Consultation with the Village Idiot
Who says I need ideas? There’s something in my brain that transmits all my ideas to the idea filtration centre, which is near Barmera and looks like a big winery.
But if it’s only a winery, why do they need all those big bright lights at night?
They need them because ideas are like little bright lights (see any cartoon), and because like repels like, the bright lights keep the ideas inside the idea filtration centre.
This is also why good ideas only come at night, because during the day the sun is too bright for any ideas to form.
My arms feel like big pink bullets—hard as rock and ready to explode. I pumped them up with an anti-foam pellet gun. I don’t know the chemical components of anti-foam, but I expect it’s the opposite of normal foam.
The prospectus outlook is fair, and fair is all you get this far north.
My cloak of many colours is too old to wear to the ball, so I’ll settle for a soup lagoon instead.
Hands on helmets if you’ve never ran an underground newspaper before.
Where does all the sportsmanship among village idiots fail? If you’ve never been to the village idiot for advice, go now. He is free between three and four pm.
Let them come to me, the fools. Don’t they know I’m an idiot?