Fictionlet
“Why are you staring into space like that?” Brigid asked. “You’ve been like that for twenty minutes now.”
“I have a problem,” Greg said. “And it’s bothering me.”
“Is it that small particle of brain in the back of your skull? ’cause we can have that removed.”
“I’m wondering when it stops being ordinary ‘foolery,’ and becomes ‘tomfoolery.'”
Brigid blinked. “What?”
“I mean, what is tomfoolery? Who is this ‘Tom’ and why is his foolery so much more egregious than any other fool’s, um, foolery? And when people say they won’t stand for any tomfoolery, does it mean they would stand for ordinary foolery?”
“You haven’t really been thinking about that for twenty minutes, have you?” she asked. “You’re just pulling my leg … right?”
“I just hate the way people casually toss these things around, like they don’t mean anything. It’s like hearing somebody say ‘I could care less.’ Don’t they even care what they’re saying?”
“The ol’ train of thought left the station years ago for you, didn’t it?” she said, heading off to bed.
“Is there such a think as ‘dick-and-harryfoolery?'” he called at her retreating back. “And if so, how will I know it if I see it?”
-The Gneech
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