Wisdom From the Third Century A.D.
Socrates, the well-known dead Greek philosopher, imparted a great many words of wisdom during his short lifetime. He actually lived to the age of one hundred and two, but was only four feet tall. Scattering his thoughts like seeds in a field, he barely noticed the infertility of the soil, until, one day, he was run over by an oxen pulling a plough. Further, it is not widely known that the great great great great great great great great great great grandson of his second cousin, Sockit-to-ya-knees, born in 264, was also a profound thinker. His wife was called Miniopidopimus, but Sockit-to-ya-knees had trouble saying it, and even less success remembering it, and so simply referred to her as, "the old bag." This was really very appropriate, for she looked like an over-stuffed suitcase.
"Can't you try to take care of your appearance," he complained one day. "Brush your hair or something."
"Don't be silly," she said, and not with out reason: Miniopidopimus was bald.
The two lived together in married headlock for most of their adult lives. They had seven children, but only spoke to three of them, and so things were not too bad.
Sockit-to-ya-knees was employed, during several short months, as a pyromaniac, but was finally fired from that.
He devoted much of his time to thinking about thinking, and thought it a waste of time. All that remains of his genius inspirations are a few badly spelled proverbs and personal ponderings, written on the backs of Cornflake packets. They do though offer a good insight into the mental state of the third century:
Do unto others--
and run for it.
Too many cooks--
have dirty fingernails.
Don't count your chickens,
just send them to school and they'll learn to count themselves.
Look both ways before you cross,
and put a finger up your bum before you jump.
Life is not really worth living,
I only do it because it's slightly preferable to being dead.