My mother was an enthusiastic chef but wildly disorganized, and often preferred purchasing yet another jar of mace or chili powder rather than having to hunt down its last incarnation.
We cannot remember too often that when we observe nature, and especially the ordering of nature, it is always ourselves alone we are observing.
Do goofy stories make people nice? What if, in their goofiness, these stories somehow inspire that in the right way. Is that a social good?
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