C.W. dropped by a few minutes ago smoking a cigarette and looking a lot like the late Edward R. Murrow again. Although I didn’t ask him to, he plopped on the couch and blew a cloud of smoke my way.

“My wife is going to kill you,” I said.

“Nah,” he said, “The cigarettes will get me first. Besides …”
                               

“Besides, what?"

“I just had a thought involving a high degree of something happening in the opposite way to what is expected, and typically causing wry amusement because of this.”

I had to think for a moment. “You mean something ironic?”

“That’s what I said. Why do you repeat me so much?”

“How long has it been since you had a GUT check?”

“My Galactic Universal Translator is fine.”

“So share your irony with me.”

“Just thinking,” he said, “that the most important thing facing your species now is to keep that newly elected man in office for four years.”

“Do what?”

“Keep him in office. He has a penchant for boredom. Look at the number of wives he’s had.”

 

I heard of a Southern funeral once
where the only praise offered for
 the deceased was "I always heard
his brother was worse." - C.W.

“Well, yeah,” I said, ‘but why …” I stopped when it dawned on me. “Oh.”

“You got it brother,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. “As if I didn’t have enough things to worry about.”

“You mean you wouldn’t like a law that forced ‘holy rollerness’ on everyone?”

“Hardly.”

“Then hope for good health. It would be too much to ask you to pray, I suppose?”

“I might even consider that,” I said.

“To God?”

“Why not?” I said. “She might listen this time.”