1. Maybe that's the lesson for us today that the archaeopteryx holds; unboundedness; a theater's position; which old philosophers agreed upon in scads, wet angry blondes in scads, poor dog it's so unpopular go home, "Hot dog a sportscar, modern," let's go home.

2. A modern mother stands on the stage, saying, "Uh, my son—(what was he called? Oh yes, Roman Blastula)—was killed in an impilation accident. Don't let this happen to you," and all the students laugh, zay jeest lafff. It's a beautiful day outside, wet angry blondes in scads, and the hiccoughs spattering swallowed internal logic, and clean consistency. Just because some orangutan rabblerouser hasn't decoded these epistles from Don Ho's squalling hand, doesn't mean another drunk Don Ho Docent don't sell used watches. Heyyy, crazy, this ain't no masterpiece. Man, you should be doin' time. Excuse me, ma'am, I'm having trouble working my mouse.

3. In Portugal, (what is going on there?), everything goes: someone's smuggling in paella, someone's a smuggler on the lam, some eight-year-old is exuberantly spewing on the last dialogue in the kitchen, the teakettle whistles, mama's watch goes off, granny's just lifting a basket from the floor, what happens but lightning speeds run aground the groceries, pockets fill with potions, and Being is mercifully flung back into Massachusetts in time for the Laying-Waste.