Today, Diane introduced me to her best friend Chad. He wore flip-flops, a pair of torn jeans, and a shirt with the words ‘The Department of Redundancy Department’. I couldn’t help but notice that he bore a striking resemblance to Ernest Hemingway, if Hemingway were Asian, clean-shaven, weighed less than 95 pounds and walked around strung out on marijuana. Chad was a man of impeccable logic. Every time he flew on an airplane he hid homemade explosives in his bag because he read that the probability of two random passengers sneaking a bomb unto the same plane was infinitely small.
Chad wowed Diane and I with his sailing adventures. During his most recent voyage he smashed his sailboat into a large rock in the middle of the English Channel, a feat that required great skill considering there aren’t any large rocks in the middle of the English Channel. Later, Diane asked me what I thought of Chad. I told her the truth; that he seemed quite clever, although I wasn’t sure I agreed with his claim that no painting could be considered art unless the painter wore polka-dot socks at the time of its composition.
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