Why I laugh at the Most Inappropriate of Times (Times Being What They Are, After All).

I was at school and as things go I was taking a test.  The exam rolled on -- the class was captivated by staunch words on a limpid construct.  Answers came, answers did not.  But the questions?  The questions plagued me!

They were incessant!

I reasoned, in the absence of one particular answer, that enough was enough.  I know far more answers than these!

They were asking the wrong questions!  The problem was theirs, you see.

My reasoning did not end there.  Had it, you might think less of me, and parts of me fear that.  (Although who you are, I cannot know).

The continuation of reason: Exists.

As thus:  The class captivated, against their will!  Now was the time to make a speech.

I would speak, though I would have preferred someone else to.  Their words would humble me equally, but of what would they speak?

Ah-ha!  That answer I knew not, and disliking uncertainty, I felt it best to speak my own words.

I would talk of answers.  I would tell all I knew about happiness.  All I knew of the machining of pistons and other general proclivities of auto mechanics.  I could spew facts and fictions alike on the subject of fecal matter!

Impressively, people would listen!

The answer came and someone else spoke of imaginary numbers and their affectation of accents.

Such is the way of the world and the reason for my silence.