The Facts Communicate with Themselves
(and can often be found in the Fiction section)
I
thrive on sentences. One might some-
times
say that they are flying dangerously
off
the side of the cliff. One might say
alternate
reality. “Well that’s terribly
wrong,”
says the comedian in a wetsuit.
“Allow
me to diagnose this,” she says,
not
even trying to disguise herself as a
real
doctor. Everyone gets it except me,
of
course. They’re all ROFL and then
she’s
ROFL. I’m just ROF until I learn
that
my name has always been neither
Ralph
nor Rolph. “You have an excel-
lent
understanding of today,” says the
thistle
to the undergarment that is sooo
comedienne. Today we all say “hooray!”
Yesterday
we sat dumb in our chairs,
like,
twisting our heads almost all the
way
around. Tomorrow will be so
passé. But jokes to some folks (be
they—the
folks, the jokes—ditzy or
deep),
even though they might be
funny
to everyone else, are so
cliché. “I rest my case,” says
the
Basket Case. “The dog
ate
my homework,” says
Plunger. “I draw the line,”
says
a boy named Sue.
People
are just funny that way.
