QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

ANGER MANAGEMENT

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make.

I found the number and dialled it. A man answered, saying 'Hello.'

I politely said, 'This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?'

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear 'Get the right f*** ing number!' and the phone was slammed down on me.

I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled 'You're an asshole !' and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word 'asshole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, 'You're an asshole !' It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic asshole calling would have to stop.

So, I called his number and said, 'Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?'

He yelled 'NO!' and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, 'That's because you're an asshole!' and hung up.

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a 'For Sale ' sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial), I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too.

I said, 'Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?'

He said, 'Yes, it is..'

I asked, 'Can you tell me where I can see it?'

He said, 'Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd , in Fairfax .

It's a yellow ranch style house, and the car's parked right out in front.'

I asked, 'What's your name?' He said, 'My name is Don Hansen.'

I asked, 'When's a good time to catch you, Don?'

He said, 'I'm home every evening after five.'

I said, 'Listen, Don, can I tell you something?'

He said, 'Yes?'

I said, 'Don, you're an asshole !'

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.

Then I came up with an idea.

I called Asshole #1.

He said, 'Hello.'

I said, 'You're an asshole!'

(But I didn't hang up.)

He asked, 'Are you still there?'

I said, 'Yeah.'

He screamed, 'Stop calling me!'

I said, 'Make me.'

He asked, 'Who are you?'

I said, 'My name is Don Hansen.'

He said, 'Yeah? Where do you live?'

I said, 'Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd in Fairfax; its a yellow ranch style house, and I have a black Beamer parked in front.'

He said, 'I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.'

I said, 'Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole,' and hung up.

Then I called Asshole No. 2.

He said, 'Hello?'

I said, 'Hello, asshole .'

He yelled, 'If I ever find out who you are...'

I said, 'You'll what?'

He exclaimed, 'I'll kick your ass,'

I answered, 'Well, asshole, here's your chance.

I'm coming over right now.'

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax , and that my gay lover said he was on his way over to kill me.

Then I called Channel 9 News about a gang war going down on Oaktree Blvd. in Fairfax .

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.

NOW I feel much better.

Anger management really works!!

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Bonus item:

The above reminded me of a past item from Bytes, posted on January 25, 2014:

Back in the days when I was an Arts student at Sinnyuni (or the University of Sydney, to give it its formal title) I heard a story, probably apocryphal, of a Commem Day stunt. Commem Day was a lot bigger back then, the main feature being student pranks and silliness.

I managed to locate a newspaper's description of the above stunt:

“ . . . one University Commemoration Day, Parramatta Road (then the main western artery into the city) was in chaos because a gang of workmen were busy pulling up the tram lines. Some Machiavellian students rang the police and told them that a group of students had dressed up as workmen and were digging up Parramatta Road. Something should be done and done quickly.

Having alerted the police, the students then rushed out to the workers and informed them that it was Commemoration Day, students were running wild all over the city, and they had heard that a group of students, dressed as police, were about to try and stop the workers from doing their jobs.

The students then quietly retreated into the university grounds, found strategic vantage points, and watched a brawl break out between the police and workers. It probably never happened but it is a great story.”

https://www.smh.com.au/national/bridge-over-parramatta-road-20080111-gdrwda.html

Beautiful. And so simple.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

FOUR YORKSHIREMEN

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I had occasion to mention the Monty Python 'Four Yorkshiremen' sketch to someone today – it never fails to come to mind when people get into a pissing contest to see who can outdo the other(s) in terms of hardship, poverty when young, difficulty in life etc.

For those who have not seen it, click on the following link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKHFZBUTA4k

Colourised version:

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=340537347247692

I defy you not to recall Four Yorkshiremen the next time someone starts a one upsmanship. You can respond “LUXURY !” or “We used to DREAM a . . . “

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About:

"Four Yorkshiremen" is a comedy sketch that parodies nostalgic conversations about humble beginnings or difficult childhoods. It features four men from Yorkshire who reminisce about their upbringing. As the conversation progresses they try to outdo one another, and their accounts of deprived childhoods become increasingly absurd.

The sketch was written by Tim Brooke-Taylor, John Cleese, Graham Chapman and Marty Feldman, and originally performed in 1967 on their TV series At Last the 1948 Show, where it was called “Good Old Days.”. It later became associated with the comedy group Monty Python (which included Cleese and Chapman), who performed it in their live shows, including Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl.

It’s now 56 years old and still funny and relevant. But you try and tell the young people of today that, and they won't believe you...

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Transcript:

(Four well-dressed men sitting together at a vacation resort. 'Farewell to Thee' being played in the background on Hawaiian guitar.)

Michael Palin: Ahh.. Very passable, this, very passable.

Graham Chapman: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau de Chassilier wine, ay Gessiah?

Terry Jones: You're right there Obediah.

Eric Idle: Who'd a thought thirty years ago we'd all be sittin' here drinking Chateau de Chassilier wine?

MP: Aye. In them days, we'd a' been glad to have the price of a cup o' tea.

GC: A cup ' COLD tea.

EI: Without milk or sugar.

TJ: OR tea!

MP: In a filthy, cracked cup.

EI: We never used to have a cup. We used to have to drink out of a rolled up newspaper.

GC: The best WE could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.

TJ: But you know, we were happy in those days, though we were poor.

MP: Aye. BECAUSE we were poor. My old Dad used to say to me, 'Money doesn't buy you happiness.'

EI: 'E was right. I was happier then and I had NOTHIN'. We used to live in this tiiiny old house, with greaaaaat big holes in the roof.

GC: House? You were lucky to have a HOUSE! We used to live in one room, all hundred and twenty-six of us, no furniture. Half the floor was missing; we were all huddled together in one corner for fear of FALLING!

TJ: You were lucky to have a ROOM! *We* used to have to live in a corridor!

MP: Ohhhh we used to DREAM of livin' in a corridor! Woulda' been a palace to us. We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish tip. We got woken up every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped all over us! House!? Hmph.

EI: Well when I say 'house' it was only a hole in the ground covered by a piece of tarpaulin, but it was a house to US.

GC: We were evicted from OUR hole in the ground; we had to go and live in a lake!

TJ: You were lucky to have a LAKE! There were a hundred and sixty of us living in a small shoebox in the middle of the road.

MP: Cardboard box?

TJ: Aye.

MP: You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, our Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!

GC: Luxury. We used to have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, go to work at the mill every day for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were LUCKY!

TJ: Well we had it tough. We used to have to get up out of the shoebox at twelve o'clock at night, and LICK the road clean with our tongues. We had half a handful of freezing cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at the mill for fourpence every six years, and when we got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a bread knife.

EI: Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, (pause for laughter), drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us, and dance about on our graves singing 'Hallelujah.'

MP: But you try and tell the young people today that... and they won't believe ya'.

ALL: Nope, nope..

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

THE SHEARER'S WIFE

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Thomas Louis Buvelot Esson (1878 – 1943) was an Australian poet, journalist, critic and playwright.

Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, following his father’s death, he and his mother moved to Australia when he was three years old. Esson attended Melbourne University where he majored in English and French. Unhappy with Australian literary scene, he left and travelled to France, England and Ireland. While he was in Ireland, he was encouraged to return to Australia and start writing Australian material. He began by writing poetry. However, it was short stories and plays that he would later turn his keen writing ability. Today Louis Esson is considered the father of modern Australian drama.

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The following poem is another illustration and reminder of the difficult lives of the Australian pioneering women, who not only had to raise and care for families but who also had to keep the homesteads running whilst their menfolk were off droving, shearing and working away from home.

How easy for us city folk in today’s age, in comparison.

Notes:

First published 1910.

dree = to endure

stook = a group of sheaves of grain which have been placed in a field standing upright so as to enable the heads to dry

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THE SHEARERS WIFE

Before the glare o’ dawn I rise

To milk the sleepy cows, an’ shake

The droving dust from tired eyes,

Look round the rabbit traps, then bake

The children’s bread.

There’s hay to stook, an’ beans to hoe,

An’ ferns to cut in the scrub below,

Women must work, when men must go

Shearing from shed to shed.

I patch an’ darn, now evening comes,

An’ tired I am with labour sore,

Tired o’ the bush, the cows, the gums,

Tired, but we must dree for long months more

What no tongue tells.

The moon is lonely in the sky,

Lonely the bush, an’ lonely I

Stare down the track no horse draws nigh,

An’ start . . . at the cattle bells.

Louis Esson

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

Punday

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John Oliver has a low opinion of puns, having said “I think puns are not just the lowest form of wit, but the lowest form of human behavior.” Another comment by him: “The moment I accept that there's an artistic, redeeming quality in puns, I have a horrible feeling I'll get hooked.”

Contrast this with Alfred Hirchcock’s comment: “Puns are the highest form of literature.”

I am an unashamed devotee of puns, so will let Edgar Allen Poe have the last word: “Of puns it has been said that those who most dislike them are those who are least able to utter them.”

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I mention the above because friend and colleague Vince C sent me a serious of pic panels that was headed For Mature Music Lovers Only . . .

My guess is that the reference to ‘mature’ refers to age, the music references likely not being known to young people.

Thanks, Vince.

Here is Vince’s contribution . . .

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---------oOo---------

I can’t let the punning go without adding the following . . .

Arnold Schwarzenegger was working in a record store. A woman asked him where she could find the Brandenburg concertos. He told her "Aisle B, Bach."

________________

Steven Spielberg was busy discussing his new action adventure about famous classical composers. Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger were in the room.

“Who do you want to play?” Spielberg asked Bruce Willis.

“I’ve always been a big fan of Chopin,” said Bruce. “I’ll play him.”

“And you, Sylvester?” asked Spielberg.

“Mozart’s the one for me!” said Sly.

“And what about you?” Spielberg asked Arnold Schwarzenegger.

“I’ll be Bach,” said Arnie.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

CONTINUING: PULITZER AND WORLD PRESS PHOTOS OF THE YEAR

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Background:

Pulitzer Prizes for Photography:

Between 1942 and 1967 a Pulitzer Prize for Photography was awarded for photojournalism, that is, for photographs telling a news story. In 1968 that award was replaced by awards in two new categories:

• the Pulitzer Prize for Spot News Photography (photography in the nature of breaking news, as it has been called since 2000); and

• the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Photography (human interest and matters associated with new items).

World Press Photo of the Year:

From 1955 World Press Photo has awarded prizes for the best photographs in 10 categories, with an overall award for the image that "... is not only the photojournalistic encapsulation of the year, but represents an issue, situation or event of great journalistic importance, and does so in a way that demonstrates an outstanding level of visual perception and creativity".

The photographs are interesting not only in their own right but for being windows on history.

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Comment:

Press photographers, like journalists and reporters, are a breed apart – on the one hand, they bring to the attention of the public the items that are poignant, sad, horrific, whilst apparently remaining detached from what they are photographing and writing about. At what stage does it become voyeuristic and invasive?  When is it too much? Witness, for example, the photographs crushed against the wire in the 1989 Hillsborough tragedy when 97 Liverpool football fans lost their lives:

Recall also Kevin Carter's Pulitzer Prize–winning photograph of a starving Sudanese child and a vulture waiting in the background. The child survived. Carter didn’t – he took his own life 4 months after winning the Pulitzer.  Sometimes it takes a toll on the journos as well.

I mention this because the 1996 Pulitzer Prize in Spot News Photography, the next item in this continuing series, is particularly harrowing.

I was tempted to post a link to the photograph (as I had done with the Pulitzer winning photographs by Paul Watson of a dead American soldier being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu) but ultimately I felt that the photograph deserved to be posted.

---------oOo---------

Award: Pulitzer Prize for Spot News Photography

Year: 1996

Photographer: Charles Porter IV

Photograph:

For his haunting photographs, taken after the Oklahoma City bombing and distributed by the Associated Press, showing a one-year-old victim handed to and then cradled by a local fireman.  The photograph came to symbolise the lives lost in the deadliest act of homegrown terrorism in U.S. history.

Comments:

From:

https://durhammuseum.org/history-through-pulitzer-oklahoma-city-bombing/

The Story Behind the Photo

On the morning of April 19, 1995, Charles Porter IV was working in the loan department of Liberty Bank in Oklahoma City when a massive explosion jolted his office. “To me, it was a sonic boom,” said Porter. “We looked out the window and we saw this big brown cloud of debris and dust.” A photographer in his spare time, Porter grabbed his camera from the trunk of his car and rushed to the scene. The Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building looked like a war zone. Broken glass littered the street. Rescue workers pulled bodies from the rubble. Bleeding victims staggered from the wreckage. The entire front of the building was gone. “It was just like it had been shaved off,” said Porter. Out of the corner of his eye, Porter saw a police officer hand something to a firefighter. “I didn’t know what he was carrying,” he said. “The next frame I took was the fireman holding this infant.” The bombing killed 168 people. Among the dead were 19 children, including 1-year-old Baylee Almon, the girl in the photo.

Further comments:

• The Oklahoma City Bombing is one of the deadliest acts of domestic terrorism in U.S. history.

• It was carried out by an American, Timothy McVeigh.

• A Gulf War veteran, McVeigh sought revenge against the federal government for the 1993 Waco siege as well as the 1992 Ruby Ridge incident and American foreign policy. He hoped to inspire a revolution against the federal government, and defended the bombing as a legitimate tactic against what he saw as a tyrannical government. He was arrested shortly after the bombing and indicted on 160 state offenses and 11 federal offenses, including the use of a weapon of mass destruction. He was found guilty on all counts in 1997 and sentenced to death. McVeigh was executed by lethal injection on June 11, 2001.

• Timothy McVeigh and his accomplices detonated a truck containing 2300 kilograms of explosives near the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City on 19 April 1995. The blast killed 168 people, including 19 children under the age of 6, and injured more than 800 people. It also destroyed 324 buildings and 86 cars. A total damage of $652 million was estimated because of this explosion.

• Porter’s photograph became iconic and is most associated with the event. After the bomb detonation, firefighters and locals were rummaging through the debris in hope to find survivors. Police sergeant John Avera located Baylee Almon’s tiny and half-burned body and shouted “I have a critical infant! I have a critical infant!”. He gave the one-year old baby to the Oklahoma City fire Captain, Chris Fields but the baby could not be saved. He died in a hospital located near the site of explosion.

• Exactly 3 months after McVeigh’s execution on June 11, 2001, the September 11 attacks took place.

• In May 1995, whatever was left of the Murrah building was demolished for the safety reasons. Now a national memorial stands at that site

The Field of Empty Chairs, east Gate of Time, and Reflecting Pool at the Oklahoma City National Memorial. The Survivor Tree is visible in the upper left corner.

• Survivor Tree: an American elm on the north side of the Memorial that was heavily damaged by the bomb, but survived. Hundreds of seeds from the Survivor Tree are planted annually and the resulting saplings are distributed each year on the anniversary of the bombing. Thousands of Survivor Trees are growing in public and private places all over the U.S.
• 
  

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QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 

FUNNY FRIDAY

---- 😊😊😊 -----

A varied collection today, folks, hopefully some will raise a smile.

---- 😊😊😊 -----

SOME HUMOUR:

__________

At a girls' boarding school, a WW2 flying ace has been invited to give the Prize Day address.

"I was flying along in my Spitfire, and visibility was poor, but all of a sudden the fog lifted, and I saw these fokkers coming up behind me. I dived on them and shot two of the fokkers down, then did a quick roll, but there was a little fokker right on my tail, and I had to ..."

At this point, the Headmistress intervenes. "Girls, Fokker was a manufacturer of aircraft, used by the Luftwaffe."

"Very true, ma'am!" says the RAF pilot. "But these fokkers were Messerschmitts."

__________

A correction in respect of the above:

Fokkers were used in WWI as they were tri-planes.

The Focke-Wulf 190 however was one of the most notable German aircraft of the Second World War.

__________

Apparently the person in the above story was reputed to be Douglas ‘Tin Legs’ Bader. On being asked, Bader said that it was not he who had spoken the above words but he wished that it had been.

__________

Arriving, on invitation, to meet a group of ex Luftwaffe pilots and upon entering the room, Bader said “My god, I had no idea we left so many of you bastards alive!"

__________

By the way:

In 1943 Wing Commander Guy Gibson was on a PR tour of the United States with Churchill. He attended a press briefing, and this was at a time when the first US airmen were coming home after completing a tour of 25 missions.

The story goes the US press corp were bigging up their hero boys, 25 missions over Nazi Germany, such heroic feats of stalwart endurance and bravery. Apparently, one reporter not realising who Gibson was, thinking he was just a PR face, asked, "and Wing Commander, how many missions have you been on?"

His answer of "174" apparently stunned the room to silence.

Guy Gibson led the "Dam Busters" raid in 1943, resulting in the breaching of two large dams in the Ruhr area of Germany. Awarded the Victoria Cross, he was the most highly decorated British serviceman at that time. Sadly, he was killed in action in 1944 at the age of 26.

Guy Gibson

__________

Daughter: "Mum, I'm dating the neighbour"

Mother: "But he could be your father..."

Daughter: "Age doesn't count for me, Mum!"

Mother:" I don't think you understand..."

__________

Ma was in the kitchen fiddling around when she hollers out...

"Pa you need to go out and fix the outhouse!"

Pa replies, "There ain't nuthin' wrong with it."

Ma yells back, "Yes there is; now git out there and fix it."

So.......Paw mosies out to the outhouse, looks around, and yells back,

"Ma there ain't nuthin' wrong with this outhouse honey! "

Ma replies, "Stick yur head in the hole!"

Pa yells back, "I ain't stickin' my head in that hole!"

Ma says, "Ya have to stick yur head in the hole to see what to fix."

So with that, Pa sticks his head in the hole, looks around, and yells back,

"Ma - dadgummit there ain't nuthin' wrong with this outhouse!"

Ma hollers back, "Now take your head outta da hole!"

Pa proceeds to pull his head out of the hole, and then starts yelling,

"Ma - Help! My beard is stuck in the cracks in the toilet seat!"

To which Ma replies, "Hurts, don't it?"

---- 😊😊😊 -----

A man is driving down the road and his car breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, "My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?" The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound. A sound unlike anything he's ever heard before. The Sirens that nearly seduced Odysseus into crashing his ship comes to his mind. He doesn't sleep that night. He tosses and turns trying to figure out what could possibly be making such a seductive sound. The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, "We can't tell you. You're not a monk." Distraught, the man is forced to leave. Years later, after never being able to forget that sound, the man goes back to the monastery and pleads for the answer again. The monks reply, "We can't tell you. You're not a monk." The man says, "If the only way I can find out what is making that beautiful sound is to become a monk, then please, make me a monk." The monks reply, "You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of grains of sand. When you find these answers, you will have become a monk." The man sets about his task. After years of searching he returns as a grey-haired old man and knocks on the door of the monastery. A monk answers. He is taken before a gathering of all the monks. "In my quest to find what makes that beautiful sound, I travelled the earth and have found what you asked for: By design, the world is in a state of perpetual change. Only God knows what you ask. All a man can know is himself, and only then if he is honest and reflective and willing to strip away self deception." The monks reply, "Congratulations. You have become a monk. We shall now show you the way to the mystery of the sacred sound." The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, "The sound is beyond that door." The monks give him the key, and he opens the door. Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone. The man is given the key to the stone door and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby. And so it went that he needed keys to doors of emerald, pearl and diamond. Finally, they come to a door made of solid gold. The sound has become very clear and definite. The monks say, "This is the last key to the last door." The man is apprehensive to no end. His life's wish is behind that door! With trembling hands, he unlocks the door, turns the knob, and slowly pushes the door open. Falling to his knees, he is utterly amazed to discover the source of that haunting and seductive sound......But, of course, I can't tell you what it is because you're not a monk.

---- 😊😊😊 -----

LIMERICK OF THE WEEK:

A book and a jug and a dame,

And a nice cosy nook for the same.

‘And I don’t care a damn,’

Said Omar Khayyam,

‘What you say, It’s a great little game.’

Original verse:
“Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.”
― Omar Khayyám, Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Khayyam (1048-1131) was a Persian polymath, mathematician, philosopher, astronomer, physician, and poet.

---- 😊😊😊 -----

GALLERY:

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LAW & LAWYERS

A court hearing a case about theft in a major company. . . 

Judge: Witness Sawyer, are you aware what awaits you in case of false testimony?

Secretary: Yes, Your Honour, the boss was saying something about ten thousand dollars and a mink fur coat.

---- 😊😊😊 -----

CORN CORNER:

__________

Shocking to hear about Russell Brand, isn't it?

I had no idea he was a comedian.

__________

Someone has suggested that newspaper reports should refer to him as "Alleged comedian Russell Brand . . . "

__________

I had to go to the doctor's today...

...and he asked me what he said were routine questions...

He asked, "Do you drink?"

I said I do.

He said, "Do you smoke?"

I said a little bit, mainly when I drink.

He leaned in and said, "And do you do drugs?"

I shamefully admitted that, well, yeah, I do.

He sat back, looked me dead in the eyes and said, "Wanna hang out on Friday?"

---- 😊😊😊 -----

QUOTE FOR THE DAY

 "To Yossarian, the idea of pennants as prizes was absurd. No money went with them, no class privileges. Like Olympic medals and tennis trophies, all they signified was that the owner had done something of no benefit to anyone more capably than everyone else."

- Joseph Heller, Catch-22

EXTRACT

From Catch 22

by Joseph Heller (1923-1999)

“'And don't tell me God works in mysterious ways,' Yossarian continued, hurtling on over her objection. 'There is nothing so mysterious about it. He's not working at all. He's playing. Or else He's forgotten all about us. That's the kind of God you people talk about - a country bumpkin, a clumsy, bungling, brainless, conceited, uncouth hayseed. Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include such phenomena as phlegm and tooth decay in His divine system of creation? What in the world was running through that warped, evil, scatalogical mind of His when He robbed old people of the power to control their bowel movements? Why in the world did He ever create pain?'

“'You'd better not talk that way about Him, honey,' she warned him reprovingly in a low and hostile voice. 'He might punish you.'

'Isn't He punishing me enough?' Yossarian snorted resentfully. 'You know, we mustn't let him get away with it. Oh no, we certainly mustn't let Him get away scot-free for all the sorrow He's caused us. Someday I'm going to make Him pay. I know when. On the Judgment Day. Yes, that's the day I'll be close enough to reach out and grab that little yokel by His neck and -'

'Stop it! Stop it!'

'What the hell are you getting so upset about?' he asked her bewilderedly in a tone of contrite amusement. 'I thought you didn't believe in God.'

'I don't,' she sobbed, bursting violently into tears. 'But the God I don't believe in is a good God, a just God, a merciful God. He's not the mean and stupid God you make him out to be.'

Yossarian laughed and turned her arms loose. 'Let's have a little more religious freedom between us,' he proposed obligingly. 'You don't believe in a God you want to, and I won't believe in a God I want to. Is that a deal?'”