"When travelling sideways through the blank letterbox of time, it is often necessary to finagle the balance of your hedge against some other tree trunk, in order to ensure you are categorised adequately in the case of a merciless catharsis."
Frink yawned, as he often did during Dr Rutabaga's hyper-convoluted visionary lectures, and was surprised when an episodic caveman ran juggling through the boudoir located beside him (logically speaking - the boudoir was actually in 18th Century France, where it belonged).
Dr Rutabaga grinned a self-satisfied grin at Frink's surprise,
"If you had been listening to the crap I've been spouting the past six hours, that event would have enlightened, rather than surprised, you."
"Touche" replied Frink, as he peed on a nearby fire hydrant.
THE END
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