…and that’s how you make cheese…
While Jim performs in Othello, the pre-recorded show takes its course at the hands (paws) of the furry children.
We talk about the loss of our freedoms, and intelligent maneuvers like this:
Or this piece of work…
News of the Weird and Wonderful
Interviews on the Phrytz
Phrytzie manages to get another exclusive with AOC.
Interviews to the Max
Max checks in with former FBI director, James Comey. Things go as well as can be expected.
Abby answers a letter from a retiree’s wife. It seems her husband was the victim of a merger and had to sue for his pension. He was let go, but he cannot let it go.
Mélanie translates Matthew 6:25-34:
Chill. Worrying is dumb. Get off your butt and do something and stop worrying about the bad things that might happen.
Jim talks about self-control and ends the show with this amazing poem:
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!