Homework #1

I look out this window and what do I see
Grass verges and manholes and some kind of tree
Footpath and tarmac and dog food of yore
And some of the rain just falls straight down the shore

There is rain that runs headlong down picturesque mountains
While some rain loves Rome and its Renaissance fountains
But the sewers aren't empty, 'nd there's puddles galore
Because rain can't decide where it lands anymore.

Groucho Marx #2

http://cavett.blogs.nytimes.com/
2007/02/07/ghost-stories/#more-9

Groucho could always go unrecognized in public, thanks to the painted-on mustache he wore onstage. This allowed him to, as he put it “go anywhere and mingle with the common man in all his dreariness.” Back then, there was a prominent trance medium holding forth, and her devoted disciples (sometimes spelled s-u-c-k-e-r-s) solemnly offered to take the man born Julius Marx with them to a séance. Always intellectually curious, Groucho was glad to be asked along — though he told me he was “vaguely insulted” when his new friends solemnly cautioned him to show the proper reverence. “I’m not a clown 24 hours,” he said. “I can also be serious.”

The séance was held in the darkened parlor of some wealthy believer’s apartment. Groucho reported a heavy air of sanctity about the place, “and not entirely from the incense.” Lights were low and the faithful conversed in hushed tones. The medium began to chant unintelligibly, and then to emit a strange humming sound (I can’t help seeing her as Margaret Dumont), eventually achieving her trance state. “I am in touch, I am in touch with the Other Side,” she intoned. “Does anyone have a question?”

Groucho arose and asked, “What is the capital of North Dakota?”

He recalled being chased for several blocks, but escaped injury.

Groucho Marx #1

http://cavett.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/12/29/
with-readers-like-yall/index.html?ref=opinion

Groucho was lunching with the late John Guedel, whose name you've seen as producer on the credits of "You Bet Your Life." A couple approached their table and the man said, "Groucho, we just adore you. Say something insulting to my wife." Groucho looked her over and said to the husband, "With a wife like that you should be able to think of your own insults."

Opening #3

I was dealing with a lot of goo. Mostly eye-goo, but there was also nose-goo. And every morning, an impressive amount of throat-goo, stretched lengthwise down the windpipe - would suddenly slide up and ball together, blocking the trachea, compelling the hocking reflex necessary to suck it all up and into the mouth. There, it would collect for a moment, take a last demented look around, before being hurled headlong into the waiting folds of a hurriedly-opened tissue.

It lay there, viscous green, and silent. The stuff of life gone slightly awry.

So this is the world, it thought.