The Parable of the Mosaic on the Stairs

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why is it that once they are elected, officials so often think of those who elected them as adversaries?”

Josh spoke thus:

A contractor was giving a client a tour of the newly completed work the contractor had done.

“You will notice the stairs,” the contractor said, “Per your instructions, the stairs are tiled.  Per your instructions, the tiles are mosaic tiles.  Per your instructions, the tiles depict the story of The Little Mermaid.  You can see the plot unfold, step by step.”

The contractor beckoned for the client to examine the stairs.

“Here, on the first step,” contractor said, “You can see that the Little Mermaid is in the sea.  She is looking at a ship.”

The Little Mermaid on the first step was indeed in the sea and was indeed looking at a ship.

“Here on the second step,” the contractor said, “You can see that the prince is on the ship.  The Little Mermaid is here, in the corner, gazing at the prince.”

The client saw the Little Mermaid gazing at the prince.

“Here is the Little Mermaid making her bargain, on the third step,” the contractor said, “And on the fourth step the Little Mermaid has legs and is stepping out of the sea.”

The fourth step was a masterpiece of tile work, the client saw.  The surf from which the Little Mermaid was stepping was almost three dimensional in its depiction.

The fairy tale unfolded step by step, as promised, until on the final step, the Little Mermaid sat gazing out to sea, looking just like the statue of the Little Mermaid in Copenhagen harbor.  The steps were plotted according to the original tale, without the happy ending Disney tacked on.  The client was fond of the Disney ending, but the ending of the tale was not the client’s principal concern.

“It’s astounding work,” the client said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such fine mosaic.  But the Little Mermaid seems a little out of place for stairs to a treehouse.”

“I thought so too,” the contractor said, “But, you know, the customer is always right.  You wanted The Little Mermaid, so  The Little Mermaid is what I made.”

“I appreciate that,” the client said, “But I must ask you, if the client is always right, why was it that when I asked you to build me a swimming pool with The Little Mermaid on the stairs, you built me a treehouse with The Little Mermaid on the stairs?”

The contractor replied, “I’ve always wanted a treehouse.”

The Parable of Two Soldiers in a Trench

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, which is more pacifying, mutual assured destruction or mutual economic dependence?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two soldiers were sitting in a trench.  An artillery shell passed loudly overhead.  The two soldiers hunched down, waiting for the explosion and the complementary earth shudder.  Afterwards, they sat waiting for the next shell.

“It’s not much of a shelling,” one soldier said.

“I think they’re finding their range,” the second soldier said, “Preparing for the regular shelling.”

“I’m not a fan of this preliminary shelling,” the first soldier said, “It’s irregular.  It keeps me on edge.”

“Would you prefer a full bombardment?” the second soldier asked.

“I’d prefer no bombardment at all,” the first soldier said.

“They’re not going to attack with no bombardment at all,” the second soldier said, “Every attack needs a preparatory shelling.”

“If it’s a shelling contest, what do they need us for?” the first soldier asked, “Why don’t our artillery and their artillery settle the whole thing between them?  Why do we have to get shelled?  This war could be settled by how many shells each side has, and who has the biggest cannons.  Soldiers are obsolete.”

“In that case, why bother with even the shelling?” the second soldier said, “If it’s a case of who’s got the biggest gun and who’s got the most bombs, can’t they just stick their cannons next to each other, and fire out into the fields?  Whoever shoots the farthest and the longest wins.”

“Theoretically, they don’t even need to shoot the guns,” the first soldier said, “It comes down to industry.  Whoever can make the most shells and guns the quickest wins.  It’s supply and demand.  Or just supply.”

“If it’s an industrial struggle, then wouldn’t we be more valuable back home, making bombs?” the second soldier said.

“Why does it have to be bombs?” the first soldier said, “Why can’t it be automobiles?  Whoever builds the most and fastest automobiles wins.”

“What use are automobiles?” the second soldier asked, “Nobody could use that many automobiles.”

“What should we make then?” the first soldier asked.

“Houses,” the second soldier said, “Houses, and bridges.”

“There wouldn’t be room,” the first soldier said, “There’s a limit to the houses and bridges a country needs.”

“A country, yes,” the second soldier said, “But the world?”

“So instead of blowing each other up, we build roads and bridges and houses around the world?” the first soldier asked.

“If we’re going to spend all that money,” the second soldier said, “Then why not put it to good use?”

“And what does the winner get?” the second soldier asked.

“The whole world gets what it needs,” the first soldier said.

“A world war everyone wins!” the second soldier said.

“If everyone wins, it’s not a war,” the first soldier said, “Somebody has to win a war.”

“In which case, better us than them,” the second soldier said. 

Another shell passed overhead, this one headed towards the enemy’s trenches.

Both soldiers shouted, “Unleash the dogs of war!”

The Parable of the House Beside the Rising River

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, isn’t pumping water into our bedrock while fracking going to destabilize the bedrock?”

Josh spoke thus:

A family needed dirt to fill sandbags.  The family needed sandbags because the river next to which the family lived was close to overflowing its banks.  The river was close to overflowing its banks because of a torrential rain.

The family needed dirt to fill sandbags because their house was threatened by the rising river.  The family needed sandbags because their house was threatened by the rains flowing from the rocky hills.  

The family lacked accessible dirt because the house was built at the foot of the rocky hills.  The rocky hills, being rocky hills, lacked accessible dirt.  

The one spot that had accessible dirt was the space on which the house itself stood.  The head of the household pointed out to the family that the only accessible dirt was the space on which the house itself stood.

“To save the house,” the head of the household said, “We will have to dig around the house.

The household began to dig around the house.  The whole in the narrow strip of dirt that surrounded the walls of the house was soon two-feet deep.

“See?” the head of the household said, “We have dirt surrounding the house, and that dirt is filling the sandbags.  The dirt we are digging from around the house will save the house.”

As the family continued to dig, and the family continued to fill sandbags, the ditch around the house became deeper.  The wall of sandbags grew taller.  However, since the perimeter of the wall of sandbags was greater than the perimeter of the house, the ditch deepened faster than the wall of sandbags grew.

All the time that the digging continued, and all the time that the wall of sandbags rose, the rain continued.  All the time the digging continued, and all the time the wall of sandbags rose, the river came nearer to bursting its banks.  All the time the digging continued, and all the time the wall of sandbags rose, water continued to cascade down the rocky hills.  And all the time the digging continued and all the time the wall of sandbags rose, the rain fell into the ditch around the house.

“We need more dirt than the ditch around the house can provide,” the head of the household said, “We need to dig under the house.”

In search of more dirt than the ditch could provide, in order to fill the sandbags that comprised the wall whose perimeter was greater than the perimeter of the ditch around the house, the wall that stopped the rising waters of the river and that stopped the cascading water from the rocky hills, the household dug beneath the house.

The rain continued to fall, the household continued to dig beneath the house, the river waters continued to swell, the wall of sandbags continued to rise, the water from the rocky hills continued to cascade.

The rain continued to fall.

The rain continued to fall.

The rain continued to fall.

The household continued to dig.

The household continued to dig.

The household continued to dig.

The house fell onto the household, crushing them all.

When the rain ceased, the house was found lying in its sinkhole.  The family were never found.

“They should have stuck around,” the neighbors said, “They left just before the rains stopped.”

The Parable of the Animal Trainer and the Rogue Elephant

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, is it possible to so rig the conditions an election that the populace becomes acclimated and docile?”

Josh spoke thus:

A circus was traveling through a village.  The animal trainer from the circus heard that there was a rogue elephant threatening the village.

“An elephant, you say!” the animal trainer said, “I am an expert in training elephants.  I’ll subdue that elephant.”

The village elders thanked the animal trainer for his offer and told him that the rogue elephant was in the forest east of the village.

“To the east is a good place for a rogue elephant to be,” the animal trainer said to the villagers as the animal trainer and the animal trainer’s assistant headed out of the village, followed by a crowd from the village.

“Why is to the east a good place?” the animal trainer’s assistant whispered to the animal trainer.

“It’s better than in the village,” the animal trainer whispered to the animal trainer’s assistant, “Otherwise, east is no different from any other direction.  But the villagers don’t know that, and saying anything about anything the villagers don’t know makes me sound smarter than the villagers.”

“So the villagers are like elephants,” the animal trainer’s assistant whispered.

“How so?” the animal trainer asked.

“Well, the villagers are conditioned to believe that an animal trainer knows more than they know about elephants,” the animal trainer’s assistant said, “So when you say that to the east is a good direction, they are conditioned to believe that what you say is true.  So for the rest of their lives they will believe that east of the village is a good place for a rogue elephant to be.”

“How does that make the villagers like elephants?” the animal trainer asked.

“Well, we do the same thing with an elephant,” the assistant animal trainer said, “When the elephant is young, we attach it to a giant spike that it can’t move.  The elephant is conditioned at a young age to believe that any spike will hold it, and so when the elephant is older, we only need to put a small spike into the ground, and the elephant will believe it can’t move.  It’s conditioning.  The crowd believes east is a good place for a rogue elephant, the elephant believes that a small spike renders it immobile.”

“I’ve taught you well,” the animal trainer said with a smile.  The animal trainer and the animal trainer’s assistant were now near the forest.  “And the reinforcement will be stronger when the elephant we placed in these woods to the east of the village is as docile as a mouse.  We’ve conditioned it to be so.  We are heroes, we are rewarded handsomely, and the village has a new belief in the power that is the area east of their village.  It’s conditioning!”

The animal trainer’s assistant blew a trumpet, and an elephant emerged from the forest.  The animal trainer turned to crowd and said, “Behold the animal trainer’s craft!”

“Master,” the animal trainer’s assistant asked, “What happens when the elephant doesn’t believe what you’ve conditioned the elephant to believe?”

“That’s never happened,” the animal trainer said, bowing theatrically at the crowd.

“Well this might be the first time,” the animal trainer’s assistant said.

“Why’s that?” the animal trainer asked, bowing again at the crowd.

“Because that’s not our elephant,” the animal trainer’s assistant said, “You’re the expert.  What do we do?”

“We do what any animal trainer and animal trainer’s assistant do in this situation,” the animal trainer said, “We’re highly trained.  We know exactly what to do in a situation like this.”

“Which is?” the animal trainer’s assistant asked.

The animal trainer replied, “We run!”

The Parable of the Elderly Observer

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, are we being so inundated by progress that we are losing the now?”

Josh spoke thus:

An elderly observer was appalled.

“Where is the remote control?” the elderly observer asked, “I want to change the channel.”

The elderly observer was informed that the elderly observer could not change the channel.

“That’s what they always say,” the elderly person said, “That’s what they said when the Russians invaded Ethiopia.  That’s what they said when the Nazis laid siege to Vienna.  That’s what they said when the Chinese bombed Saigon.”

The elderly observer was informed that the Russians had not invaded Ethiopia, that the Nazis had never laid siege to Vienna, that the Chinese had never bombed Saigon.

“And I suppose the Sherman never marched to the sea,” the elderly observer said, “That Grant never encircled Vicksburg, that Lee never invaded Pennsylvania.”

The points were conceded that Sherman had marched to the sea, that Grant had encircled Vicksburg and that Lee had invaded Pennsylvania.

“That’s right!” the elderly observer said, “Lee invaded Pennsylvania.  Don’t tell me I don’t know Lee invaded Pennsylvania.  And don’t tell me Castro didn’t invade Cuba.”

Castro’s invasion of Cuba was not questioned.

“They won’t tell you we gave Castro guns,” the elderly observer said, “Even though it was unconstitutional without a declaration of war.  There hasn’t been a declaration of war since Pearl Harbor.

“And now,” the elderly observer continued, “We’ve got the Chinese coming, and the Indians, and the Mexicans and the Jews.”

The elderly observer was asked whether there was a war against the Chinese, the Indians, the Mexicans and the Jews.

“There ought to be!” the elderly observer said, “They’ve got China and India and Mexico and the Middle East.  We just spent ten years cleaning up the Middle East.  Now they’re bringing their wars here from the Middle East.  There hasn’t been a war declared since Pearl Harbor.”

The elderly observer was asked who was bringing the war from the Middle East.  The elderly observer was asked whether it was the Chinese, the Indians, the Mexicans or the Jews who were bringing the war.

“All of them!” the elderly observer said, “We need to build our fences!  We need no amnesty!  We need voter identification!  And we need to change the channel!”

The elderly observer was again informed that the elderly observer could not change the channel.

“I want to change the channel!” the elderly observer said, “Why can’t I change the channel?”

The elderly observer was informed that the reason that the elderly observer could not change the channel was that the elderly observer was not observing a television, but rather that the elderly observer was observing out a window.

The elderly observer replied, “Then close the curtains.  I hate it when it rains.”

The Parable of the Family at the Ice Cream Parlor

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how fine is the line between the responsibility for judicial review and the liberty of judicial activism?”

Josh spoke thus:

A family walked into an ice cream parlor.

“Okay,” the patriarch of the family said, “What do we want?”

The oldest child said, “I want pistachio!”

The matriarch of the family said, “You can’t have pistachio.”

The second-oldest child said, “I want Rocky Road!”

The matriarch of the family said, “You can’t have Rocky Road.”

The youngest child said, “I want raspberry ripple!”

The matriarch of the family said, “You can’t have raspberry ripple.”

“Why can’t I have pistachio?” the oldest child asked.

“Why can’t I have Rocky Road?” the second-oldest child asked.

“Why can’t I have raspberry ripple?” the youngest child asked.

“You have to vote,” the matriarch of the family said.

“But they don’t like pistachio,” the oldest child said.

“They don’t like Rocky Road,” the second-oldest child said.

“They don’t like raspberry ripple,” the youngest child said.

“That’s why you have to vote,” the matriarch of the family said, “If you don’t vote and you don’t all choose the same flavor, nobody gets any ice cream.”

“If we vote, only two have to agree,” the oldest child said.

“That’s democracy,” the second-oldest child said.

“I want raspberry ripple,” the youngest child said.

“So if I say raspberry ripple, we all get raspberry ripple?” the oldest child asked.

“I don’t like raspberry ripple,” the second oldest child said.

“It’s raspberry ripple or nothing,” the oldest child said.

“We could all say Rocky Road,” the second-oldest child said.

“I want raspberry ripple,” the youngest child said.

“If I were you, I would vote vanilla,” the patriarch of the family said.

“Why vanilla?” the oldest child said.

“Because I want vanilla,” the matriarch of the family said.

“I want raspberry ripple,” the youngest child said.

“You don’t get a vote,” the second-oldest child said to the family matriarch.

“But you three all do,” the family matriarch said, “Just be careful how you vote.”

“I vote for raspberry ripple,” the oldest child said.

“I vote for raspberry ripple,” the second-oldest child said.

“I vote for vanilla,” the youngest child said.

“Thank you, honey!” the family matriarch said to the youngest child, “I love you.”

“Vanilla it is!” the family patriarch said.

“At least it’s not raspberry ripple,” the oldest child said.

“At least it’s not raspberry ripple,” the second oldest child said.

“Why can’t I haver raspberry ripple?” the youngest child asked.

The Parable of the Prime Minister and the Indian Rhinoceros

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what makes the powerful so blind to their vulnerabilities?”

Josh spoke thus:

A prime minister and the prime minister’s spouse were examining an Indian rhinoceros at the zoo.  The animal’s pen was a failed attempt to replicate the rhinoceros’s native environment, with large-leaved green plants, tropical flowers, exotic birds and what looked like a small stand of bamboo.

“They say it’s only a matter of time before the Indian rhinoceros is extinct,” the prime minister’s spouse said.  “The horn of the rhinoceros is considered able to cure impotence.”

“If its horn cures impotence, then how come the animal is going extinct?” the prime minister asked.

“There are many forces that can destroy a species,” the prime minister’s spouse said, “There is hunting.  Others who seek the power of the rhinoceros’s horn will hunt it down and kill it.  They’ll leave the carcass for the vultures, for the crows, for the dogs, for the jackals.  The hunters will leave the dead rhinoceros to bloat and rot, taking only the rhinoceros’s horn, hoping to possess the power of the rhinoceros’s horn, which in the end probably is no power at all.”

“Would it be better if they took the whole carcass?” the prime minister asked, “The rhinoceros would still be dead.  And what if the rhinoceros were to die of disease?  Then the carcass would still bloat and rot, and would still be left to the vultures, the crows, the dogs and the jackals.  In the meantime, no one would have profited from the horn.  At least this way, somebody makes some money, and this way somebody may get a medicinal benefit.”

“There is no medicinal benefit,” the prime minister’s spouse said, “The power of the rhinoceros’s horn is a myth.”

“It’s a myth I could use some of,” the prime minister said.

“And then there’s habitat loss,” the prime minister’s spouse said, “The forests are being felled.  The grasses are being razed.  The swamps are being drained.”

“But habitat loss is inevitable,” the prime minister said, “There are earthquakes, there are fires, there are floods.  Asteroids fall from the sky.  Continents collide with continents.  Seas rise, rivers recede, glaciers advance and retreat.  No species is eternal.  At least this way, we get wood from the forest, we get grain from the grasses, we get living space from the swamps.  Perhaps it is the end of the time of the rhinoceros.”

“We will follow the rhinoceros,” the prime minister’s spouse said, “We will tumble from our heights.  We will outlive our time.  We will be extinct.”

“When did the subject change from the rhinoceros to us?” the prime minister asked.

Turning to leave, the prime minister’s spouse replied, “I know about the prostitutes.  If I know about the prostitutes, others know about the prostitutes.”  The prime minister’s wife waived at the caged animal and said, “Good-bye Indian rhinoceros!”

The Parable of the Tourists on the Canyon Bridge

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, can a vivid interior life make up for a banal exterior existence, and can a vivid exterior existence balance out a banal interior life?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two tourists were looking down from the middle of a bridge that spanned a deep canyon.

“I’ll jump if you jump,” the first tourist said.

“I’ll jump if you’ll jump first,” the second tourist said.

The first tourist stood on the railing of the bridge, looking into the fast-flowing water and the rocks below.

“I think it’s easier to jump from a plane,” the first tourist said, “There’s an abstraction to jumping out of a plane, I think.  You sit in a plane and you look down, and the ground is not rock and dirt, the fields are not grass and corn, the forests are not branches and twigs and leaves.  The world is like a giant platonic ideal, not a hard surface that’s going to come up and smack you in the face with terminal velocity.”

“Terminal being the key word in that sentence,” the second tourist said, “You’re stalling.”

“I’m not stalling,” the first tourist said, “I’m just saying that by the time you jump out of the plane and feel gravity pulling at you, feel the wind rushing in your face, feel--actually feel--the world rushing up at you, it’s too late to change your mind and get back in the plane.  You’re free falling, and there’s no unfalling once you start.  There’s a sort of freedom to that.”

“A lack of choice is inevitability, not freedom,” the second tourist said, “Now stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling,” the first tourist said, “I’m just saying that there is so much more immediacy to this jump.  That is not an abstract river down there, those are not abstract rocks.  That is water you can hear, spray you can taste, dirt you can smell.  My heart is racing, I can tell you.  There’s a real sense of danger.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, danger,” the second tourist said.

“There’s a palpable sense of imminent death,” the first tourist said.

“There’s a definite possibility of imminent death,” the second tourist said, “From old age, waiting for you to jump!”

“I just want to enjoy the thrill,” the first tourist said.
“I just want to jump and go and get a beer,” the second tourist said.

“You don’t get a thrill?” the first tourist asked.

“I get a thrill from jumping, not from talking about jumping,” the second tourist said.

“That’s your problem,” the first tourist said, “You don’t appreciate the thrill.”

“You want me to appreciate the thrill?” the second tourist said, “Okay, I’ll appreciate the thrill.”

The second tourist removed his bungee harness and joined the first tourist up on the rail.

“What are you doing?” the first tourist asked.

“I’m appreciating the thrill,” the second tourist said, “We jumped out of a plane, we had a parachute.  We paraglided, we had a tether and a parachute.  We went on an African lion safari and we had a guide, an air-conditioned van we never got out of and a bored pride of lions on the other side of a clearing, sunning themselves after a meal.  Well now I’ve got no parachute, I’ve got no tether, and I’ve got no guide and no van.  I’ve got no bungee.  I’ve got me, a rail, a river and some rocks.”

“You can’t jump without the bungee!” the first tourist said.

The second tourist counted, “One.  Two.  Three!”

The second tourist pushed the first tourist off the rail.  The first tourist fell screaming into the canyon, then bounced slowly up and down, screaming the whole time.

“The idiot’s an adrenaline junky,” the second tourist said to the tour guide who came running, “Or it’s guilt for never joining up and fighting in Iraq.  Or it’s both.  I don’t care.  I just like to push.”

The Parable of the Supermoon

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how different is a Supermoon from a normal full moon?”

Josh spoke thus:

A lover and a policeman were preparing for a full moon.

“It’s not just a full moon,” the lover said, “It’s a Supermoon.”

“What’s Supermoon?” the policeman asked.

“A Supermoon is a full moon, when the moon is at its nearest to the Earth,” the lover said.

“Is it much nearer?” the policeman asked.

“Not much nearer,” the lover said, “Well, in a cosmic sense.  The moon is 200,000 miles away, after all.”

“So there won’t be much effect, then,” the policeman said.

“The tides will be a little higher,” the lover said, “But in material terms, it will be pretty much business as usual.”

“Will people be crazier?” the policeman asked.

“Crazier than a normal full moon, do you mean?” the lover asked, “That’s a myth, people going crazy at a full moon.  People don’t go crazy at a full moon.  Statistically there’s no increase in emergency room visits or arrests at a full moon.”

“Statistically that may be true,” the policeman said, “But you’ll never convince me people aren’t crazier.  Sometimes the numbers can lie.”

“So you’re saying that people are crazier at a full moon?” the lover asked.

“They don’t call them lunatics for nothing,” the policeman said, “You see, the problem with statistics is that they’re just numbers.  And numbers don’t tell the whole story.”

“How do you mean?” the lover asked.

“Well, take bar fights as a example,” the policeman said, “Say on an average night there are five bar fights in a given bar.  On a full moon, there will still be five bar fights, but the reasons for the fights will be nuttier.  Instead of fighting over a girl, say, two guys might fight over whether it should be a lemon or a lime in a gin and tonic.”

“Lime,” the lover said.

“Whatever,” the policeman said, “The point is that people get passionate over things that they normally take for granted.  The two idiots who fought over the lemon and the lime would probably have gotten into a fight anyway--people who are going to fight are going to fight--but over a lemon in a drink?  That’s idiotic.  That’s a full moon.”

“So you reckon the Supermoon will make people even more passionate than a normal full moon?” the lover asked.

“You can count on it,” the policeman said.

“Well then if you’ll excuse me,” the lover said, “I have a date with a little more passion than usual.”

“Good luck,” the policeman said.

The lover replied, “If you’re right about the Supermoon, luck won’t be necessary.”

The Parable of the Stone Circle

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, will we ever know the purpose of Stonehenge?”

Josh spoke thus:

A real estate agent and a prospective buyer were surveying a back garden.  In the back garden stood a circle of twelve stones.  Each stone was about four feet tall and slender.  There were no markings on the stones, which were partially covered in lichen.

“What does it do?” the prospective buyer asked.

“Nobody knows,” the real estate agent said.

“How long has it been here?” the prospective buyer asked.

“Nobody knows,” the real estate agent said.

“Is it some kind of sundial?” the prospective buyer asked.

“Nobody knows,” the real estate agent said.

“A calendar, maybe?” the prospective buyer said.

“Nobody knows,” the real estate agent said.

“It’s got to do something,” the prospective buyer said.

“Mostly, it scares away buyers,” the real estate agent said, “People consider it creepy.”

“Creepy?” the prospective buyer asked, “Why?”

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” the real estate agent said, “But it has a ghost.”

“A ghost?” the prospective buyer asked, “What kind of ghost?”

“An ancient ghost,” the real estate agent said.

“Like as ancient as the rocks ancient?” the prospective buyer asked.

“At least that ancient,” the real estate agent said.

“What’s the ghost look like?” the prospective buyer asked, “No, don’t tell me:  nobody knows.”

“It’s associated with the seasons,” the real estate agent said, “It appears on the equinoxes and the solstices.”

“The what?” the prospective buyer asked.

“The equinoxes are when the days and nights are of equal length,” the real estate agent said, “The beginning of spring and fall.  The solstices are the longest and shortest days of the year.  Midsummer’s Night, which is the beginning of summer, is the summer equinox.  It’s supposed to be a magical night.  And the winter equinox is the new year.”

“And Christmas!” the prospective buyer said, “The house has a Christmas ghost!”

“You could say that,” the real estate agent said.

“I do say that,” the prospective buyer said, “We have to have a Christmas ghost!”

The prospective buyer took out a phone.

“Honey,” the prospective buyer said into the phone, “We’ve found it.  This place has a Christmas ghost.  Yeah, in an ancient stone circle, no less!  It’s no contest: we’re buying.”  The prospective buyer turned to the real estate agent and said, “We’ll take it.”

The real estate agent took out a phone.

“I’ll meet you inside,” the agent said to the prospective buyer, “I just want to make a call.”

“Sure,” the prospective buyer said, “I’ll see you inside.”

After the prospective buyer had left, the real estate agent said into the phone, “You were right, putting in the stones was a stroke of genius. These Yanks are suckers for ghosts.  I’ll be home for tea.”

The Parable of the Golfer and the Driver

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what sort of moral compass can a lawmaker have who cuts social programs in the name of balancing the budget while simultaneously maintaining government subsidies that give that lawmaker great sums of money?”

Josh spoke thus:

A golfer was undecided on which golf driver to buy.  The golfer went to a sporting goods store and looked at a number of brands.  The golfer took a number of clubs off of the rack and gave them practice swings.  As the golfer was examining a driver, a stranger standing nearby said, “You don’t want that club.”

“What’s wrong with this club?” the golfer asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with that club,” the stranger said, “If you want to spend every Saturday morning digging balls out of the weeds.”

The golfer didn’t want to spend every Saturday morning digging balls out of the weeds.  The stranger took a different club from the rack.

“Now this is a driver you want,” the stranger said, “See these grooves?  These grooves mean you won’t spin the ball into the weeds.  These grooves mean the ball will go straight every time.”

“There are no grooves you can put on a club that can make the ball go straight every time,” the golfer said.

“Well I can stop you from deliberately hitting your ball into the weeds,” the stranger said, “But assuming you don’t, that ball will go straight as an arrow.  And it will go far too: look at this shaft.  That’s a power shaft.  That’s an extra twenty percent of distance.”

“You just made that number up,” the golfer said.

“No sir, I didn’t” the stranger said, “Look at this.”  

The stranger pulled out a golfing magazine and opened it to a page with a picture of the driver the stranger was holding, and below the picture a comparison with other leading drivers.  The twenty percent seemed to be legitimate.

“I have one of these drivers myself,” the stranger said, “I know how good it is.  If you get this sized by the salesperson and see how it feels, I bet you’ll like it.”

The golfer did as the stranger suggested and found that the club did feel good.  The golfer decided to buy the club.

“You’re the fifth today,” the salesperson said.  

The golfer showed the salesperson the magazine.  

“That explains it,” the salesperson said.  The salesperson turned the page to show a picture of the stranger to whom the golfer had just been talking.  The stranger was holding the driver they had just been discussing.

“That person wrote the article? the golfer asked.

“That person didn’t just write the article,” the salesperson said, “That person designed the club.  That person also edits that magazine.”

“How do you know that?” the golfer asked.

“Because this store publishes that magazine,” the salesperson said, “Do you want the long-term warranty with that?”

The Parable of the Angry Dramatist

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what is the sense in a group of congresspeople standing outside Congress in order to prevent debate, by staging a rally protesting that there is no debate in Congress?”

Josh spoke thus:

There was an angry dramatist who hated sitcom actors.

“I hate sitcom actors,” the angry dramatist said in the foyer of a casting agency, “They aren’t really actors, they’re walking punchlines.”

“They don’t write their punchlines,” a fellow dramatist said.

“Does anyone write their punchlines?” the angry dramatist asked, “I thought their punchlines came out of a book.  The writers just look up a punchline in a catalog.  Need a snappy comeback to a cab driver?  Volume 3, under “C,” for “Cab,” cross-referenced to “S,” for “Snappy.”

The angry dramatist mimed lifting a large volume onto a table, blowing dust off of it, opening it and thumbing through it, then running a finger down the page.

“Here it is,” the angry dramatist said, “No driver’s license?  No green card?  No English phrasebook?  And you’re going to tell me how to get to Carnegie Hall?”

“Practice!  Practice!  Practice!” all the fellow dramatists in the room recited.

“See?” the angry dramatist said, “You don’t even have the book, and you know the punchline!”

The angry dramatist held up a smart phone.

“This is how you all knew the punchline, isn’t it?” the angry dramatist said, “You all googled it!  Google, it’s the new sitcom writer.  Need a story about a sassy but sensitive kid thinking of taking drugs?  Google it!  Need a three-person farce with bicurious undertones?  Google it!”

The angry dramatist took out a smart phone and pretended to google.

“Just as I suspected!” the angry dramatist said, “Wikipedia!  Every search you make, sooner or later, will take you to Wikipedia.  Who was the fourth president?  It’s on Wikipedia.  Want to make a cake?  The ingredients are on Wikipedia.  Want to build a drone aircraft and zap your neighbor who WILL NOT TURN DOWN THE VOLUME OF HIS VAN HALEN?”

“Wikipedia!” the crowd of dramatists all shouted.

“Wikipedia,” the angry dramatist said, “Wikipedia is like Kevin Bacon.  Six degrees of Wikipedia.  Except, it’s one degree of Wikipedia, two degrees at most.”

The angry dramatist put the smart phone away.  “You know I read on Wikipedia that Freud said there were only seven jokes.  Now there’s a laugh riot.  Could you imagine sitting next to that guy in a bar?

“‘Have you heard the one about...?’

“‘Yeah, Sigmund, we’ve heard it.’

“‘Have I told you the one about...?’

“‘Yeah, that one too.  Pass the beer nuts.’

“The man probably knew one knock-knock joke.  One.  And he told it all the time.”

The door to the casting room opened, and the angry dramatist’s name was called.

“That’s me!” the angry dramatist said.  Passing through the door, the angry dramatist turned back to the crowded waiting room and said, “Wish me luck, I don’t do a lot of comedy!”

The Parable of the Lightkeeper

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how lonely must space pioneers be, the only ones up there?  And how lonely must they be down here, the only ones who have been up there?”

Josh spoke thus:

There was a lighthouse that needed a keeper.  

“It is a hard life being a lightkeeper,” the new lightkeeper was told upon arrival.

“It’s a sturdy tower,” the lightkeeper said, “The winds will not knock it over.  The seas will not wash it away.  The rains will not wear it down.”

“The wind is no problem,” the new lightkeeper was told, “The seas are no worry.  The rains are merely rains.”

“I am not a hungry person,” the lightkeeper said, “A simple meal, a light meal, even a rare meal, is adequate for my needs.  Some bread, some clear water, on a treat day some fruit and some sugar.  My appetite is small and my tastes are simple.”

“Food is no problem,” the lightkeeper was told, “The stores are plentiful, and the wine barrels are full.”

“Wine is overly fine for me,” the lightkeeper said.

“All the same, there is wine,” the lightkeeper was told.

“Are there raiders, then?” the lightkeeper asked, “If the wind is not a threat, and the seas are not a danger, and the rain will do me no harm, if the stores are full, and the wine is plentiful, am I to be threatened by invaders?”

“No invaders have raided these shores in over a century,” the lightkeeper was told, “And those who last came were warded from the rocks by the light, and so they let the lightkeeper be.  It was bad policy to shade the light that saved them from the rocks.”

“No wind, no waves, no rain, no hunger, no thirst, no invaders,” the lightkeeper said, “This is no harsh life.”

“Then stay, and much happiness to you,” the lightkeeper was told, and the lightkeeper was left alone.

For seven years, the lightkeeper lived happily in the tower.  The winds blew, and the seas rose and fell, and the rains thrashed and subsided.  The food and wine were regularly replenished.  No raiders rumbled in from the sea, and no busy bodies bumbled up from the land.  For seven years the lightkeeper was content.

But after the seventh year, the lightkeeper wanted a wife.  And after the seventh year, the lightkeeper wanted a son.  And after the seventh year, the lightkeeper wanted the company of men.

And after seven years, the lightkeeper left the tower, found a wife, had a son, and kept the company of men.  Until one night the lightkeeper returned to the tower, climbed to its top, and threw himself off.

“Once you’ve known the wind,” the lightkeeper’s wife was told, “Once you’ve known the waves and the rain; once you’ve lived off plentiful stores and plentiful wine; once you’ve lived with the ghosts of raiders from the sea, any other life is too harsh to bear.”

“Leave my son and me to the ghosts, then,” the lightkeeper’s wife said, “I’ll be the lightkeeper now.”  And she was the lightkeeper, and she still is.

The Parable of the Escaping Prisoner

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, if our foresight were as strong as our hindsight, what could we do about Gitmo?”

Josh spoke thus:

A soldier was fed up.

“I’ve had it with this mud, and I’ve had it with this rain,” the soldier complained, “If I’d known it was going to be wet and muddy, I wouldn’t have come.”

“You had to come,” the soldier’s commander told the soldier, “I ordered you to come.”

“Well who gave you the order?” the soldier asked.

“It’s a standing order,” the soldier’s commander said, “All prisoners of war are obliged to attempt to escape.”

“Escape to where?” the soldier asked, “To ditches?  To sewers?”

“Perhaps you would have been better off not surrendering, then,” the soldiers commander said.

“If I’d known how miserable prison camp would be, I wouldn’t have surrendered,” the soldier said.

“If you hadn’t surrendered, you’d be dead,” the soldier’s commander said.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” the soldier said, “Because we followed orders, that’s why.  If I’d known we were going to be surrounded, I wouldn’t have followed those orders, I’ll tell you that.”

“What did you expect?” the soldier’s commander asked, “You were a paratrooper.  There was a very high chance you would be surrounded.  You were dropped behind enemy lines.”

“Well if I’d known they were going to drop me behind enemy lines, I’d never have joined the paratroopers, I can tell you that,” the soldier said.

“Why did you join the paratroopers?” the soldier’s commander asked.

“It was that or jail,” the paratrooper said, “If I’d known what paratrooper’s were like, I’d have taken jail.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have broken the law,” the soldier’s commander said, “What were you arrested for?
“Burglary,” the soldier said, “I was set up.”

“Set up?” the soldier’s commander said, “How?”

“The police were waiting for me,” the soldier said, “As soon as I was in that house, they turned on a load of lights.  They had the house completely surrounded.  If I’d known the house was surrounded, I wouldn’t have gone in, I can tell you that.”

“Why did you go into burglary?” the soldier’s commander asked.

“I had to,” the soldier said, “I had to get out of the mines.  If I’d known how tight it was down in those mines, I’d have never gone down.”

“Why did you go down the mines?” the soldier’s commander asked.
“It was what you did in my village,” the soldier said, “My village was surrounded by coal mines.”

“I’ll bet if you’d known you’d have been born into a mining community, you’d never have been born at all,” the soldier’s commander said.  The soldier’s commander laughed.

“Well, if I’d never been born in a mining village, I’d never have dug that tunnel, and we’d still be in that prison camp, I can tell you that,” the soldier said.

“And it’s finally gotten you the freedom you’ve wanted all your life,” the soldier’s commander said.

“Freedom to drown in this ditch on my commander’s say-so,” the soldier said.

“Well for now, your commander’s say-so is to lead us out of this ditch and home,” the soldier’s commander said.

“If I’d known that, we’d have been miles from here,” the soldier said, “Follow me.”

The soldier’s commander followed.