The Parable of Horizons

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, which is more thrilling, setting off on an adventure or returning, beginning a task or completing it, the first chord of a favorite song or the last?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two companions were walking through a forest to the sea.

“We need to go back,” the first companion said.

“Go back?” the second companion said, “But we haven’t even seen the sea!”

“We don’t need to see the sea,” the first companion said, “We need to go back.”

“But when we reach the sea, we’ll see ships!” the second companion said, “If we go home what will we see?”

“We’ll see family,” the first companion said, “We’ll see loved ones.  We’ll see community.”

“We’ve seen family,” the second companion said, “We’ve seen loved ones.  We’ve seen community.  We need to see the sea!  Let’s at least see the sea.”

“But you don’t just want to see the sea,” the first companion said, “We’ll see the sea, and when we see the sea we’ll see seabirds.”

“Of course we’ll see seabirds,” the second companion.

“And what will those seabirds show us?” the first companion said, “They’ll show us ships.  Ships that have been to sea.  Ships that have been to foreign ports.  Ships with crews who have been in foreign lands.”

“Crews that have come from foreign lands, as well,” the second companion said.

“Exactly!” the first companion said, “And what will those crews from foreign lands have brought with them?  They’ll have brought stories.  They’ll have brought stories of mountains as high as the sky.  They’ll have brought stories of kings as mighty as mountains.  They’ll have brought stories of common men as mighty as kings. And princesses and queens and giants and sea creatures.”

“Sure they will,” the second companion said, “That’s what we’re going for.”

“And horizons!” the first companion said, “Not just the horizon we can see from the shore, but horizons beyond that horizon, and horizons beyond those horizons and horizons beyond those.  Infinite horizons.”

“Yes, infinite horizons!” the second companion said, “And infinite possibilities!”

“Infinite is too many,” the first companion said, “Better to know our horizons, better to know our possibilities, better to know love and companionship.”

As the first companion finished speaking, the wood opened up to reveal a cliffside overlooking the sea.  The sky was cloudless and blue, and the sea was blue as well, capped with white foam, the infinity of sky and sea limited only by the far, hazy horizon.

The two companions stood looking at the sky and the sea and the horizon.  Seabirds called.  Below the cliff, a port sheltered a handful of sea vessels.

“Maybe you’re right,” the second companion said, uneasily, “Maybe it is too much.  Maybe we should go home.”  The second companion turned toward the forest road.

“Look at it!”  the first companion said, “It’s infinite!  Come!  We’ll need to find a ship before the tide turns!”

The Parable of the Newspaper’s Final Edition

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, if there are only seven plot ideas, how many news stories are there?”

Josh spoke thus:

A newspaper was printing its final edition.

“DEWEY WINS!” the newspaper’s headline read.  Beneath the lead story was the headline, “SECESSION!”  The story to the right of the secession story was an obituary for Amelia Earhart.

“You know,” one of the printer operators said to the sports director, “I never read that story about Dewey winning.  Everyone’s seen the headline, but I bet nobody knows what the article actually says.”

“Somebody knows,” the sports editor said, “Somebody always knows.  In some library, in some university archive, in some graduate research group, somebody’s reading that story, somebody’s analyzing that story, somebody’s writing about that story.”

“Tomorrow, a lot more people will read that story,” the printer operator said.

“Let’s hope so,” the sports editor said, “Look at the sports page,” 

The printer operator pulled a fresh copy of the final edition from a stack.

“Hey!” the printer operator said, “We won a hockey gold medal!  We beat the Russians!  No, wait, we beat the Finns.  The Finns?”

“A lot of people don’t know that we had to beat the Finns to win that medal in 1980,” the sports editor said, “Everybody thinks the Miracle on Ice won us the medal.  It didn’t.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me Washington didn’t cross the Delaware,” the printer operator said.

“Look at page three,” the sports editor said.  The printer operator looked at page three.

“There he is, crossing the Delaware!” the printer operator said, “But on page three?”

“It was Christmas,” the sports editor said, “News travels slowly on a holiday.”

“Gotcha,” the printer operator said, “So how many final editions does this make?”

“Check the masthead,” the sports editor said, “I think it’s our twenty-seventh.”

“How so many final editions?” the printer operator said.

“Newspapers are like rock bands from the Seventies,” the sports editor said, “Nobody wants to hear their new music.  It’s all greatest hits.  So we’re putting out our greatest hits.  The greatest hits of the news.  All oldies, all the time.  A constant final tour.”

“And no slow news days,” the printer operator said.

“And no slow news days,” the sports editor said.

The Parable of the Plotting Terrorists

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, with all the trouble spots flaring up all over the world, what is the greatest threat to the West?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two terrorists were planning an attack.

“What we do,” the one terrorist said, “We walk into an elementary school with automatic guns, we start shooting.  We walk the hallways, shooting.  We go into classrooms, shooting.  We shoot, we shoot, we shoot.  The world will be terrified.  They’ll know terrorists could walk into any school at any time.”

The second terrorist pointed out that a random gunman had done that just recently.

“Has it been done in a mall?” the first terrorist asked.  The second terrorist confirmed that it had already been done in a mall.

“What about a movie theater?” the first terrorist asked.

That had happened three times in the past year, the second terrorist said, once because somebody had sent text messages in the movie theater.

“What’s wrong with these people?” the first terrorist asked.  The second terrorist did not have an answer.

“Okay,” the first terrorist said, “What we do, we blow up an oil platform!  They’ll be astounded, terrified that not only will we control the oil in the Middle East, but we’ll also control their oil here in their own backyard.”

The second terrorist told the first terrorist how an oil company rig had blown up and spread oil all along the beaches of the south, how an oil rig had been towed onto rocks on the shore in the north, how tar sand residue had caught fire in a city, and how two pipelines had burst in the middle of the country, jeopardizing whole communities.

“And they’re building a bigger pipeline right through their farm belt?  Where their largest aquifer is?” the first terrorist asked, “What’s wrong with these people?”  The second terrorist did not have an answer.

“Okay,” the first terrorist said, “We attack their infrastructure.  In the middle of rush hour in their biggest city, we’ll jam the biggest bridge, so only a trickle of traffic can cross.  We’ll show them how vulnerable they really are!”

The second terrorist just looked at the first terrorist.

“You’re not telling me...” the first terrorist said.  “Their governor?” the first terrorist asked the second terrorist when the second terrorist told the first terrorist what had been done, “Their own governor did that to them?  What’s wrong with these people?”

The second terrorist did not have an answer.

“Okay,” the first terrorist said, “We poison their water.  We pick a watershed that serves, say, almost half a million people, we put chemicals in the river upstream.  The suffering will make drone strikes look like gnat bites.”

The second terrorist did not need to speak but anyway did tell the first terrorist the story of a recent chemical disaster.

“They poisoned their own water?” the first terrorist asked, “Just to save a few dollars?  They poisoned almost half a million people, for the cost of half an hour’s inspection and half a day’s welding?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE???????”

The second terrorist said, “Now you know the worse punishment we can inflict on these people.”

The  first terrorist nodded, “We leave them to their own devices.”

The Parable of the Royal Storyteller and the Royal Scribe

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what is the most powerful lesson you have learned in your travels?”

Josh spoke thus:

A royal storyteller was staring at a wall.

“What are you looking at?” the royal scribe asked the royal storyteller.

“I’m staring at the the wall,” the royal storyteller said.

“What’s on the wall?” the royal scribe asked.

“Nothing’s on the wall,” the royal storyteller said.

“Then why are you staring at the wall?” the royal scribe asked, “What’s so special about that wall?”

“There’s nothing special about it,” the royal storyteller said, “It’s a wall.”

“Is it a metaphor for something?” the royal scribe asked.

“It’s not a metaphor for anything,” the royal storyteller said, “It’s a wall.”

“Do you have writer’s block?” the royal scribe asked, “Is staring at the wall a technique for overcoming writer’s block?  Do you envisage stories on the wall, like a giant tapestry on which you weave your tales, from which you extract your sagas?”

“It’s not a technique,” the royal storyteller said, “It’s a wall.  I’m staring at the wall.”

“Are you studying it for some architectural reason?” the royal scribe asked, “Is there something in that wall that is they key to a mystery?  Is it the answer to a riddle?”

“It’s not a key,” the royal storyteller said, “And it’s not a riddle.  It’s a wall.”

“You have to work with me here,” the royal scribe said, “You have to give me something to write.  The monarch will be here any minute now, and the monarch will be expecting a tale, a poem, a saga, a riddle, something.  I’m a scribe!  I need to scribe!  What is on that wall?”

“Nothing’s on that wall,” the royal storyteller said, “It’s a wall.”

“I’m not taking the fall for you!” the royal scribe said, “When the monarch arrives, I’m telling the monarch it’s your fault.  You’re not making tales.  You’re not composing odes.  You’re staring at a wall.”

“I am,” the royal storyteller said, “I am staring at a wall.”

“Here comes the monarch!” the royal scribe said.  The monarch entered.

“Hallo!” the monarch said to the storyteller, “What is this you’re doing?”

“He’s staring at that wall!” the scribe said, “He’s not writing, he’s not composing, he’s not constructing metaphors!  He’s staring at the wall!  It’s him, it’s all him!  He’s just staring.”

The monarch joined the storyteller, looking at the wall.

“Are you staring at the wall?” the monarch asked the royal storyteller.

“I am,” the royal storyteller said, “I’m staring at the wall.”

“May I join you?” the monarch asked.  The royal storyteller nodded.

“See?” the royal scribe said, “He’s just staring at the wall!  I told him to write something!  I told him to compose!  But he just stared!  I came to write, but he just stared!  He just...”

“Hush,” the monarch said.  The monarch and the storyteller stared at the wall.

“It’s not my fault,” the royal scribe said, “I wanted to scribe!  I wanted to...”

“Hush,” the monarch said.  The monarch and the storyteller stared at the wall.

“All I need is for him to tell me what to scribe,” the scribe said, “All I need...”

“Hush,” the monarch said.  The monarch and the storyteller and the scribe stared at the wall.

The monarch and the storyteller and the scribe stared at the wall.

The monarch and the storyteller and the scribe stared at the wall.

The Parable of the Wild Horses

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how come the poorest economy in Europe can find the money to preserve wild horses but the richest economy in the world can’t even preserve to its people?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two Wall Street investors were talking during lunch.

“I read an interesting article the other day,” the first Wall Street investor said, “Evidently they’re releasing horses into the wild in Spain.”

“What for?” the second Wall Street investor asked.

“To stop the Spanish wild horse from going extinct,” the first Wall Street investor said.

“What for?” the second Wall Street investor asked.

“So they have wild horses in Spain still,” the first Wall Street investor said.

“Who cares if they have wild horses in Spain still?” the second Wall Street investor said, “I didn’t even know they had wild horses in Spain.  I don’t care that they have wild horses in Spain.  And I’ll bet most people don’t know or care that they have wild horses in Spain.”

“Somebody cares evidently,” the first Wall Street investor said, “They just released two dozen of them.”

“Now free range horses, that I could understand,” the second Wall Street investor said, “I could get behind free range horses.”

“Why would you want free range horses?” the first Wall Street investor asked.

“You’ve got free range chickens,” the second Wall Street investor said, “You’ve got free range cows.  You’ve even got free range buffalo.”

“I think all buffalo are free range,” the first Wall Street investor said.

“And people are paying top dollar for them,” the second Wall Street investor said, “It’s that whole back to the land nonsense.”

“They started doing that in the Great Plains a few years back,” the first Wall Street investor said, “They started restoring the prairie.”

“They started, but they’ve stopped,” the second Wall Street investor said, “They’re returning the free range fields to corn, for methanol.”

“So we’ve got free range corn now?” the first Wall Street investor asked.

“There’s no such thing as free range corn,” the second Wall Street investor said, “There isn’t even such a thing as just corn anymore.  It’s all genetically modified now.”

“Well there’s such a thing as just horses in Spain,” the first Wall Street investor said.

“But not free range horses,” the second Wall Street investor said, “Somebody dropped the ball on that one.  I think I’ll order the bison burger.  What are you ordering?  I hear the ostrich is good.”

The Parable of the War Documentary

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, wouldn’t we all be a little better off stopping and digesting some of the information we’re ingesting?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two friends met on the street.

“What’s new?” the first friend said to the second friend.

“The government is going on the space trip,” the second friend said.

“The who is going what?” the first friend said.

“The governor is going on the space trip,” the second friend said, “Or maybe it’s the space train.”

“There’s no such thing as a space train,” the first friend said.

“Then maybe it was a space plane,” the second friend said, “Or a high-speed train.  And Interior beat the Bears.”

“Interior?” the first friend asked, “The Department of the Interior?  People are beating bears?”

“Maybe it was State,” the second friend said, “Or the Yankees.”

“Do you mean the football game?” the first friend asked.

“I’m not sure,” the second friend said, “I just saw the score real quick.  I was actually watching a documentary about a castle in Austria in World War II.”

“I saw something about that,” the first friend said, “Was that where the American troops and the German prison guards fought off an SS division right at the end of the war?”

“That’s the one,” the second friend said, “It was fascinating.  Evidently they were actually fighting when Hitler surrendered.”

“Hitler didn’t surrender,” the first friend said, “Hitler committed suicide.”

“Did he?” the second friend said, “I didn’t see the end of the movie.  I had a call.”

“Everybody knows Hitler killed himself,” the first friend said.

“Evidently that SS division didn’t know,” the second friend said, “What difference does it make?  They still fought the battle.  The war was over, and they were still fighting.  You’d think somebody would have told them.  Texted them or something.”

“They didn’t have texting then,” the first friend said.

“I know they didn’t have texting then,” the second friend said, “But they had phones didn’t they?  Or walkie-talkies?  Or telegrams, even?”

“I don’t think the SS division had access to telegrams,” the first friend said.

“That would never happen today,” the second friend said, “If that were today, Hitler would kill himself and someone would text that SS division right away, and be like ‘Dudes, the war’s done.  Stop fighting.’”

“If that were today, the SS would have used drones,” the first friend said.

“True,” the second friend said, “Or Hitler would have gone to Russia for asylum on a space train or whatever.”

The Parable of the Old Bridge

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, does it matter if the grass is greener on the other side if they won’t let us to the other side?”

Josh spoke thus:

A traveler was attempting to cross a river.

“All I want to do is cross the river,” the traveler said to a fellow traveler.

“We all want to cross the river,” a fellow traveler said.

The two travelers looked at the only bridge across the river.  It was a rope bridge, with wooden slats to step on and rope lines to hold onto.  The wooden slats were old and looked rotten and worn and ready to snap.  The rope was old and looked rotten and worn and ready to snap.  The river below was deep and cold and swift.

“Why are you crossing the bridge?” the traveler asked the fellow traveler.

“I hope to find work in the village on the opposite side,” the fellow traveler said, “Why are you crossing the bridge?”

“I hope to find work in the village on the opposite side,” the traveler said, “What is it you do?”

  “I hope to be a cobbler,” the fellow traveler said, “What is it you do?”

“I hope to be a cobbler,” the traveler said.

The traveler and the fellow traveler looked at each other.  The traveler and the fellow traveler looked at the bridge.

“How many cobblers do you think they need?” the traveler asked the fellow traveler.

“How many cobblers do you think they need?” the fellow traveler asked the traveler.

The traveler and the fellow traveler looked at the bridge again.  The wooden slats were old and looked rotten and worn and ready to snap.  The rope was old and looked rotten and worn and ready to snap.  The river below was deep and cold and swift.

“Why don’t you go first?” the traveler said to the fellow traveler.  The traveler looked up river for a ferry that might take the traveler across the river.

“I insist you go first,” the fellow traveler said.  The fellow traveler looked down river for a ferry that might take the traveler across the river.

Before the traveler could reply, a traveler on the opposite side of the river stepped onto the bridge.  The bridge swayed, the wooden slats bowed deeply, the ropes creaked.  To a greater degree than earlier, the wooden slats looked old and rotten and worn and ready to snap.  To a greater degree than earlier, the rope looked old and rotten and worn and ready to snap.  The traveler from the opposite side of the river edged across the river.  The ropes creaked and the wooden slats bowed deeply, but the traveler from the opposite side of the river gained the near side of the river and stood before the traveler and the fellow traveler.

“Greetings, fellow travelers!” the traveler from the opposite side of the river said, “Would either of you know where a cobbler might find some work?”

The traveler and the fellow traveler looked at each other.  The traveler and the fellow traveler looked at the traveler from the opposite side of the river.  The traveler and the fellow traveler looked at the bridge.

“Follow us,” the traveler said, and the traveler and the fellow traveler stepped out onto the bridge.

“We can’t all travel on the bridge together!” the traveler from the opposite side of the river said, “The bridge won’t hold our weight.  The rope will snap, the bridge will fall, we will drown in the river.”

The fellow traveler replied, “That’s the plan.”

The Parable of Knowing and Not Knowing

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how can a politician be sure not to know that which the politician doesn’t want to know without first knowing what it is that the politician doesn’t want to know?”

Josh spoke thus:

A witness didn’t know what the witness didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” the witness said.

“What don’t you know?” the inquisitor asked.

“I don’t know,” the witness said.

“How do you know you don’t know?” the inquisitor asked, “Perhaps you know, and you don’t know you know because you don’t know you know what you know.”

“I know I know I don’t know what I don’t know,” the witness said.

“What you know you don’t know and what you don’t know you don’t know might be the same thing,” the inquisitor said.

“How would I know?” the witness asked.

“You know what you know,” the inquisitor said, “So what you don’t know is not what you know.  Ergo you know what you don’t know.  What you don’t know is what you don’t know.”

“If I know what I don’t know,” the witness said, “I know what I don’t know.  I can’t know what I don’t know and not know what I don’t know.”

“You can know you don’t know what you don’t know,” the inquisitor said.

“So I don’t know I know what I don’t know?” the witness asked.

“Who knows?” the inquisitor asked.

“I don’t know who knows,” the witness said.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” the inquisitor said.

“Who were you talking about?” the witness asked.

“I don’t know,” the inquisitor said, “But I’m going to know.”

“What are you going to know?” the witness asked.

“If I knew what I was going to know,” the inquisitor said, “Then I would know what I would know, in which case I would not need to know it, I would know it.”

“So to know what you know, you need to know what you know you don’t know?” the witness asked.

“Hey, who’s asking the questions here?” the inquisitor asked.

“You’re the inquisitor,” the witness said.

“And you’re the witness,” the inquisitor said.

“That much I know,” the witness said.

“So you do know!” the inquisitor said.

“I don’t know,” the witness said.

The Parable of the Hole in the Boat

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, while helping the poor to improve their lives in the long term is laudable, what use is it if the poor starve to death in the short term?”

Josh spoke thus:

There was a hole in a boat.  It wasn’t a gigantic hole, but it wasn’t a small hole.  It was a hole that was leaking water into the boat. 

“We need to fix the hole in the boat,” a person on the boat said.

“We need to fix the sails,” another person said.

“The rudder needs an upgrade,” a third person said.

“The deck is a mess,” a fourth person said.

“I understand all that,” the first person said, “But we need to fix the hole.”

“If we fix the hole, that will reduce the effort we can put into repairing the sails,” the second person said.

“If we don’t fix the rudder, we can’t steer,” the third person said.

“The mess on the deck is a disgrace,” the fourth person said.

“We’re sinking,” the first person said, “Water is coming in the hole in the boat.  I think before we worry about the sails, and before we worry about the rudder, and before we worry about the mess on the deck, we should worry about the hole in the bottom of the boat.”

“I am in favor of discussing the hole in the bottom of the boat,” the second person said, “After we come to an agreement about the sails.”

“I refuse to allow the issue of the sails to take focus away from the rudder,” the third person said.

“The mess on the deck is a disgrace,” the fourth person said, “Nobody wants to talk about the mess on the deck.”

“Maybe there wouldn’t be such a mess on the deck if people focussed more on repairing the sails and less on making a mess on the deck,” the second person said.

“Maybe if people would recognize the need for a rudder,” the third person said, “They’d stop wasting time arguing about sails and messes.”

“Maybe the key to fixing the sails and to fixing the rudder is cleaning up the mess on the deck,” the fourth person said, “It always comes down to the mess on the deck.  We can’t do anything until we clean up the mess on the deck.”

“I don’t mind talking about the mess on the deck,” the second person said, “If it means there is a discussion of the sails.”

“After we agree we’ll discuss the rudder,” the third person said, “I’ll be happy to discuss the sails and the mess on the deck.”

“People!” the first person said, “The boat is sinking!  The first thing we have to do is fix the hole in the boat!”

“That’s why we’ll never fix the hole in the boat,” the second person said, “You don’t listen to anyone else.”

“You’re inflexible,” the third person said.

“You deserve to sink,” the fourth person said.

“We’re all sinking!” the first person said.  

The second person, the third person and the fourth person turned their backs on the first person and began a negotiation about discussing the sails, the rudder and the mess on the deck.

The Parable of the Snow Storm

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, with winter cold reaching farther south and summer heat reaching farther north, how long will it be before north and south are indistinguishable?”

Josh spoke thus:

A child and a grandparent were sharing hot chocolate and marshmallows and looking out the window the falling snow.

“This has to be the greatest storm ever,” the child said.

“This is nothing,” the grandparent said, “Back when I was young, there was a storm much worse than this.”

“Was it this cold?” the child asked.

“Was it this cold?” the grandparent said, “It was colder!  It was far, far, far colder!  It was so cold, you could throw boiling water out the window, and it would turn to ice, right there in the air, like a sudden cloud.  Boiling water to ice, faster than you could say ‘Boiling water to ice’!”

“Can we try that now?” the child asked.

“It won’t work,” the grandparent said, “It’s not cold enough.”

“How cold does it have to be?” the child asked.

“Colder than it is now,” the grandparent said.

“Did it snow like this?” the child asked.

“Did it snow like this?” the grandparent said, “It snowed much more than this!  It snowed so much that you couldn’t open the door.  You had to climb out a second floor window to get outside.”

“How did you get back in?” the child asked.

“The same way you got out,” the grandparent said, “You climbed in the second floor window.”

“Can we climb out the second floor window?” the child asked.

“The snow’s not high enough,” the grandparent said.

“How high does the snow have to be?” the child asked.

“Higher than it is now,” the grandparent said.

“You went out the second floor window and built a snowman high enough to climb in the second floor window, when it was cold enough to turn boiling water to ice?” the child asked.

“Not I,” the grandparent said, “I moved to Florida to get away from the cold and the snow.”

“Where we are now?” the child asked.

“Where we are now,” the grandparent said.

“You moved here to get away from the snow,” the child said, “But it’s snowing.”

“How about that?” the grandparent said, “Want to go see if we can make a snowman tall enough to climb in the second floor window?”

“You said there isn’t enough snow,” the child said.

“That’s okay,” the grandparent said, “This house doesn’t have a second floor.  Let’s just build a snowman so high he can climb in the first floor window.  Go and get your coat and hat and boots and gloves.”

The Parable of the Hardworking Congresspeople

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how can congresspeople castigate working people for not working hard enough?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two congresspeople were watching a teachers’ strike on a bar television.

“Look at that!” one congressperson said, “Asking for more money again!  That’s all they do, demand more money!”

“Well they aren’t getting any more money,” the second congressperson said, “Our budget will see to that!”

“What budget?” the first congressperson asked.

“Exactly!” the second congressperson said.

The two congresspeople shared a toast.

“What do they want more money for anyway?” the first congressperson said, “They don’t do any work as it is.  How many vacations do teachers get?”

“They get their summers off,” the second congressperson said, “And they get Christmas.  And they get spring break.”

“And every federal holiday too,” the first congressperson said.

“Labor Day, Memorial Day, Columbus Day...” the second congressperson said.

“Don’t forget Presidents Day,” the first congressperson said.

“Or Martin Luther King Junior Day,” the second congressperson said, “You’d better not forget Martin Luther King Junior Day.  Not in your district.”

“Why don’t we just merge Martin Luther King Day with Presidents Day?” the first congressperson said, “If we can lump Lincoln and Washington together, why not add Martin Luther King?  That wouldn’t be an insult, would it, to be grouped with Lincoln and Washington?”

“King wasn’t a president,” the second congressperson said.

“But every president wants to be king,” the first congressperson said.

The two congresspeople shared a toast.

  “And all of us want to be president,” the second congressperson said.

“Not me,” the first congressperson said, “Look at the hours the president has to put in.  Twenty-four-seven, you have to be when you’re president.  Even when you’re on vacation, you’re on the phone to some world leader or senator, or rushing off to a flood or a fire or something.  Not me.  I like my schedule as it is.”

“That reminds me,” the second congressperson said, “What time is that committee meeting about the subsidies?”

“Don’t want to lose your subsidies, eh?” the first congressperson said.

“Somebody’s got to pay the bills,” the second congressperson said.

The two congresspeople shared a toast.

“The meeting was postponed,” the first congressperson said, “Until after the recess.”

“Well I might as well go home for the week,” the second congressperson said, “Without that committee meeting, my calendar’s empty.”

“Two days a week you can’t fill?” the first congressperson asked.

“Not if I can help it!” the second congressperson said.

The two congresspeople shared a toast.

“Say, turn off that teachers’ strike will you?” the first congressperson said to the bartender, “It’s depressing.  Isn’t there a football game on the other channel?”

The Parable of the Two Sports Fans

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why are passions for professional sports so high?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two sports fans in a bar sat down to watch a game.

“We are so going to beat you!” the first sports fan said.

“No,” the second sports fan said, “We are so going to beat you!”

“We’ve won so many championships!” the first sports fan said.

“Now it’s our turn!” the second sports fan said.

“You’re going to lose!” the first sports fan said.

“You’re going to lose!” the second sports fan said.

The first sports fan stood chest to chest with the second sports fan.

“I said, you’re going to lose!” the first sports fan said.

“And I said, you’re going to lose!” the second sports fan said, bumping chests with the first sports fan.

“You’re so going to lose!” the first sports fan said.  The first sports fan shoved the second sports fan in the chest.

“We’re not going to lose,” the second sports fan said, pushing the first sports fan in the chest, “You’re going to lose!”

“You are!” the first sports fan said, shoving harder.

“You are!” the second sports fan said.  The second sports fan threw a punch at the first sports fan.  The first sports fan ducked beneath the attempted blow and drove a shoulder into the second sports fan’s belly.  The second sports fan dragged the first sports fan to the ground.  The two sports fans wrestled on the floor, each hitting the other, but neither able to land an effective blow.

The bartender jumped over the bar and separated the two sports fans.

“Hey you two!” the bartender said, holding the two sports fans at arms’ length, “It’s just a game!”  The bartender turned to the first sports fan and said, “Your city isn’t any better or any worse because your sports team wins.”  The bartender turned to the second sports fan and said, “And your team doesn’t make your city any better or any worse.  They’re professional teams.  They’re professional athletes.  Neither team is really from the city they’re in.  None of the players are.  It’s a business.  If you’re from one city or the other city be proud of the city you’re from!”

“Oh, I’m not from that city,” the first sports fan said.

“I’ve never been to either city,” the second sports fan said.

“Then why are you getting so worked up?” the bartender asked.

“Who’s worked up?” the first sports fan asked.

“We were just enjoying the game,” the second sports fan said. 

The Parable of the Drug Bust that Wasn’t

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how long until marijuana is legal in all 50 states?”

Josh spoke thus:

While driving home, a sheriff’s deputy spied two teenagers on a street corner conducting a transaction.  The sheriff’s deputy stopped to question the two teenagers.  The two teenagers ran.  The sheriff’s deputy followed the two teenagers.  The two teenagers split up and ran in opposite directions, one right, one left.  The sheriff’s deputy followed the teenager who ran right.

The teenager who ran right ran down an alley too narrow to fit the sheriff’s deputy’s vehicle.  The sheriff’s deputy stopped the vehicle at the mouth of the alley, blocking any escape, stepped out of the vehicle and called down the alley.

“Come out!” the sheriff’s deputy called out, “I’ve got the alley blocked.  You can’t get away.”

The teenager who ran down the alley did not reply.

“Don’t make me follow you in there!” the sheriff’s deputy said.

The teenager who ran down the alley did not reply.

“I know you were selling drugs,” the sheriff’s deputy said, “Or you were buying drugs.  I couldn’t tell if you were the buyer or the seller.  But you were buying or you were selling.  And I know you were buying or you were selling.  So come on out, and I’ll take it easy on you.  Don’t come out, and I’ll make it hard on you.”

The teenager who ran down the alley stepped into view in the sheriff’s deputy’s car’s headlights.

“What are you chasing me for?” the teenager who ran down the alley asked.

“What did you run away for?” the sheriff’s deputy asked.

“I don’t have to answer that,” the teenager who ran down the alley said.

“You do if you ever want to leave this alley,” the sheriff’s deputy said.

“I ran because you were chasing me,” the teenager who ran down the alley said, “Why were you chasing me?  I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Were you buying drugs or were you selling drugs?” the sheriff’s deputy asked, “It’s illegal to buy drugs or sell drugs in this state.”

“I wasn’t buying drugs or selling drugs,” the teenager who ran down the alley said, “I was buying concert tickets.”

“On the street?” the sheriff’s deputy asked, “You couldn’t do that online?”

“They’re One Direction tickets,” the teenager who ran down the alley said, “If anyone knew I was buying One Direction tickets...”

“Let me see them,” the sheriff’s deputy said.

The teenager who ran down the alley handed the sheriff’s deputy the tickets.

“Aw heck,” the sheriff’s deputy said, “I’m too damn drunk to read these.  Just get out of here.  And don’t let me ever see you buying or selling drugs.”

The Parable of the Citizen’s Non-Arrest

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, who is losing the war on drugs?”

Josh spoke thus:

A citizen approached a police officer.

“Arrest me!” the citizen said to the police officer.

“What have you done?” the police officer asked the citizen.

The citizen thought for a moment.

“You have to think about it?” the police officer asked.

“Give me a minute,” the citizen said.

“I’m not going to give you a minute,” the police officer said, “If you need a minute to think of something you did for which you should be arrested, the chances are, you shouldn’t be arrested.”

“But I broke the law!” the citizen said.

“What law did you break?” the police officer asked.

“How should I know?” the citizen said, “What do I look like, a lawyer?”

“Give me an approximation,” the police officer said.

The citizen felt in the citizen’s pockets.  The citizen grabbed something and presented it to the police officer.  It was a small bottle.

“I’ve got booze!” the citizen said.

“So what?” the police officer said.

“So arrest me,” the citizen said, “I’m in possession of alcohol.”

“Possession of alcohol isn’t illegal,” the police officer said.

“What about Prohibition?” the citizen asked.

“Prohibition was repealed years ago,” the police officer said, “Where were you?”

“Probably too drunk celebrating to remember,” the citizen said.

“You and most everybody else,” the police officer said, “Anyway, I’m not going to arrest you for possession of alcohol.”

“Not even with intent to distribute without a license?” the citizen asked.

“Not even with intent to distribute without a license,” the police officer said, “Why do you want me to arrest you, anyway?”

“I want you to lock me up,” the citizen said, “In this storm, there are no buses or cabs, the hotels are all full, and, frankly, I need a place to sleep.  Now what do I have to do to get arrested?”

“In this weather, it would have to be pretty big,” the police officer said, “Everyone’s out on emergency weather duty.  You’d have to rob a bank or something.”

“What do I look like, some kind of criminal?” the citizen asked.

The police officer shrugged.

“Tell me someone broke into your apartment,” the police officer said.

“But nobody’s broken into my apartment,” the citizen said.

“Tell me someone broke into your apartment, and I’ll send someone around to investigate,” the police officer said, “In this weather, we’d have to send a squad car.  You’d have to ride along.”

“Isn’t calling in a false report against the law?” the citizen asked.

“You want me to have someone break in for you?” the police officer asked, “I can arrange that.”

“How about we just go and confirm nobody did break in?” the citizen asked, “I have it on pretty good authority someone might have.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” the police officer said, “Let me get my coat.”