A Matter of Scale

The weight of the world. Recently, while weighing in on the relative merits of legal tender, the tipping point of the scale went increasingly askew as I piled shillings and farthings on the downwind side of my argument. The balancing act went even farther south under the weight of converted currency expressed as pounds, casting grave doubt on the ounce of prevention that once cured a host of pecuniary ills, when all that glittered was gold.

China, of course, altered the landscape, requiring fumigation of the inflationary hedges planted among the beanstalks and cornrows of our youth, leaving precious little for lice to do in the wee hours of the morning but dishes, cups, and saucers, for they have not forgotten what it means to eat their words.

This is where Whitley Strieber's implant comes in, propelled by the enhanced propagation afforded by dawn's early light over the Fort Complex, to name but three. Still, illuminating the true colors of the entities in question is best answered on other wavelengths, where prying ears find only static amid the noise of their midsummer night's dream.

Less to the point, if a pound of farthings is worth two in the bush, how many shills does it take to unscrew the heads of the many when the tip of the iceberg is made of lettuce?



  1. Jeff, are you using the word blender on "puree" again?

  2. Tom, you read me like a book. At the same time, there just might be Googleworthy phrases in this one that just might illuminate solid matter at the bottom of the blender.