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I think that, while purple is my favorite color, it should not be used on vegetables. Purple is a color reserved for royalty and grapes. I guess this is mainly directed at eggplants. I mean, where do those green-topped misnomers get off? YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE EGGS LEAVE PURPLE ALONE.

I think the coat industry must love South Dakota. I use no fewer than three coats in a year; four if it rains even once. The shoe industry, too, must have a soft spot for South Dakota. Where else can one man require church shoes, day shoes, hiking boots, and snow boots?

For every shoe a man buys, a woman buys two point five. Look it up.

I think being President would be hard. I wouldn’t want the job; I can’t even name all the states. The best part of being President, I think, is being Commander in Chief of the Undead Civil War Army that lives beneath the White House. According to Wikipedia, no President has used that power, but the fact that it exists is probably a strong motivator for candidates.

I think, if I die, I’ll get a death mask made. But, I want it called “The Official Miles Rausch Death Masque”, like how Canadiens would spell it. The hardest part would be choosing a facial expression. It would have to embody my personality, life, and legacy. What facial expression does that?
I would spend hours pouring over photographs of myself, each a different ‘spression, as I would come to call them.

In the end, I think I’d opt for a blank expression, but I’d install motion-triggered fireworks. That’s good enough.

I think there’s a lot of unspoken hurt behind a magician’s voice when he says, “Look, there’s nothing up my sleeves.” It seems to suggest that, at one time, magicians were free to keep loads of stuff up their sleeves: coins, cards, dice, maybe even mulled wine and fresh apples.

Then, one day, some novice magician reaches just too far for the salt, causing all his sleeve-ware to spill out, and suddenly the gig is up. From then on, magicians around the world have to assure their audience that nothing, absolutely nothing, is kept up their sleeves. In fact, a whole cultural turn-of-phrase develops around the ordeal, painting magicians as thieves, charlatans, and swindlers instead of talented entertainers.

They still perform their illusions, but a tiny part of every magician dies with the words, “There’s nothing up my sleeve.”

I think the name “Adolf” is as close as any baby name book gets to the kind of controversy normal books, newspapers, and magazines can stir up. Somehow, I don’t think that name is ever going to recover. It comes up pretty quickly in the alphabet, so they don’t get long to ignore it, either. I’m sure every hot-shot “Letter A” editor thinks he’ll break the mold and include it, and then the heat comes down on him, hard.

“We can’t ignore it!” he screams from his office, walls adorned in different calligraphies of the letter “a”. “It’s a legitimate name, you know!”

“Not in America, it isn’t,” quips the wizened “Letters X, Y, Z” editor, whose weary eyes belie his number of similar battles.

Then, when the book comes out, the “Letter A” editor comes to work to find a copy on his desk. He excitedly flips through his section, hoping that the Baby Name Book corporate fat cats had a change of heart. They hadn’t, but there’s a bookmark in the final chapter. It marks an entry titled “Zadolf”.

The two editors become life-long friends.

I think tea is the Sean Connery of drinks. He’s distinguished and proper. He’s a household name, even if you don’t regularly enjoy a Sean. He’s got a host of flavors, some exotic, and even the Queen enjoys him.

I think coffee is the James Dean of drinks. He’s reckless but admired, and he’s really popular with Americans. People obsess over him, and you’re sure that he has more than a cursory association with narcotics. Almost everyone goes through a James Dean phase, and almost everyone learns to tone it down after a couple of years.

I think water is the William H. Macy of drinks.