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Nearly Relevant
Nonsense, Fiction, and Miscellaneous Things

"I'm building a New Hope." said the lead contractor.  " Set up the scaffolding and bring some wooden planks."

"Yes boss. What size of planks boss? 2 x 4 or  4 x 2?"

"2 x 4.  I'm building a New Hope.  If I were building a New Tyranny then I'd need 4 x 2."

" . . . a million dollars!"

"That's correct.  Congratulations, glad I could help.  NEXT!"

I walk onto the  stage over to the table at which I and the appraiser will sit.  "Hello." I say.

"Please, sit down." he replies. 

I pull the chair out to allow myself to sit down and then I sit down.

"You are?"


 Welcome 'G'.  What have we got here?" 

"Well, it's an antique  - we're hoping .  Ha, ha!!"   I laugh inappropriately and accidentally drool on to the table at the thought that the antique might be worth millions of dollars.   "Oh, excuse me." I say.  I effect a simulacrum of composure.

"That's perfectly alright.  I've seen bigger puddles of drool.  Go on." 

"Well, it's an old kerosene lamp.    It's got some rust on it . . . obviously.  The glass which encompasses the wick is hazy with age and has some scratches.  We think it dates to about the 1950's or 40's.  It came from an attic of an old house."

 "Well, it certainly is interesting.  The rust would give it some character which many investors and collectors appreciate, so I don't think you lose any value on that score.  How long have you been in possession of it?" 

" About 10 or 15 years."

"Well 'G' I'm glad to inform you that for 10 or 15 years you've been quite rich."

"You're kidding!" I say.

 "No sir, I'm not kidding.  What you have there is a 1919 Rogers Hornsby baseball trading card valued at 1.2 million dollars."  The appraiser smiles and let's the emotion of the moment speak for itself.

"I can't  believe it.  I was hoping it would be worth something, but  THAT MUCH . . . I'm flabbergasted!  Hesitantly, I say,  "But It does look like an old kerosene lamp . .  doesn't it?"

" Well, yes it does, but I've been an appraiser for about fifty years and I can tell you that what you've got there is a  trading card of the baseball player
Rogers Hornsby,  worth about 1.7 million dollars." 

"1.7 million dollars?  I thought you said 1.2 million?"

"Not a minute goes by in which these things don't increase in value."

"I can hardly believe it."

"Well, congratulations young man.  Glad I could help.  NEXT!"

"If you'll please keep your eye on the beaker to the right.  I am now going . . ."

"No! . . . There is no beaker to the right.  This is a blogpost not a chemical experiment."

"Ma'am, if there is no beaker to the right, then into what am I supposed to pour this chemical solution?"

"I don't care what you pour it into.  There is no beaker to the right.  This is stupid."

"I beg to differ ma'am but I am holding here a test tube containing a chemical solution and off to the right is a beaker into which I intend to  . . . carefully . . . pour this solution."

"There is neither a solution nor any beaker.  There is a table of some kind on which you're typing this nonsense and who knows what, . . . probably a window or wall to the right.  This is ridiculous!"

I pause and survey the area around me.  "Well, it appears you are correct ma'am.  Folks, if you'll please take a break of  . . .oh . . . about 15 minutes, I'll get the experiment set up and we can
then continue."

"There will be no experiment, you're an idiot!" says the lady.

"Ma'am You're going to have to calm down.  I can no longer tolerate you're certainty regarding the matter."

She faints. 

"G,  Phil Tomlinson Homeland Security."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Tomlinson.  How can I help you?"

That was quite an impressive handling of what we might call . . . 'a can of worms'.  We would be honored to hire you."

Well. certainly, certainly.  I understand entirely.   If I could finish the experiment, then I can get right to work on this 'can of worms' of yours. 

"Excellent idea 'G'. "

The lady remains prone but raises her head and shoulders off the floor, directing an aside to the blog audience, "They're both idiots.", then, again, settles back into prone.

Phil faints.

I say, "I thought you said your name was Tomlinson, Phil Tomlinson?"

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