I’ve figured out Burning Man’s problem.
That’s man’s problem.
“What is Burning Man’s problem?”
Everyone’s an officer. Haven’t seen one sergeant.
“This is a naval hat.”
“We’re in the desert.”
Dry wet sergeant. When will we see the Singularity?
“Right after the Mayan Apocalypse.”
That happened four years ago.
“The Singularity: the moment in history, predicated by technology, when predictions fail and things get weird?”
“I stand by my retroactive prediction. We’ll mark the date as we look back, and realize what happened after the fact. History isn’t obvious at first. Did people know the Depression was starting?”
They actually did. It was in the papers.
“What about World War II?”
September 1st, 1939. Again: it was in all the papers, probably under the headline “World War II Begins.
“Perhaps, but I’m wearing a fur coat so I am going to stick with my opinion.”
I hope that’s fake fur.
“It’s real fur from a fake animal.”
“Albino snuffalupagus. Very rare. Worn by royalty.”
“Well, it’s fake fur, so it was worn by pretenders to the crown.”
Sure. Let’s buy a house in the country, a real pretty little place, and then burn it down for the insurance money.
“And the sexual thrill.”
“I can’t. I’m in love with That Guy.”
“No, That Guy.”
Ohhh, That Guy.
“GOTTA KEEP THE PEE-PEE OFF THE TUTU, BROTHER!”
I know how John Mayer feels. This place is awful.