If people could save all of the time in a bottle that they spend in retrospect . . . clinging to what was or what could have been instead of looking forward to life, moving on . . .

Some of my column intros actually make sense.  And then there are those that go skipping off in their own misdirections through fields of shruggeries and flowered flumpheries, amid the bognacious trills of stalkish stumpenings, and none of us can begin to beguine the forethoughts of the afterworded math we didn't do, or subtract it all up to glean the nonscientifical methods behind the madness of pie.  And never NEVER ask their hat sizes!  You simply have to sit back and let it go, let it be, set it free, try not to set it on fire, because there is no stopp

What if, instead of holy, cows were holey?  If the black spots on the average dairy breed were empty spaces rather than splotches?  Where might the rest of the cow be?  Would these pieces just pop out like donut holes and roll away?  Or would they sprout into new cows once they hit the ground?  Perhaps they would remain that size, a herd of Mini-Holsteins grazing at the hooves of the normal ones.  Maybe they'd scuttle off in search of greener pastures to avoid being trampled and squashed by accident to cow pies, then sizzled and slapped betwe