The Only Thing He Cares

Money Is Like A Child—rarely Unaccompanied. When It Disappears, Look To Those Who Were Supposed To Be Keeping An Eye On It While You Were At The Grocery Store. You Might Also Look For Someone Who Has A Lot Of Extra Children Sitting Around, With Long, Suspicious Explanations For How They Got There.

Strange As It May Seem, I Still Hope For The Best, Even Though The Best, Like An Interesting Piece Of Mail, So Rarely Arrives, And Even When It Does It Can Be Lost So Easily.

Various Parts Of My Body Told Me That In The Future They Would Appreciate It If I Slept Lying Down On A Bed Instead Of Sitting At The Counter Of Black Cat Coffee. I Quietly Reassured Them That This Was An Unusual Situation, And Had The Machinery Make Me Some Bread As A Breakfast.

A Man Of My Acquaintance Once Wrote A Poem Called "the Road Less Traveled", Describing A Journey He Took Through The Woods Along A Path Most Travelers Never Used. The Poet Found That The Road Less Traveled Was Peaceful But Quite Lonely, And He Was Probably A Bit Nervous As He Went Along, Because If Anything Happened On The Road Less Traveled, The Other Travelers Would Be On The Road More Frequently Traveled And So Couldn't Hear Him As He Cried For Help. Sure Enough, That Poet Is Dead.

To Hear The Phrase "our Only Hope" Always Makes One Anxious, Because It Means That If The Only Hope Doesn't Work, There Is Nothing Left.