Preface to the 10th Edition by Roger Miller (Button #5)
It's just a regular day, basically. The house is inside out and the chairs are soaking in the rain. The lamps are in danger of shorting out. The sputtering electricity is shooting up the table's leg and exploding the creamer, steam rising from the confused tablecloth, loose lopsided chair pegs spinning small holes into the floor, down, down into the dirt, on, on to the other side of the world. Like I said, just another day at camp.
Here's what we do for amusement in these parts:
Staple people's car tires to the pavement so that when they drive off the entire street comes up with them, rolling into a spiralled ball. When they get to where they're going they're stuck inside where they were and we, from under a bush in the third or fourth asphalt layer, laugh ourselves silly before having to wedge ourselves out and hitch a ride back through the desert.
You know, that's how it is around here. The neighbors all speak languages they've each made up, which is fine. Except for communicating. So there's the neighborhood dictionary-man, indispensable at town meetings. And he's well-respected. That's why I like the job: the pay is good.