“He sounds wooden…”
A high school kid walks into hisEnglish class one day. The teacher calls him up to the front of the
class. “All right, Mr. Browne, show us something…magical.”
The
kid reaches into his backpack, stretched at the seams, and pulls out a
single drawer. He shows each side, proudly, to a stunned class room.
The teacher sighs. “Your report was supposed to be about Dadaist poetry, Mr. Browne, not Dadoist woodworking.”
I’ve been told that my kind of humor cuts against the grain.
Okay, I’ll stop.
Update: Apropos of nothing, PRONOIACS UNITE!!
