Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Two B r ought to B by Kurt Vonnegut Junior.
Everything was perfectly swell. There were no prisons, no slums,
no insane asylums, no cripples, no poverty, no wars. All
diseases were conquered, so was old age. Death barring accidents
(00:26):
was an adventure for volunteers. The population of the United
States was stabilized at forty million souls. One bright morning
in the Chicago lying in hospital, a man named Edward K.
Welling Junior waited for his wife to give birth. He
was the only man waiting. Not many people were born
(00:46):
a day any more. Welling was fifty six, a mere
stripling in a population whose average age was one hundred
and twenty nine. X rays had revealed that his wife
was going to have triplellets. The children would be his
first Young Whaling was hunched in his chair, his head
(01:07):
in his hand. He was so rumpled, so still, and colorless,
as to be virtually invisible. His camouflage was perfect, since
the waiting room had a disorderly and demoralized air too,
chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the walls.
The floor was paved with spattered drop cloths. The room
(01:28):
was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial
to a man who had volunteered to die. A sodonic
old man about two hundred years old sat on a
step ladder painting a mural he did not like. Back
in the days when people aged visibly, his age would
have been guessed at thirty five or so. Aging had
(01:51):
touched him that much before the cure for aging was found.
The mural he was working on depicted a very neat garden.
Men and women in white doctors and nurses, turned the soil,
planted seedlings, sprayed, bugs, spread fertilizer. Men and women in
purple uniforms pulled up weeds, cut down plants that were
(02:12):
old and sickly, raked leaves, carried refuse to trash burners. Never, never, never, not,
even in medieval Holland or old Japan, had a garden
been more formal, better tended. Every plant had all the loam, light, water, air,
and nourishment it could use. A hospital orderly came down
(02:36):
the corridor, singing under his breath a popular song. If
you don't like my kisses, honey, here's what I will do.
A go see a girl in purple, kiss his sad
world too, lou. If you don't all my lovin, why
should I take up all this space. I'll get off
this old planet. Letnum sweet baby, have my please' home. Oh.
(03:01):
The orderly looked up of the mural, and the muralist
looks so real, he said, can practically imagine I'm standing
in the middle of it. What makes you think you're
not in it? Said the painter. He give us a
tiric smile. It's called a happy garden of life. You
know that's good. Old doctor Hitz, said the orderly. He
(03:22):
was referring to one of the male figures in white,
whose head was a portrait of doctor Benjamin Hits, the
hospital's chief obstetrician. Hits was a blindingly handsome man. Lots
of faces still to fill in, said the orderly. He
meant that the faces of many of the figures in
the mural were still blank. All the blanks were to
(03:43):
be filled in with portraits of important people on either
the hospital staff or from the Chicago office of the
Federal Bureau of Termination. Must be nice to be able
to make pictures that look like something, said the orderly.
The painter's face curdled with scorn. You think I'm proud
of this daub, he said. You think this is my
(04:04):
idea of what life really looks like. What's your idea
of what life looks like? Said the orderly. The painter
gestured in a foul drop cloth. There's a good picture
of it, he said. Frame that you'll have a picture
of damn sight more honest than this one. You're a
gloomy old duck, aren't you, said the orderly. Is that
(04:24):
a crime, said the painter. The orderly shrugged. If you
don't like it, here, grandpa, he said, And he finished
the thought with a trick telephone number that people who
don't want to live anymore were supposed to call the
zero and the telephone number he pronounced ought. The number
was to be our ought to be. It was the
(04:47):
telephone number of an institution whose fanciful sobercuts included automat
Birdland cannery, catbox, d Lausser, easygo, goodbye mother, happy hooligan,
kiss me quick, lucky Pierre sheep dip wearing blender, weep
no more? And why worry? To be or not to be?
(05:08):
Was the telephone number of municipal gas chambers of the
Federal Bureau of Termination. The painter thumbed his nose at
the orderly. When I decided it's time to go, he said,
it won't be at the sheep dip. I do it
yourself for a said the orderly, messy business grandpa, Why
don't you have a little consideration for the people who
(05:29):
have to clean up after you? The painter expressed with
an obscenity his lack of concern for the tribulations of
his survivors. The world could do with a good deal
more mess if you ask me, he said. The orderly
laughed and moved on wailing. The waiting father mumbled something
(05:52):
about without raising his head. Then he fell silent again.
A coarse, formidable woman strode into the waiting room on
spike heels. Her shoes, stockings, trench coat, bag, and overseas
cap were all purple. The purple the painter called the
color of grapes on judgment day. The medallion on her
(06:12):
purple muset bag was the seal of the Service Division
of the Federal Bureau of Termination. An eagle perched on
a turnstile. The woman had a lot of facial hair
an unmistakable mustache. In fact, A curious thing about gas
chamber hostesses was that, no matter how lovely and feminine
they were when they were recruited, they all sprouted mustaches
(06:33):
within five years or so. Is this where I'm supposed
to come? She said to the painter. A lot would
depend on what your business was. He said, you aren't
about to have a baby, are you? They told me
I was supposed to pose for some picture. She said,
My name's Leora Duncan. She waited, and you dunk people?
(06:56):
He said, what skip it? He said that shore there
is a beautiful picture. She says, looks just like heaven
or something or something, said the painter. He took a
list of names from his smock pocket. Duncan, Duncan, Duncan,
he said, scanning the list. Yep, there you are. You're
entitled to be immoralized. See your faceless body here? You'd
(07:19):
like me to stick your head on? And got a
few choice ones left. She studied the mura obliquely. Gee,
she said, they're all the same to me. I I
don't know anything about art. Body's a body, eh, he said, alright,
he's a master of fine art. I recommend this body here,
He indicated a faceless figure of a woman who was
carrying dried stalks to a trash burner. Well, said Leora Duncan.
(07:45):
That's more the disposal people, isn't it. I mean I'm
in service. I don't do any disposing. The painter clapped
his hands and mocked a light. Won't you say you
don't know anything about art? And then you prove the
next breath you know more about it than I do.
Of course, the sheaf carrier's wrong for a hostess, A snipper,
a pruner, that's more your line. He pointed to a
(08:07):
figure in purple who was sawing a dead branch from
an apple tree. How about her? He said? You like
her at all? Gosh, she said, and she blushed and
became humble. Well that that puts me right next to him,
Doctor Hits. That upsets you, he said, good cravy. No,
she said, it's just to such an honor. Oh you
(08:29):
admire him? Eh? He said, who doesn't admire him? She said,
worshiping the portrait of Hits. It was the portrait of
a tanned, white haired omnipotent Zeus two hundred and forty
years old. Who doesn't admire him? She said? Again? He
was responsible for setting up the very first gas chamber
in Chicago. Nothing would please me more, said the painter,
(08:53):
than to put you next to him for all time,
sawing off a limb that strikes you as a probe. Oh,
that is kind of like what I do, she said.
She was demure about what she did. What she did
was make people comfortable while she killed them. And while
(09:17):
Leora Duncan was posing for her portrait, into the waiting
room bounded Doctor Hits himself. He was seven feet tall,
and he boomed with importance, accomplishments, and the joy of
living well, Miss Duncan, Miss Duncan, he said, And he
made a joke. What are you doing here? He said?
Sitting where the people leave, This is where they come in.
(09:38):
We're going to be in the same picture together, she said, shyly, good,
said Doctor Hits heartily, and say, isn't that some picture?
I sure am honored to be in it with you,
she said. Let me tell you, he said, I'm honored
to be in it with you. Without women like you,
this wonderful world we've got wouldn't be possible. Eluded her,
(10:01):
and moved towards the door that led to the delivery rooms.
Guess what was just born? He said, I can't. She
said triplets. Triplets. He said triplets. She said she was
exclaiming over the legal implications of triplets. The law said
that no newborn child could survive unless the parents of
the child could find someone who would volunteer to die.
(10:25):
Triplets if they were all to live, called for three volunteers.
Do the parents have three volunteers, said Lear Duncan. Last
I heard, said doctor Hitz. They had one and were
trying to scrape the other two up. I don't think
they made it, she said. Nobody made three appointments with us.
(10:46):
Nothing but singles going through today unless somebody called in
after I laughed. What's the name Welling? Said the waiting father,
sitting up, red eyed and frowsy, Edward K. Welling Junior,
the name of the happy father to be. He raised
his right hand, looked at a spot on the wall,
gave a hoarsely wrecked chuckle. Present he said, Oh, doctor Welling,
(11:12):
said doctor Hits. I didn't see you, invisible man, said Welling.
They just phoned me that your triplets have been born,
said doctor Hits. They're all fine, so is the mother.
I'm on my way to see them now, hooray, said
Welling emptily. You don't sound very happy, said doctor Hits.
(11:32):
What man in my shoes wouldn't be happy, said Welling.
He gestured with his hands to symbolize care free simplicity.
All I have to do is pick out which one
of the triplets is going to live, and then deliver
my maternal grandfather to the happy hooligan and come back
here with a receipt. Doctor Hits became rather severe with Welling.
(11:54):
He towered over him. You don't believe in population control,
mister Welling, he said. I think it's perfectly keen, said Welling,
said Welling toutley. Would you like to go back to
the good old days when the population of the Earth
was twenty billion about to become forty billion, then eight billion,
and one hundred and sixty billion. Do you know what
(12:15):
a drouplet is, mister Welling, said doctor Hits. Nope, said
Welling sulkily. A druplet, mister Welling, is one of the
little knobs, one of the little pulpy grains of a BlackBerry,
said doctor Hits. Without population control, human beings would now
be packed on the surface of this old planet like
(12:36):
drooplets of a BlackBerry, think of it. Welling continued to
stare at the same spot on the wall. In the
year two thousand, said doctor Hits. Before scientists stepped in
and laid down the law, there wasn't even enough drinking
water to go around, and nothing to eat but seaweed.
And still people insisted on their right to reproduce like
(12:59):
jack rabbits. And they're right, if possible, to live forever.
I want those kids, said Welling quietly. I want all
three of them. Course you do, said doctor Hits. It's
only human. I don't want my grandfather to die either,
said Welling. Nobody's really happy about taking a close relative
(13:22):
to the cat box, said doctor Hits gently sympathetically. I
wish people wouldn't call it that, said Leo Duncan. What,
said Doctor Hits. I wish people wouldn't call it the
cat box and things like that, she said, gives people
the wrong impression. You're absolutely right, said doctor Hits. Forgive me,
(13:44):
he corrected himself. Gave the municipal gas Chambers their official title,
a title no one ever used in conversation. I should
have said ethical suicide Studios, he said, Well it sounds
so much better, he said, leon A Duncan, This child
of yours, whichever one you decide to keep, mister Willing, said,
(14:06):
Doctor Hits He or she is going to live in
a happy, roomy, clean, rich planet, thanks to population control,
in a garden like that mural there. He shook his head.
Two centuries ago, when I was a young man, it
was a hell that nobody thought could last another twenty years. Now,
centuries of peace and plenty stretched before us, as far
(14:28):
as the imagination cares to travel. He smiled luminously. The
smile faded as he saw that Welling had just drawn
a revolver. Welling shot Doctor Hits dead. There's room for one, great,
big one, he said. Then he shot Leora Duncan. It's
(14:50):
only death, he said to her, as she fell. There
room for two. Then he shot himself, making room for
all all three of his children. Nobody came running. Nobody
seemingly heard the shots. The painter sat on the top
(15:11):
of a step ladder, looking down reflectively on the sorry scene.
The painter pondered the mournful puzzle of life, demanding to
be born, and once born, demanding to be fruitful, to
multiply and to live as long as possible, to do
all that on a very small planet that would have
to last forever. All the answers that the painter could
(15:33):
think of were grim, even grimmer surely than a cat box,
a happy hooligan, an easy go. He thought of war,
He thought of plague, He thought of starvation. He knew
that he would never paint again. He let his paint
rush fall to the drop clause below, and then he
decided he'd had about enough of life, and the happy
(15:54):
garden of life too, and he came slowly down from
the ladder. He took Welling's pistol, really intending to shoot himself,
but he didn't have the nerve. Then he saw the
telephone booth in the corner of the room. He went
to it and dialed the well remembered number to be
(16:15):
r ought to be Federal Bureau of Termination, said the
very warm voice of a hostess. How soon could I
get an appointment, he asked, speaking very carefully. We could
probably fit you in late this afternoon, sir, she said,
might even be earlier if we get a cancelation. All right,
(16:37):
said the painter, bit me in if you please. He
gave his name spelling it out. Thank you, sir, said
the hostess. Your city, thanks you, your country, thanks you
your planet. Thanks you. But the deepest thanks of all
is from future generations. End of two b r ought
(16:58):
to be Mi Kurt Vonnige Junior
Two B r ought to B by Kurt Vonnegut Junior.
Everything was perfectly swell. There were no prisons, no slums,
no insane asylums, no cripples, no poverty, no wars. All
diseases were conquered, so was old age. Death barring accidents
(00:26):
was an adventure for volunteers. The population of the United
States was stabilized at forty million souls. One bright morning
in the Chicago lying in hospital, a man named Edward K.
Welling Junior waited for his wife to give birth. He
was the only man waiting. Not many people were born
(00:46):
a day any more. Welling was fifty six, a mere
stripling in a population whose average age was one hundred
and twenty nine. X rays had revealed that his wife
was going to have triplellets. The children would be his
first Young Whaling was hunched in his chair, his head
(01:07):
in his hand. He was so rumpled, so still, and colorless,
as to be virtually invisible. His camouflage was perfect, since
the waiting room had a disorderly and demoralized air too,
chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the walls.
The floor was paved with spattered drop cloths. The room
(01:28):
was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial
to a man who had volunteered to die. A sodonic
old man about two hundred years old sat on a
step ladder painting a mural he did not like. Back
in the days when people aged visibly, his age would
have been guessed at thirty five or so. Aging had
(01:51):
touched him that much before the cure for aging was found.
The mural he was working on depicted a very neat garden.
Men and women in white doctors and nurses, turned the soil,
planted seedlings, sprayed, bugs, spread fertilizer. Men and women in
purple uniforms pulled up weeds, cut down plants that were
(02:12):
old and sickly, raked leaves, carried refuse to trash burners. Never, never, never, not,
even in medieval Holland or old Japan, had a garden
been more formal, better tended. Every plant had all the loam, light, water, air,
and nourishment it could use. A hospital orderly came down
(02:36):
the corridor, singing under his breath a popular song. If
you don't like my kisses, honey, here's what I will do.
A go see a girl in purple, kiss his sad
world too, lou. If you don't all my lovin, why
should I take up all this space. I'll get off
this old planet. Letnum sweet baby, have my please' home. Oh.
(03:01):
The orderly looked up of the mural, and the muralist
looks so real, he said, can practically imagine I'm standing
in the middle of it. What makes you think you're
not in it? Said the painter. He give us a
tiric smile. It's called a happy garden of life. You
know that's good. Old doctor Hitz, said the orderly. He
(03:22):
was referring to one of the male figures in white,
whose head was a portrait of doctor Benjamin Hits, the
hospital's chief obstetrician. Hits was a blindingly handsome man. Lots
of faces still to fill in, said the orderly. He
meant that the faces of many of the figures in
the mural were still blank. All the blanks were to
(03:43):
be filled in with portraits of important people on either
the hospital staff or from the Chicago office of the
Federal Bureau of Termination. Must be nice to be able
to make pictures that look like something, said the orderly.
The painter's face curdled with scorn. You think I'm proud
of this daub, he said. You think this is my
(04:04):
idea of what life really looks like. What's your idea
of what life looks like? Said the orderly. The painter
gestured in a foul drop cloth. There's a good picture
of it, he said. Frame that you'll have a picture
of damn sight more honest than this one. You're a
gloomy old duck, aren't you, said the orderly. Is that
(04:24):
a crime, said the painter. The orderly shrugged. If you
don't like it, here, grandpa, he said, And he finished
the thought with a trick telephone number that people who
don't want to live anymore were supposed to call the
zero and the telephone number he pronounced ought. The number
was to be our ought to be. It was the
(04:47):
telephone number of an institution whose fanciful sobercuts included automat
Birdland cannery, catbox, d Lausser, easygo, goodbye mother, happy hooligan,
kiss me quick, lucky Pierre sheep dip wearing blender, weep
no more? And why worry? To be or not to be?
(05:08):
Was the telephone number of municipal gas chambers of the
Federal Bureau of Termination. The painter thumbed his nose at
the orderly. When I decided it's time to go, he said,
it won't be at the sheep dip. I do it
yourself for a said the orderly, messy business grandpa, Why
don't you have a little consideration for the people who
(05:29):
have to clean up after you? The painter expressed with
an obscenity his lack of concern for the tribulations of
his survivors. The world could do with a good deal
more mess if you ask me, he said. The orderly
laughed and moved on wailing. The waiting father mumbled something
(05:52):
about without raising his head. Then he fell silent again.
A coarse, formidable woman strode into the waiting room on
spike heels. Her shoes, stockings, trench coat, bag, and overseas
cap were all purple. The purple the painter called the
color of grapes on judgment day. The medallion on her
(06:12):
purple muset bag was the seal of the Service Division
of the Federal Bureau of Termination. An eagle perched on
a turnstile. The woman had a lot of facial hair
an unmistakable mustache. In fact, A curious thing about gas
chamber hostesses was that, no matter how lovely and feminine
they were when they were recruited, they all sprouted mustaches
(06:33):
within five years or so. Is this where I'm supposed
to come? She said to the painter. A lot would
depend on what your business was. He said, you aren't
about to have a baby, are you? They told me
I was supposed to pose for some picture. She said,
My name's Leora Duncan. She waited, and you dunk people?
(06:56):
He said, what skip it? He said that shore there
is a beautiful picture. She says, looks just like heaven
or something or something, said the painter. He took a
list of names from his smock pocket. Duncan, Duncan, Duncan,
he said, scanning the list. Yep, there you are. You're
entitled to be immoralized. See your faceless body here? You'd
(07:19):
like me to stick your head on? And got a
few choice ones left. She studied the mura obliquely. Gee,
she said, they're all the same to me. I I
don't know anything about art. Body's a body, eh, he said, alright,
he's a master of fine art. I recommend this body here,
He indicated a faceless figure of a woman who was
carrying dried stalks to a trash burner. Well, said Leora Duncan.
(07:45):
That's more the disposal people, isn't it. I mean I'm
in service. I don't do any disposing. The painter clapped
his hands and mocked a light. Won't you say you
don't know anything about art? And then you prove the
next breath you know more about it than I do.
Of course, the sheaf carrier's wrong for a hostess, A snipper,
a pruner, that's more your line. He pointed to a
(08:07):
figure in purple who was sawing a dead branch from
an apple tree. How about her? He said? You like
her at all? Gosh, she said, and she blushed and
became humble. Well that that puts me right next to him,
Doctor Hits. That upsets you, he said, good cravy. No,
she said, it's just to such an honor. Oh you
(08:29):
admire him? Eh? He said, who doesn't admire him? She said,
worshiping the portrait of Hits. It was the portrait of
a tanned, white haired omnipotent Zeus two hundred and forty
years old. Who doesn't admire him? She said? Again? He
was responsible for setting up the very first gas chamber
in Chicago. Nothing would please me more, said the painter,
(08:53):
than to put you next to him for all time,
sawing off a limb that strikes you as a probe. Oh,
that is kind of like what I do, she said.
She was demure about what she did. What she did
was make people comfortable while she killed them. And while
(09:17):
Leora Duncan was posing for her portrait, into the waiting
room bounded Doctor Hits himself. He was seven feet tall,
and he boomed with importance, accomplishments, and the joy of
living well, Miss Duncan, Miss Duncan, he said, And he
made a joke. What are you doing here? He said?
Sitting where the people leave, This is where they come in.
(09:38):
We're going to be in the same picture together, she said, shyly, good,
said Doctor Hits heartily, and say, isn't that some picture?
I sure am honored to be in it with you,
she said. Let me tell you, he said, I'm honored
to be in it with you. Without women like you,
this wonderful world we've got wouldn't be possible. Eluded her,
(10:01):
and moved towards the door that led to the delivery rooms.
Guess what was just born? He said, I can't. She
said triplets. Triplets. He said triplets. She said she was
exclaiming over the legal implications of triplets. The law said
that no newborn child could survive unless the parents of
the child could find someone who would volunteer to die.
(10:25):
Triplets if they were all to live, called for three volunteers.
Do the parents have three volunteers, said Lear Duncan. Last
I heard, said doctor Hitz. They had one and were
trying to scrape the other two up. I don't think
they made it, she said. Nobody made three appointments with us.
(10:46):
Nothing but singles going through today unless somebody called in
after I laughed. What's the name Welling? Said the waiting father,
sitting up, red eyed and frowsy, Edward K. Welling Junior,
the name of the happy father to be. He raised
his right hand, looked at a spot on the wall,
gave a hoarsely wrecked chuckle. Present he said, Oh, doctor Welling,
(11:12):
said doctor Hits. I didn't see you, invisible man, said Welling.
They just phoned me that your triplets have been born,
said doctor Hits. They're all fine, so is the mother.
I'm on my way to see them now, hooray, said
Welling emptily. You don't sound very happy, said doctor Hits.
(11:32):
What man in my shoes wouldn't be happy, said Welling.
He gestured with his hands to symbolize care free simplicity.
All I have to do is pick out which one
of the triplets is going to live, and then deliver
my maternal grandfather to the happy hooligan and come back
here with a receipt. Doctor Hits became rather severe with Welling.
(11:54):
He towered over him. You don't believe in population control,
mister Welling, he said. I think it's perfectly keen, said Welling,
said Welling toutley. Would you like to go back to
the good old days when the population of the Earth
was twenty billion about to become forty billion, then eight billion,
and one hundred and sixty billion. Do you know what
(12:15):
a drouplet is, mister Welling, said doctor Hits. Nope, said
Welling sulkily. A druplet, mister Welling, is one of the
little knobs, one of the little pulpy grains of a BlackBerry,
said doctor Hits. Without population control, human beings would now
be packed on the surface of this old planet like
(12:36):
drooplets of a BlackBerry, think of it. Welling continued to
stare at the same spot on the wall. In the
year two thousand, said doctor Hits. Before scientists stepped in
and laid down the law, there wasn't even enough drinking
water to go around, and nothing to eat but seaweed.
And still people insisted on their right to reproduce like
(12:59):
jack rabbits. And they're right, if possible, to live forever.
I want those kids, said Welling quietly. I want all
three of them. Course you do, said doctor Hits. It's
only human. I don't want my grandfather to die either,
said Welling. Nobody's really happy about taking a close relative
(13:22):
to the cat box, said doctor Hits gently sympathetically. I
wish people wouldn't call it that, said Leo Duncan. What,
said Doctor Hits. I wish people wouldn't call it the
cat box and things like that, she said, gives people
the wrong impression. You're absolutely right, said doctor Hits. Forgive me,
(13:44):
he corrected himself. Gave the municipal gas Chambers their official title,
a title no one ever used in conversation. I should
have said ethical suicide Studios, he said, Well it sounds
so much better, he said, leon A Duncan, This child
of yours, whichever one you decide to keep, mister Willing, said,
(14:06):
Doctor Hits He or she is going to live in
a happy, roomy, clean, rich planet, thanks to population control,
in a garden like that mural there. He shook his head.
Two centuries ago, when I was a young man, it
was a hell that nobody thought could last another twenty years. Now,
centuries of peace and plenty stretched before us, as far
(14:28):
as the imagination cares to travel. He smiled luminously. The
smile faded as he saw that Welling had just drawn
a revolver. Welling shot Doctor Hits dead. There's room for one, great,
big one, he said. Then he shot Leora Duncan. It's
(14:50):
only death, he said to her, as she fell. There
room for two. Then he shot himself, making room for
all all three of his children. Nobody came running. Nobody
seemingly heard the shots. The painter sat on the top
(15:11):
of a step ladder, looking down reflectively on the sorry scene.
The painter pondered the mournful puzzle of life, demanding to
be born, and once born, demanding to be fruitful, to
multiply and to live as long as possible, to do
all that on a very small planet that would have
to last forever. All the answers that the painter could
(15:33):
think of were grim, even grimmer surely than a cat box,
a happy hooligan, an easy go. He thought of war,
He thought of plague, He thought of starvation. He knew
that he would never paint again. He let his paint
rush fall to the drop clause below, and then he
decided he'd had about enough of life, and the happy
(15:54):
garden of life too, and he came slowly down from
the ladder. He took Welling's pistol, really intending to shoot himself,
but he didn't have the nerve. Then he saw the
telephone booth in the corner of the room. He went
to it and dialed the well remembered number to be
(16:15):
r ought to be Federal Bureau of Termination, said the
very warm voice of a hostess. How soon could I
get an appointment, he asked, speaking very carefully. We could
probably fit you in late this afternoon, sir, she said,
might even be earlier if we get a cancelation. All right,
(16:37):
said the painter, bit me in if you please. He
gave his name spelling it out. Thank you, sir, said
the hostess. Your city, thanks you, your country, thanks you
your planet. Thanks you. But the deepest thanks of all
is from future generations. End of two b r ought
(16:58):
to be Mi Kurt Vonnige Junior
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