Occam’s razor?
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Couldn’t all the western states just go on Mountain Standard Time year-round, since Mountain Standard Time is the same as Pacific Daylight Time, without any special permission from Congress?
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May I present to you Mockam’s Razor, a formulation which states that while the simplest explanation is most likely true, the most interesting explanation is much more fun?
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But if the western states did go on Mountain Time, wouldn’t that force the Union of Concerned Eschatologists to move up their joint project with the Association of Morally Compromised Horologists to melt the ice dams at the edge of the world and slide the continents onto the dome of the heavens?
Oh- wait, we’re you expecting sensible discussion here?
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Well couldn’t we all then ascend the celestial dome and finally see for ourselves which brand of trainers Jesus wears while playing basketball? Might they be ASICS?
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Oh, so you’re part of the ASICS apostasy then? All I’ll say is that I played against Him at the Y last Wednesday and wasnt he wearing Teva XLT Sport Sandals?
And damn, can’t that kid dunk?
Didn’t I edit to reformat my answer as a question? How could I forget where I am?.
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Why does this store-bought hot cocoa mix that someone gave me during the holidays (that I’ve finally opened to try) have chocolate chips in it? Is that a thing?
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Why wouldn’t it be a thing?
Chocolate chips are great.
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Are you asking me…or telling me? 
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Sally Mahoney… has anyone ever sang to you, Sally Ma Honey, Sally Ma Baby, Sally Ma Ragtime Gal?
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, aren’t they?
And aren’t I eating some (different ones) right now?
Because they didn’t blend into the hot milk, and wound up in a half-melted soft lump at the bottom of the mug, perhaps?
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Is Swiss Miss some kind of weird, chocolaty metaphor for the Jewish Diaspora? Were my mother’s parents actually half-melted bits, awash in a sea of goyish milk? Is that even kosher?
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Could the metaphor work just as well (if not on a deeper level) given an African Hebrew diaspora, and that since cocoa originates from tropical equatorial regions?
Could anyone – other than knowledgeable relatives and friends – truly know the lactic excursions of others’ maternal grandparents, much less when said grandparents’ phase changes from a solid to a liquid?
Could anyone rightly claim that anything having to do with chocolate cannot be kosher?
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You haven’t kept up with the latest work in Biblical Archaeology, have you?
If I may quote from last year’s epistemological blockbuster, fragment 180928-1, the so called “Wonkapocrypha”:
And the Lord did show to the Israelites that embodiment of his Sweet Love known to the heathens as chocolate,
But even as they did savor its Divinity, he said unto them:
Know now that this is forbidden you and in its place I give you this carob, which you will eat if you love me,
For I have decreed that the Children of Israel shall suffer,
And what could be worse than eating only carob and unleavened bread in a world of chocolate croissants?
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Nobody likes carob, do they?
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Would you trust ‘em if they said they did?
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Wouldn’t I be stupid to?
Didn’t my mother used to say “Beware of hippies and weirdos bearing strange foodstuffs”?
Did she actually mean “Don’t talk to strangers?”
If that’s the case, why did I have my name embroidered on my dungarees!?
Am I lucky to be here…?
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Aren’t all conversations over this internet thing the very definition of talking to strangers?
Would you like some of the delicious carob-pimento-kale brownies I have in the trunk of my car?
You don’t see them? Perhaps if you lean in a little further…?
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