|Da-da's voice can stop traffic, but his children can't seem to hear it.|
A Man Called Da-da has no mind of his own.
His children ate it.
Still, he is good to people who are good.
He is good to people who aren't good.
Da-da is a sap.
He trusts people who are trustworthy.
He trusts people who aren't trustworthy...but just barely.
Da-da enjoys abuse.
A Man Called Da-da's mind is like space,
but with better planets, that serve coffee 24/7.
People don't understand him.
How could they?
They look at him and wait, shake their heads.
Some throw rocks.
He treats them like his own children,
with a voice like a Fallen Angel.
[Excerpted from Da-da's third book, The Tao of Da-da (or, Strong Winds CAN Blow All Day, Depending on How Much Sugar Has Been Ingested). Void where prohibited. Publishers welcome, or at least given a cookie and stared at.]
|"Nope. Still not getting it, Da-da."|