I Come Des Moines. Somebody Had To.

Germans Are Flummoxed By Humor, The Swiss Have No Concept Of Fun, The Spanish Think There Is Nothing At All Ridiculous About Eating Dinner At Midnight, And The Italians Should Never, Ever Have Been Let In On The Invention Of The Motor Car.

As My Father Always Used To Tell Me, 'you See, Son, There's Always Someone In The World Worse Off Than You.' And I Always Used To Think, 'so?

Australians Are Very Unfair In This Way. They Spend Half Of Any Conversation Insisting That The Country's Dangers Are Vastly Overrated And That There's Nothing To Worry About, And The Other Half Telling You How Six Months Ago Their Uncle Bob Was Driving To Mudgee When A Tiger Snake Slid Out From Under The Dashboard And Bit Him On The Groin, But That It's Okay Now Because He's Off The Life Support Machine And They've Discovered He Can Communicate With Eye Blinks.

At A Conference Of Sociologists In America In 1977, Love Was Defined As "the Cognitive-affective State Characterized By Intrusive And Obsessive Fantasizing Concerning Reciprocity Of Amorant Feelings By The Object Of The Amorance." That Is Jargon - The Practice Of Never Calling A Spade A Spade When You Might Instead Call It A Manual Earth-restructuring Implement - And It Is One Of The Great Curses Of Modern English.

I Don't Know Whether I'm Misanthropic. It Seems To Me I'm Constantly Disappointed. I'm Very Easily Disappointed.