If Everyone Fought Fire With Fire, The

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.

For Beatrice, I Cherished, You Perished, The World's Been Nightmarished.

They Didn't Understand It, But Like So Many Unfortunate Events In Life, Just Because You Don't Understand It Doesn't Mean It Isn't So.

The Quoting Of An Aphorism, Like The Angry Barking Of A Dog Or The Smell Of Overcooked Broccoli, Rarely Indicates That Something Helpful Is About To Happen.

Just About Everybody Has Written A First Novel That They Throw Away Before Writing Their Actual First Novel.