Coincidance - Principia Discordia

228 COINCIDANCE
falcons for breakfast and would hold this territory until the magpies learned
to dance the pavanne and hell froze over. European robins, Seamus thought,
were more tactful. Across the garden, a crow laughed derisively and
muttered a few animadversions about upstart braggarts.
"Well, then go shit in thy hat," a medical orderly shouted in the kitchen.
"And clap it on thy head for curls."
"I saw something stranger than a falling rock from heaven once,"
Washington said. "I was working as a surveyor for the colonial government.
I was alone in the woods for months and months. You get a bit ah fanciful
sometimes when you are alone too long. But I saw something more
remarkable than your falling rock, and I believed it."
"I understand, General, You decided to trust yourself instead of popular
notions of what's real and what's unreal."
"Yes."
The robin announced that he was moving to a more salubrious climate
and flew off. The crow raucously told him not to hurry his return.
"You wouldn't care to talk about it, General?" Seamus asked softly.
"You should probably think me mad. But this event is why you are a
Colonel today."
"Because I trusted myself instead of popular opinions. Is that what you
mean, General?"
"That is what I mean, Colonel. Go on trusting yourself. We must meet
and talk on other occasions."
General Washington walked off, aloof, gigantic, enigmatic again. Until
Polyphemus escapes from the Odyssey and comes knocking at my door,
Seamus thought, that man will serve as the most desperate character I ever
encountered. You have been programmed. You see it looking at you, kid.
Major Strasse gets a pile of horse manure and is delighted. Bernard rejects
the circular friction, thinking "smoke and mirrors" must utilize and be
functionally interwoven with kiddy porn.
The plumbing in their buildings wasn't pig iron so it will never rise again.
In Paris, what happened next was liquid wrench functionally interwoven
with French Canadian Bean Soup in a news-reel clip on the screen. Vote for
Independence.
The fat boy—Louis XVI—has been persuaded to grant amnesty to the
aging heretic (Arouet de Voltaire is now 82) by the ever-persuasive M.
Sartines. It is a shrewd move. The Church fumes and fulminates, but the
people at large have fallen in love with the old man who exiled in
Switzerland for decades, has kept up a continuous polemic against all the
abuses of the feudal system. When the old atheist or deist (nobody in France
is very clear about the difference) arrives in Paris, the scene is like a Cecil de
Mille spectacle two centuries in advance. Mother is the best bet with all