A long time ago, a friend of mine wrote a poem. I think it went like this:

You are a pimple on the mirror of the face of mankind
If no one bothers you, you just go away,
But if someone bothers you, you get itchy and irritated,
Bothered more, you’ll get red and go PLOBBER
All over the mirror of the face of mankind

OK, not the deepest thing that I’ve read but we were 19ish at the time. The reason that I thought of it is that we were making s’mores recently with the grandkids. Some of them didn’t want to wait for the marshmallows to liquify on the inside and just let them catch fire and blacken as soon as possible.

As soon as they squeezed the s’more, the solid marshmallow lump inside would plobber out of the s’more onto the plate or lap of the cook.

And then the poem traversed time and space back to me.

Thanks, Ken