. . .

It's that time once again

Yes. You prayed it would never come, but your prayers were denied. You "took steps" to stop the situation, but your hired thugs were found floating face down in the river next morning. You begged and pleaded, but your pleas were laughed at. You sold yourself on the street for crack money, but that had nothing to do with this. I just like to mock your pain.

It's time for an email from me.

*hallelujah! hallelujah!*

We go now once more to the door of famed skeptical existential astrophysicistical and downright annoyistical philosopher, Edmund Von Fruit. Dr. Von Fruit, our listeners were wondering -

Edmund, please. I didn't get my degree in Law, Astrophysics, Medicine, Theology, And Other Wild And Crazy Stuff from the University of Holland at Daise to have ignorant, unwashed, untutored louts call me Doctor! I got it for the carefree exchange of frank views and frightening ideas from my peers in the community! I got it for the knowledge that I was better than almost everyone else in the world! I got it for the chicks! I got it for... for... I think I lost my train of thought, there. It happens when you're one of the most BRILLIANT PEOPLE YOU WORTHLESS TRASH WILL EVER HAVE THE INEXPRESSIBLE PLEASURE OF MEETING. Too many thoughts kicking around in too many interesting directions to keep... track... of... this... sock. Have you really looked at your socks, recently? Marveled at what kind of universe would develop, merely by chance, such a complex and silly item? Look at it! Socks are never found in nature?

But socks have a creator, Edmund, and -

THAT'S A FILTHY LIE! Everything in the universe can be explained by randomness and cosmic dust! Everything! Even socks! All true scientists are members of the Evolusockism school, which holds that socks were formed when a lightening bolt hit the teeming mass of proteins and complex chemicals found in prehistoric pools back when the earth was still cooling. All those who believe that something so complex must have had a Weaver are nothing more than Creasockists, and should be summarily put to death by nostril hair. Call me sir.

But sir -

Don't call me sir, I'm not your superior officer. Not any more, anyway. In my day, men like you would have been drummed out of the service, my boy, and those times will come again! But after those *sniff* those bastards down at Central Casting took my mask and goggles, I was the laughingstock of the military community, and had to move here, change my name, change my identity, change my appearance, change my billing address, change my underwear, and change my annoying habit of shnortling really loudly when I talked that drove my wife so crazy. You may have tracked my down despite all this, you may have winkled me out with your damned dectective skills, you may have ferreted out my secrets, including that one involving the creamcheese, the three pairs of leather suspenders, and the koala named Abdul, but, by god, you'll never take away my dignity! You'll also never repossess my tv, as that's wholly paid for, insured, and hidden in a heavily armed underground bunker. Can't be too careful, these days. Armed both inside and out, so if the 30-foot chickens break open from inside it, I'll be ready for them. They think they have the world fooled, but I'm ready. In the meantime it's very difficult for me to watch reruns of MASH. That's why I have this portable tv, here. Gets all the channels, including the xrated ones. I keep it around with me at all times. I'm an old man, you know, so when I get the stirring in my loins, it's a) a time for celebration, and b) not something that can be put off, and there aren't always willing nubiles in the vicinity, so I make do with the tv and the occasional Tom Lehrer album. You haven't lived, boy, you haven't lived until you've ripped all your clothes off and "beaten the monkey" whilst singing "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park" at the top of your lungs in the middle of a crowded auditorium. It's a good way of opening up a space for yourself if they don't show the proper respect for the aged, too. Gotten into three Presidential speeches, two concert halls, and a book signing with that trick, and got good seats too.

Thank you sir Edumund Doctor sir. Any questions for the famed theoretical mathematician and mercenary from our audience?