“The lunchmeat fell on the floor, and I didn’t know what to do, so I wiped it off on the bottom of my shoe and served it to my boss. Ah, but that’s life, no?”

“The other day I tried to design a finish line, but I didn’t know where to start. So I just sat there and drank Gatorade. Ah, but that’s life, no?”

“Anyhow, I took every stitch of clothing off and got out of bed. And I got down on my knees on the floor in the white moonlight. The heat was off and the room must have been cold, but I didn’t feel cold. There was some kind of special something in the moonlight and it was wrapping my body in a thin, skintight film. At least that’s how I felt. I just stayed there naked for a while, spacing out, but then I took turns holding different parts of my body out to be bathed in the moonlight. I don’t know, it just seemed like the most natural thing to do. The moonlight was so absolutely, incredibly beautiful that I couldn’t not do it. My head and shoulders and arms and breasts and tummy and bottom and, you know, around there: one after another, I dipped them in the moonlight, like taking a bath.”

“I rode my horse to the saloon, but it was out of business. The cowboy I spoke with said the bartender served the saloon’s last drink on March 5th, 1882. Guess I shouldn’t have taken so long to shower and get ready. Ah, but that’s life, no?”

“The tire left a skid mark on the road that looked like a mustache. So I shaved it off the pavement, stuffed it in my trunk, and took it home to wear to work the next day. Ah, but that’s life, no?”

“Making money for my clones, now that’s what I call self-enrichment. Having all my clones working for me, working for free, and enriching me, now that’s what I call social progress. Ah, but that’s life, no?”