As you know, Yogi Berra, master of the malapropism, died in September. In the Berra spirit, I cooked up the following during last night's troubled sleep:
Said by me to Berra in the presence of Peter: He who hesitates is lost.
Berra: You mean Peter?
What is Berra failing to understand?
(I would continue with this, but I am presently under assault by some nasty flu bug. And last night's whisky cure did no good at all.
If I said to Wittgenstein, "I feel like shit warmed-over," he would shoot back: "You have no idea what shit feels like, fresh-cooked or warmed-over."