"Conniving truths are meant to be curdled"

"Conniving truths are meant to be curdled" was one of my Uncles sayings. "The average platypus won't eat just any grub." another. I never had the gumption to ask what he meant &

resumed sleeping furiously in the colorless green linguistics class. Chomsky would've loved my uncle, I thought as I drifted off to dream of theta-rules and traces and discourse

, a state I semi-recognized as "Noaming." My uncle was also critical of all that postmodern mumbo-jumbo. "Ya call a spade a spade," he'd frequently shout at dinner, chicken spittle

waving about in one hand. Sure, my uncle had dementia but we still tried to treat him with respect. The new medication he was on made him happier than ever. He'd race about in his

sing cockroaches screaming, "The gas is on! The gas is on!" Dimentia or not, I felt like my uncle was faking. He was pretending to be whack-o just so he could say mean things to me

. So I slapped his hat on and raced my uncle to the nearest Dimentia Dr."Is he whacko or not?" I asked the doctor sensitively. He stuck uncle into a subatomic particle accelerator

simulation cabinet and pushed an enormous lever towards an "ON" decal. Tesla coils around the room began exchanging streams of electrons. "They're just for show!" shouted Dr. Wayne

and continued adjusting levers. "Activate the emergency escape if you are in any danger." But the subjects were already immersed in the simulation, and didn't seem to hear him.

He was forced to watch as, one by one, the simulation consumed every available portion of the subjects' brains, until their heads literally caught on fire. Evidently, more work was