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The place where the world comes together in honesty and mirth.
Windmills Tilted, Scared Cows Butchered, Lies Skewered on the Lance of Reality ... or something to that effect.


Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Cotton

In the country lived a family that made its living weaving cloth. One day, a debt collector knocked on the door.

"Is Jack home?" he asked the woman who answered the door.

"I'm sorry," the woman replied. "Jack's gone for cotton."

A few weeks later the collector tried again.

"Is Jack here today?"

Once again the answer was "No, sir, I'm afraid he has gone for cotton."

When he returned for the third time and Jack was still nowhere to be seen,
he complained, "I suppose Jack is gone for cotton again?"

"No," the woman answered solemnly, "Jack died yesterday."

Suspicious that he was being avoided, the collector decided to wait a week and investigate the cemetery. Sure enough, he found poor Jack's tombstone, with this inscription:

"Gone, But Not for Cotton."

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