Christopher Saint's Humor Column

America is the land of opportunity. So I've heard it was said, long ago, when the pilgrims were just setting foot in the New World.

The Indians I'm sure tried to explain nicely that the Pilgrims were illegal immigrants, with no I.D. and no money. But the Pilgrims just kept coming into the country and stealing the Indians' jobs, and insisting on speaking English instead of the native tongue.

Finally there was nothing left to do but scalp a few people and hope they got the message.

So for a while, the opportunity aspect of the New World was somewhat limited to "an opportunity to plant corn in a way that also involves dead fish" and "an opportunity to die hideously from scalping, or possibly disease."

After a while though, the Pilgrims got used to the diseases, developed head calouses, and looked forward into a new, brighter future. Soon they were presented with all new opportunities, such as "the opportunity to get trampled by herds of buffalo" and "the opportunity to get thoroughly lost in a vast wilderness and be eaten by rabid beavers."

In case you hadn't realized it by now, I will state the obvious: this post has nothing to do with Pilgrims. I was merely using them to lead up to an in-depth discussion of the contents of my e-mail inbox.

Indeed, America is a land of many golden opportunities. The first amazing opportunity offered me today was: "Why look and feel your age? Feel alive!"

I'm sure that you cannot even fathom my glee as I read that sentence. A wave of hope rushed through my veins and clouded my senses with the heady scent of life. It was all I could do to just sit there, looking at my computer screen, and breathe a sigh of relief. At last the long days of pain and lethargy are over, at last I will once again romp in the fields, free as a bird (with the exception of not being able sing very well, or fly at all, or poop indiscriminately on public property), reliving the glory days of my childhood.

I'll let you know how it goes.

The next opportunity I was given was nearly as exciting as the last one. "You can be a cop!"

Wow! I could be a cop! All I would have to do is click on this email link and I will be on my way to being a cop in four easy lessons! It's beautiful, all you have to do is give them your credit card number, and they send you a Cop Kit (TM), it comes with a badge, a 9mm Glock, a pair of handcuffs, a drug-sniffing doberman named Foofie, and 20-dollars-worth of coupons for Dunken Donuts.

I would send away for the Kit, but I think all I'd end up using would be the coupons.

The next glowing opportunity presented me was "Enter to win a $50,000 home makeover." However, I live in an apartment, and I don't think they'd actually let me change colors or siding or anything. So instead I've decided to invest in $50,000 dollars worth of lawn gnomes.

Indeed my friends, America is a land of wonderous opportunity. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go frolic in a field while eating donuts with Foofie and 893 lawn gnomes.



A brief word about Independance Day:

As many of you no doubt already know, the day-before-yesterday was the 4th of July. It was on that day, 1547 years ago, that nothing happened. However, a few years later, in 1776, something happened. Up to that point, most of the bills congress had signed were complete crap. Then one day, Ben Franklin broke his arm in a freak kite-flying accident and spent several boring days in the hospital. Of course, there was never anything good on TV, and all the magazines sucked, so he had to resort to doodling on his cast.

On July 4th, 1776, Congress paid Franklin a visit in his hospital room. They brought flowers, chocolates, and some semi-decent magazines, and of course they all signed his cast. Thus our country was born.

SERIOUSLY THOUGH:

Allow me to introduce our new section, "SERIOUSLY THOUGH" which is headed by capital letters so that you can clearly see where to stop reading. In this section of the article, I will say something short, hopefully sweet, but always SERIOUS.

I love freedom, and I love being in a country that has it. I would not give up freedom for the world, and I salute the men and women who fought and continue to fight bravely to keep it alive. Although I think that advertising companies should have their freedom of speech revoked on account of the fact that they all give me headaches.

The Adventures of M4nLy m4N, or,
A tale of epic fantasy that is not teh sux0rs.

Once upon a time, there was a d00d. Teh d00d was a simple farmer, but he was a l33t f4m3r, and he pwnd the w33ds and r0x0rd teh wheat.

TiLl one d4y, wh3n teh d00d w4s tIlliNg teh l4nd, 4nd h1s l33t pl0w struck something beneath the soil.

Teh d00d struggled w1th teh pl0w f0r a wh1l3, but soon gave up, s4yiNg "Meh, w/e."

Teh nxt d4y, however, teh d00d 0nce again struck the thing beneath the soil. "Meh!" He exclaimed in his wr4th, "Th1s sux0rs!"

But such was the l33tn3ss of the d00ds f4arm1ng that he wrested the feindish thing from the soil with his bare hands. And it w4s a sw0rd. A l33t sw0rd.

"w00t!" cried teh d00d, "th1s l33t sw0rd r0x0rs my b0x0rs!"

Teh sw0rd called t00 teh d00d, and soon he was off into the w0rld, searching for high 4dv3ture.

s00n teh d00d came upon some b4nd1ts, robbing a young woman. "Meh!" said teh d00d, dr4wing his l33t sw0rd. But teh b4nd1ts were t00 l33t for teh d00d, because he had no training.They t0t4lly pwnd h1s @$$. But they left the woman alone and ran off. "meh, thx" she said greatfully to teh d00d, and then she left teh d00d, still laying there bl33ding.

But teh d00d w4s so l33t that he g0t right back up and chased down the bandits, and then he began following them around saying things like, "j00 sux0r!"

Teh bandits s00n h4d enough, and they turned on teh d00d and t0t4lly pwnd his @$$ again!!!!

"wtf!!!!!!112" shouted teh d00d in horrified anger. "H4x0rs!!" he shouted at the b4nd1ts as they laughed at him and walked away.

Naturally, there was an 0ld s4g3 watching the whole exchange, and after the b4nd1ts left, he approached the d00d.

"d00d, j00 sux0r. ur kung fu is not l33t."

"stfu!!!!!@!112" teh d00d shouted angrily at teh 0ld s4g3. "b4nd1ts 4re h4x0rs!!"

"meh." Said teh s4g3. "ur kung fu is not l33t, 4nd j00 no it."

Then teh d00d sighed and said, "eh. j00 4re r1gh7."

Then teh s4g3 trained teh d00d for 3 years, most of which was spent watching MTV. But when teh tr4n1ng was over, teh d00d had l33t sk1llz.

"d00d, ur ready to f4ce teh b4nd1ts now, and even perhaps dr4g0ns." said teh s4g3. "ur sk1llz 4re l33t, 4nd ur sw0rd is l33t. i dub u M4nLy m4N. Even though you are only 12, I feel that you will accomplish great things."

Then teh l33t d00d took up his l33t sw0rd and strode out to meet the world.

In his travels, teh d00d heard tell of a l33t dr4g0n that roamed the countryside, devouring innocent maidens and burning farms and whatever. "Meh!" said teh d00d when he heard of the horrors the dr4g0n committed.

"ph34r the wr4th of teh dr4g0n." said all the citizens of the land.

Soon teh d00d was on his way to face the l33t dr4g0n. Along teh way, teh d00d met a monk, a bard, and a jester. But we won't be mentioning them much, because the only person that matters is teh d00d.

So teh d00d found teh dr4g0n, and he challenged it saying, "d00d, j00 r not l33t l1ke me. j00 r teh sux0rs."

The dr4g0n became enraged at his insolence, and turned upon teh d00d. teh d00d was frightened, and ran before the firey breath of teh dr4g0n. The monk, the bard, and the jester all fought with great courage and amazing ferocity, but the dr4g0n was too l33t for them, and t0t4lly pwnd their @$$es. But teh dr4g0n was badly wounded, and seeing this, teh d00d turned back, and over the smoldering bodies of his slain companions, hit the dr4g0n once feebly with his l33t sw0rd. Teh dr4g0n fell to the ground, ded.

The citizens of the land ran forth then, and ignoring the bodies of the monk, bard and jester, gathered around teh d00d.

"d1d u s33 th4t!!!!???!!?!?!?!?!" said teh d00d. "i t0t4lly ownd teh dr4g0n!@!!!@#!@@!!!11"

"d00d, ur sw0rd is s0 l33t!" They said. "j00 s4v3d us!"

"j00 h4v3 l33t sk1llz!"

"j00 r teh r0x0rs!"

Then the d00d, in an amazing show of humility and benevolence said, "meh."

Then he turned and walked into the distant sunset. Now there is a constellation named after him. A great l33t d00d, watching MTV in the sky.


Glossary of l33t sp33k:

"l33t": leet. A term for the use of numbers and symbols in place of letters. Internet slang, and a word that means "cool" or "awesome".

"d00d": Dude.

"j00": You.

"r0x0rs": Rocks. As in "Wow, that music rocks!"

"sux0rs": Sucks. As in "Wow, that music sucks!"

"ownd": A typo of "pwnd".

"pwnd": A way of saying that you have defeated someone or done well at something. "d00d, I pwnd that guy."

"h4x0rs": Hackers. A term of insult, insinuating that a person has no actual ability, and had to "hack the system" to win.

"ph34r": Fear.

"teh": A typo of "the" which somehow became "cool" and "l33t".

"meh": I still don't know what this really means. I think it means both everything and nothing. It seems to mostly be used in a non-commital way.

"w/e": Whatever. Used to express non-committment and/or disgust.

Well I've decided to start a club. But this is not your average, play bridge/golf, drink tea/beer, talk about politics/affairs kind of club. No indeed, this is a club for rebels, for people who are edgy, extreme, social misfits, and just generally people who never fit in anywhere.

A society of anti-socials, a community of non-conformists, a group of everyone who is most definately not a groupie.

If you don't fit in anywhere else, you will fit in here, because this is a club formed by the people for the people, except that we hate people, cause people suck. Except for you, you don't suck...unless you claim to be a vampire, then you probably do a lot of sucking.

Actually, we don't mind if you want to claim to be a vampire, but you'll have to register yourself. If you're a non-registered sucker, we will throw you out on your butt. It's sort of like a "concealed dental-issues permit".

As a club, we must have a motto, a call-sign, something that the other clubs will know and fear. The motto of our club is, "Love through Hate, Society through Rebellion."

I don't know about you, but I am a non-conformist. I never do what anyone tells me, I hate following signs. I don't like stopping at traffic lights, and I only do it because the oppressive government system forces me too, practically at gunpoint. I have made peace with my dark side, and no one around me can handle it. So I never fit in. I'm always just lurking in the dark corners of parties, and wishing I could set the place on fire.

So, I've decided to start this club. I'm sick of being forced to conform to society's dubious standards. So I'm creating a place where we can join together in our general disgust with life and create a world of loving haters.

In fact, we are gonna be so cool, that anyone who isn't in our club will feel completely left out. They'll want to be non-conformists too, just like us!

We don't have a dress code, but we do prefer that you wear black. The choice of eyeliner is yours, but we are very pro-eyeliner. Also, if you listen to rap or country, you're out. Sorry, but all cowboys are conformists. Spiked hair is okay, but only if it can be defined as "wicked" (see club handbook for definition of "wicked hair".)

Long hair is great, but buzz-cuts or no hair are out unless you have tattoos. Otherwise you just aren't extreme or non-conformist enough, sorry.

Our club's preferred music is Emo of course, because no one knows how to be themselves or let their emotions flow through their music better than today's wave of pop-punk bands.

Rap is out, except for Eminem, who is a non-conformist. I heard him say so on MTV.

Christianity is frowned upon, because Christians have been conforming since they day they were born. However, if you are a Wiccan, and worship the Earth Mother, or Luna, or just Nature, you're okay. Those religions are so extreme, edgy, and non-conformist that we can't help but love them.

You're automatically part of the club if you say awesome things like 1337, w00t, and sux. The English language is an archaic and out-moded piece of crap, and I personally think it should have been eliminated endless epochs ago.

A bit about offensiveness: if you want to be un-PC (Politically Correct), just get out now. We will not tolerate racial slurs, slurs against someone's sexuality, slurs against religions, or anything except Christian bashing. The reason for this is that if we cannot trust our brothers and sisters in the club to respect our views and uphold our self-esteem, then who can we trust?

Don't insult anyone. Everyone in the club is free to hold their own beliefs and views as long as they aren't trying to push them off onto everyone else. We generally hold a "don't ask, don't tell" policy here. If you must talk about your religion or set of beliefs, please do it in the religion-specific chat rooms we have set aside.

Also, one last thing, we are now accepting submissions of dark, angsty poetry to put on the front page of our website. Please try to keep them short, as we don't want to lose the attention of our audience, who have mostly been raised on reality shows and microwavable food. Brief example:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I've lost my head
And so can you

Well that's about it, I really look forward to meeting with all of you other non-conformists and individualists! It's going to be an exciting time for those who can make the grade, let me tell you! w00t!

Join us! Be yourself, everyone's doing it!

In the name of the Earth Mother,
C.

(Definition of Wicked Hair, for those of you who haven't recieved your manual yet: Wicked Hair is Hair that is gelled and spiked hard enough to kill a mule at thirty paces. Or, alternately, wicked hair is hair that is messy enough to give nearby dogs a desperate survival-urge to take a bath.)

Questions of Great Concern, Part Deux

This, ladies and gentlemen, is one of those momentous occasions when I feel the need to translate for myself. Translation is in these thingies ( ).

Finally, at long last, arrives the highly anticipated (completely forgotten) sequel to the tremendously popular (read at least once by me) original Questions of Great Concern column.

Why, you may ask (but probably won't) do you call this column "Part Deux"? Because I have been led to believe that Deux means "two". If you know better, and believe that I am mistaken, please feel free to contact me with your correction, but remember that I don't care and won't read it.

Also, I cannot help but feel that "deux"--regardless of meaning--is superior in every way to "two". "Deux" has more letters, uses the letter "x", and is infinitly harder to correctly pronounce than "two". What's not to like?

I, for one, have never heard the word "deux" said out loud by any authoritative party. Hence there is, in my mind, some question as to its pronunciation. Is it pronounced "doo"? How about "dukes"? Perchance one should say it like "dough".

"Oh dear, it seems I have stepped in some doggy deux."

Or:

"I say old boy! Do you think that the bread deux has risen yet? And if so, how shall we ever put it down again?"

Or even:

"You sun of a rawtten dawg! I'm a'gonna hit you so hard that yer gonna be breathin' through yer hiney! Put up yer deux!"

Now we will move on to the questions of great concern. Yes, these are questions that have been utterly flummoxing (causing to grow large, tree-like sprouts) the world's greatest minds for centuries.

Our first question is no doubt one that you have asked yourself many times. Pretty stupid of you really. If you have to ask yourself the question, you obviously don't know the answer, which means you're asking the wrong person!

With me, you understand, I ask myself questions, but only rhetorical ones. I already know I know the answer, I simply want to hear how I explain it. Don't try to figure that statement out, it will fry your brain.

The question is:

Q: What is Life?

A: The answer to this question lies in the body of work presented by a man with the dubious name of Murphy. "Whatever it is that you don't have but want really badly, that's life."

Q: What a letdown!

A: Life often is.

Q: Which should I avoid eating in order to become a manly hunk of awesomeness like you, carbs, or fats?

A: While I feel that your quest to be like me is futile, I nevertheless have the answer to your question. Which do you like more: Pasta, or Bacon? If you answered Pasta, you should avoid carbs, if you answered Bacon, then you should avoid fats.

Q: What if I like my spaghetti with bacon bits on it?

A: Oh, then you're screwed. You may as well accept that you will die at age 31 from a combined heart attack/stroke/cancerous tumor.

Q: How can I make my mark in life?

A: Well, if you were a dog, I'd suggest that you pee on everything possible. But you're a person, so give it a try and see how it works out for you. If that doesn't do it though, you may want to try carving obscene messages on bathroom walls. But try to make them entertaining, there isn't much I find more disappointing than a boring obscene-bathroom-wall-message.

Q: Do you think that John Kerry is a good choice for President of the U.S.?

A: Yes and No.

Q: Could you elaborate?

A: Yes and No.

Q: What's that supposed to mean?

A: We will let you, the voting public, decide that.

Q: Why are we here on this earth?

A: Well, let's just say that you should never, ever, gamble.

Q: So THAT'S what they meant by "a cosmic roll of the dice."

A: No, actually, that has nothing to do with it.

Q: Why can't people just get along?

A: Because they are all stupid morons.

Q: Isn't that a very depressing way to look at things?

A: Only if you think about it too much, otherwise it's just mildly amusing. Ignorance, my friend, is bliss.

Q: Ah, then that explains my near-constant state of unbearable euphoria.

A: Couldn't have said it better myself.

Just today, as I was sitting in this chair thinking, I was suddenly struck by a profound lack of ideas.

Has that ever happened to you?

There you are, minding your own business, when out of nowhere springs...nothing. Usually, of course, this happens when you are trying to think of something specific. Like the punchline to a joke, or the solution to an important problem, or your girlfriend's name.

(And just so you all know, I've never forgotten my girlfriend's name, but I foresee it as a possibility. If my girlfriend were named, for instance, Helga or Vonda I might be inclined to forget it in the name of sanity. Fortunately, there are always pet names, which come in very handy in such a situation.)

On an important side note, you just can't say the name "Helga" in a way that sounds pretty or feminine. No matter how you say that name, it comes out sounding like a person who works in construction and kills things in their spare time. Just for the record though, I don't have anything against people named Helga, it's just their parents I think are a bit strange.

Er, where were we? Ah yes, you were being struck repeatedly in the brain with absolutely nothing. When this happens it's very unpleasent and weird, of course; you have to find your way out of the nothingness and back into the world of coherent thought.

You furthermore have to be very careful when you're fighting that battle. Never say anything while your mind is so preoccupied. I'm convinced that that's why people often say stupid and hurtful things.

They never really intend to be mean, or offensive, they just talk while their brain is doing nothing. And of course when your brain isn't controlling your mouth, your mouth just blabs out whatever word happen to wander by.

This is often referred to as committing a "faux pas" (pronounced: folks posse) which is a strange japanese meditation technique that involves, if I remember correctly, the drinking of a glass of Kool-Aid upside down.

I believe that some examples are necessary.

It is not, perhaps, advisable to leap up from one's seat in a five-star restaraunt (featuring complementary vallet parking: see glossary for the meaning of vallet) and shout: "Oh my GOD! There's MOLD on my FOOD! Oh, wait, no, never mind. That's just some parsley, forget I said that."

Or when speaking to a policeman who has just pulled you over to inform you that one of your tail-lights is out: "Hey man, your badge is crooked. And wow! Your shoes are really dingy! Do you EVER polish those things?"

And when speaking to the judge presiding over your drug-conviction case (a result of the above conversation with the policeman), you're probably better off not saying: "I didn't DO anything! It's just all these stupid and corrupt government employees! They framed me!"

It would probably be just your luck if when you said that last sentence, the entire room would be full of stressed out postal workers. Tsk tsk.

And so we come to the part of the column that we in the semi-amatuer, entirely-unpaid, sometimes-grammatically-correct writing world like to call "The End." Except for the glossary, of course.

GLOSSARY

(This is NOT in alphabetical order. The reason being that we want to confuse you as much as possible.)

Vallet: A kind of small rodent who's pelts were once highly valued in the making of fur coats. However, they have more recently become an endangered species, and it is therefore illegal to hunt them in the United States.

It (brief note: I thought that it would be good to just go ahead and define the word "It" for any wishy-washy politician types who happen to be reading): It is a context sensitive word. That is, the definition of "it" depends on what "it" is referring to.

Example sentence: "So I'm taking this basket weaving class in college, and it's a lot of fun!"

In the above sentence, the word "It" is obviously referring to the results of an international poll taken by Bob's Polls and Other Assorted Metal Objects that shows that more than 75% of the world doesn't know what the heck we are talking about.

Today's column is about expectations.

For instance, since I claim to be at least a part time writer, you probably expect that I write things sometimes. HA! You fools! Er, actually, forget I said that.

You also probably expect that I am incredibly handsome and the life of the party...well, can't find anything wrong with that. You may by all means continue to expect that.

But, on a more serious note

****A MORE SERIOUS NOTE:

Everyone has expectations, and some of them can be clearly identified as (and this is the technical term) Stupid.

****END MORE SERIOUS NOTE!

SERIOUSLY...er...UNSERIOUSLY, WAKE UP! STOP DROOLING!

Allow me to present you with an example. The day-after-Thanksgiving is the biggest shopping day of the year. Every store and retailer has HUGE sales which you will be LOATH TO MISS! In fact, if you miss ANY of the sales at all, your first born will have three heads, and NONE of them will work! This, I suppose, explains the recent glut of three-headed children.

On this day-after-Thanksgiving everyone goes shopping. The sales are good, but the lines are ENORMOUS (note the use of capital letters for emphasis) and the traffic is HIDEOUS.

Yet people still get angry when they are not helped immediately with their hour-long search for the perfect TV, and they are indignant when they have to stand in line. In other words, they expect to get swift, efficient, and helpful service on the single WORST shopping day of the year.

This makes them IDIOTS. It is not only silly and ignorant to expect anything to happen quickly, but it's downright moronic. Observe the following scenario:

Irate Customer: I HAVE BEEN WAITING IN THIS LINE FOR FOURTY MINUTES! I demand to know why you people are such morons, and why I have to show you my ID!

Humble Employee: I'm sorry sir, but it's policy, you are using your credit card, I have to make sure that you have legal ID.

IC: I'VE BEEN HERE FOR FIVE HOURS! I want to get my batteries, just this one pack of batteries which I URGENTLY need for my pacemaker which, if not recharged within the next thirty seconds, will cease to function and cause me to DIE! (this is quite obviously untrue)

HE: If you die at least I'll have the chance to look at your ID sometime this CENTURY so I can help the other customers in line here and hopefully not get yelled at!

IC: NO! I refuse, unequivicoally, to show you my ID.

A tremendous snapping sound stuns all nearby into silence.

IC: WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?

HE (in a deadly cool voice): That, sir, was the sound of my sanity snapping like a twig being run over by a dump truck filled with nine tons of good top soil. Fortuantely, I prepared for just such an event by placing a fully-loaded Uzi in my pocket.

And the rest is (rather violent) history.

So you see that foolish expectations are the cause of much of the worlds termoil.

I expect that my computer will do what I tell it, but sometimes it WON'T! Because it's STUPID! And the piece of bleep who designed it should DIE, and I refuse to allow this thing to be so impudent to me!

Eventually, this course of thought results in the thrusting of a baseball bat through the screen, which results in me needing to buy a new monitor on the day-after-Thanksgiving, which requires me to stand in a line which is moving WAY too slow and this is taking WAY too long and I have a pressing appointment with a game I bought recently and you BLEEPS are not giving me service and SNAP!

BUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDA!!! (Okay, just so we are clear, that was not the sound of a worshipful Muslum, that was the sound of me spitting in disgust at the fact that the WORLD is against me and that this line is taking FOREVER and that I'm using too many CAPITAL LETTERS!

...

Alternately, I suppose it could be the sound of an especially large rabbit hopping especially quickly over an especially resonant bit of ground.)

Need I say more? I expect so.

**No rabbits, hamsters, hedgehogs, echidnas, or moles were hurt in the making of this column. I cannot, however, speak for humans as some of them may--despite my best efforts--read this.

***The facts and opinions presented in this column are strictly the opinions of the column itself and in no way represent the author's opinions or beliefs. Furthermore, the author cannot and will not be held responsible for any injury, physical or otherwise, that may result from the reading of this column.

****Keep out of reach of children.

*****Column may contain small parts which could, possibly, on a slight off-chance, be harmful if jammed up one's nostril.

******Warning, possible radiation. Your brain may be mutating even as we speak.


I had it out with my editor today. The moron kept changing my columns around so that they would be more "accurate" and "factual".

"Facts have no place in modern reporting!" Said I. "And besides, this is an opinion column!"

"I'm sorry." He replied. "But when you say that Portugal is the fifth largest country in the world and that Istanbul is in fact a way to cook chicken, something has to be done."

"Well excuse me!" I shouted back. "Those just happen to be genuine facts that I found on the internet, which as you know is the source for all truth!"

"You only found them on the net because YOU put them there! You wacko!"

"That's hardly the point!" I replied. "The point is that I'm just writing my opinion, and those facts happen to fit my opinion! I always choose the correct facts to fit my opinions, and just because my opinions don't happen to agree with YOUR facts doesn't mean they aren't valid."

"What?" He asked.

"I really don't know, that just came right out."

"Whatever." He answered irritably. "The point is that you're fired."

"What?!" I shouted. "You can't fire your only writer! I'm irreplacable! You editors, on the other hand, are a dime a dozen! So YOU'RE fired!"

A scuffle ensued, in which I clobbered him on the nose. That was when I realized that I was alone in my room, fighting with myself. Needless to say, I felt a certain amount of chagrin: similar to how you'd feel if you were driving to your job in New York one day and suddenly realized that you live in Paris, France, and that you are a street bum who doesn't have a car or a shirt even, and that your refrigerator box is leaking badly through a gaping hole in the roof.

This also brings to mind the street person who, upon ingesting a snail found on the side of a building, realizes that he has just had the equivalent of a high-class dinner at an exclusive club. He's reminded then of the fact that being a bum is often much less stupid that being a dandy.

I mean, let's face it: do you really think a street bum would have been fooled by the whole "Emperor's New Clothes" thing? I say no.

And on that deep and ear-shattering note, I say adieu, or actually, good-by, because I can't quite get the accent right with adieu.