to come up, and they have this awkward thing (they used to date) so she hides whenever he shows up, although everybody thinks they should get back together, but—oh, it's a whole thing, I'm not going to rehash it—so anyway, the story is that the moon goes down to make room for the sun. When you see the moon during the day, that means somebody is taking a nap and slacking off!

By now you're wondering, what does this have to do with our 34th President? Well, as you know, in the 1950s, everything was in black and white. (That's why photos from that time are black and white. duh) and we dreamed in color. Well not anymore. Not after our 34th President. Coincidence? You decide.