The Art Of Newspaper Paragraphing Is To

Between The Years Of Ninety-two And A Hundred And Two, However, We Shall Be The Ribald, Useless, Drunken, Outcast Person We Have Always Wished To Be. We Shall Have A Long White Beard And Long White Hair; We Shall Not Walk At All, But Recline In A Wheel Chair And Bellow For Alcoholic Beverages; In The Winter We Shall Sit Before The Fire With Our Feet In A Bucket Of Hot Water, A Decanter Of Corn Whiskey Near At Hand, And Write Ribald Songs Against Organized Society... We Look Forward To A Disreputable, Vigorous, Unhonoured, And Disorderly Old Age.

A Sequel Is An Admission That You've Been Reduced To Imitating Yourself.

For All Of The Creeds Are False, And All Of The Creeds Are True; And Low At The Shrines Where My Brothers Bow, There Will I Bow Too; For No Form Of A God, And No Fashion Man Has Made In His Desperate Passion, But Is Worthy Some Worship Of Mine; Not Too Hot With A Gross Belief, Nor Yet Too Cold With Pride, I Will Bow Me Down Where My Brothers Bow, Humble, But Open Eyed.

We Pay For The Mistakes Of Our Ancestors, And It Seems Only Fair That They Should Leave Us The Money To Pay With.

Fishing Is A Delusion Entirely Surrounded By Liars In Old Clothes.