CONVERSATIONS WITH EINSTEIN

You know what else creeps me out about this place?


Was ist das.


There's no humor. No jokers, riddlers or wits. Oh a few. You know who. But for the most part it's just so... forlorn.


Maybe even the whiff of desperation one senses at times?


Whiff? You mean stench. It wafts from one to the other comingling with that pervasive underlying depressive pew they all share.  And now they've hybridized the two but the union is a bad one, a strain gone awry.


It do get pungent. You're right, this place could use a few of the clowns we've been around...


Bobul-san.

[copious amounts of unrestrained laughter ensues at the mere mention of Bobul-san]


Can you even imagine what this place would make of...

[more copious laughter as if the thought of even one day of Bobul-san in this house is more than the two can bear]


[recovering, no longer gasping for their air]

No, Bobul-san would have been far too much for them to process. In the end they would paint him a fool.


True. But the point is he wouldn't have cared. He was a fearless fool.