"It's doesn't really count as exposition if a character is just reminiscing out loud."
"My friend, you have met a terrible, terrible demise. But you know, I don't feel too bad about it. After all, if it weren't from me, it would have just been from someone else, ya know? I guess what I'm trying to say is...life, life goes on. Well, for everyone else, life goes on, not for you. You're dead. That's neither here nor there. That reminds me of one summer day in the park. I was having a delightful picnic with my good friend, Orville. And I said to him, I said: 'Orville, I have a story.' And he said to me: 'What's the significance of the story?' I said to him: 'Orville, not every story has to have significance, ya know? Sometimes, uh, sometimes a story is just a story. You try to read into every little thing and find meaning in everything anyone says, you'll just...drive yourself crazy. I had a friend do it once - wasn't pretty. We talked about it for years. And not only that, you'll likely end up believin' something you shouldn't believe, thinkin' something you shouldn't think, o-or assuming something you shouldn't assume, ya know? Sometimes,' I said, 'a story is just a story, so just be quiet for one second of your life and eat your sandwich, okay?' Of course, it was only then I realized I made sandwiches and... poor Orville was having such difficulty eating it! Elephants have those clumsy hands, ya know? Actually, I suppose that's the problem. They don't have hands at all, do they? They're... They're all feet. I couldn't imagine someone asking me to eat a sandwich with my feet. Now, if I recall correctly, there was a bakery nearby, I said to him: "Orville, let me go get ya some rye bread." Now, I'm not sure elephants enjoy rye bread, but I assure you that Orville does. Now this was on a Tuesday, which was good because rye bread was always fresh on Tuesday. They made sourdough on Monday, and threw it out Wednesday. Or rather they...sold it at a discount for people who wanting to feed the ducks and then...probably at the end of the day they threw it all out. I don't recall. I do remember a man who would bring his son to the bakery every Wednesday, and go feed the ducks. He would buy all of the sourdough bread, of course, you know, you're not supposed to feed the ducks sourdough bread at all. It swells up in their stomach and they all die, at least...at least that's what I've heard. Ya know, I never saw any ducks die myself, but I did notice a substantial decrease in duck population over the course of a few years. I just never thought to stop the man and tell him he was killin' the ducks by feeding them sourdough bread. And if you want my opinion on the matter, and I told Orville this as well, if you wanna feed ducks or birds of any kind for that matter, especially buy seed. I mean, when you think about it, breads of any sort don't occur in nature. They don't grow on trees or spring up from the bushes! I don't think birds know what to do with bread. What was I saying? Oh, oh, yes, yes. So I bought Orville some rye bread. What a fine day it was."
—Mr. Hippo, Ultimate Custom Night
"We can't bust heads like we used to. But we have our ways. One trick is to tell stories that don't go anywhere. Like the time I caught the ferry to Shelbyville? I needed a new heel for m'shoe. So I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. 'Gimme five bees for a quarter,' you'd say. Now where were we...oh yeah. The important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn't have white onions, because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones..."
— Abraham 'Grandpa' Simpson, The Simpsons, "Last Exit to Springfield"
Where was I?
Odd how the wrong stories pop into one's head at my age. It's not odd, no. It's ruddy scary.
—Timothy Cavendish, Cloud Atlas
[After Stephen has just given an extremely long and rambling answer to a simple question]
Peter Sagal: That was a wonderful answer, I have forgotten the question.
Stephen Fry: It was pretentious horseshit and you know it!
Peter Sagal: That was a wonderful answer, I have forgotten the question.
Stephen Fry: It was pretentious horseshit and you know it!
Oh hello there! My name is Nern. I'm considered the greatest historian of our time... I've gathered a wealth of knowledge about Olathe and what happened here. Many tales... Would you like to hear? Hmm... I wish you were more enthusiastic... Oh well, I'll tell you anyway. Let's see.... Oh right! It all started with what I like to call, THE FLASH. I was sitting with my wife, god rest her soul, sipping on sweet lemon tea. I believe it was homemade by my sweet wife, God rest her soul. Or wait... Maybe she bought it from the store in a bottle. You know, like a plastic bottle? Well hold on now, that would be ridiculous to buy a bottle of sweet lemon tea, then transfer the contents into a glass. Why not just drink it from the bottle? I guess maybe so she could put ice in the glass? But then again, making tea homemade would be just as time consuming, if not more! That sneaky bitch... Anyway, I'll save that story for later! So, I'm sitting on my porch drinking sweet lemon tea. From a glass of course, ho ho! When suddenly... A great strangeness fills my body... Something was wrong... I've lived many years, and I've never felt something like this before. Do you know what it was? Yup! It was my rocking chair! That wooden son of a gun stopped rocking! So I looked down and realized a little rock had gotten caught beneath my chair! A rock under my rocking chair! What a day! I decided it was time for bed, I had had a little bit too much excitement for one day! Hoho! I slid into my jammies, brushed my teeth, and said my prayers. As I was climbing into bed I noticed my wife, God rest her soul, brushing her hair in the bathroom. As I peered across the hall my body swelled up with emotion... "Why can't I be married to an attractive woman?" "Is it me?" "My bank account?" I'm a tall guy, I workout forty minutes a week... Is that not enough? Now my neighbor at the time, Tom Forknight, was very short. His wife, Karen Forknight-Plateburger... Yeah, one of THOSE women. Well, she was more attractive than my wife. I'd say she was a soft six, whereas my wife was a hard four. What's the deal? I thought women liked tall men? Why was Karen with him? Anyway my horse of a wife, God rest her soul, crawled into bed next to me. She decided to leave the bedside light on so she could read her book. It was one of her romance novels again... Give me a break... As if I don't already feel inadequate enough... Not only do I have to compete with Tom, now I have to deal with these fictional hunks! Ay yai yai! At this point I had already suppressed the urges of intimacy, I rolled over and tried to sleep. Her bedside light was only of minor annoyance. I was able to drift off... Then I woke up to a big flash of light. That's about it. (Brad begins walking away) I can tell by the way you're walking away that you don't want to leave... If you really want to hear another story I'll tell you. Once upon a hot summer night. Sometime in July... Was it July? My local grocery store sells really good eggs in July. I don't know why. Do chickens operate better in heat? Fireworks maybe? I don't know. I don't want to get off topic. Point is, the eggs that Summer were marvelous! Anyway, my wife and I, God rest her soul, went to a BBQ that night. It was held at Dale Spooner's house. Well, his backyard... Conny Spooner doesn't want people in her home, I think she's just an uptight bitch. So at this BBQ I see none other than... That's right, Tom Forknight... Now earlier in the day my wife, God rest her soul, had made potato salad for the BBQ. Personally I hate potato salad, I'm a mashed kind of fellow. Hoho! So I sat in the TV room avoiding her till the BBQ. Once we were at the party, I made sure to distance myself from my dumb potato bitch wife. God rest her soul, I just didn't want anyone to think I would associate with someone that would bring a potato salad! Anyway, Tom and his above mediocre wife were already there. And get this, they brought a fruit salad! With whipped cream! The nerve of those Forknights! Needless to say I gave my wife, God rest her soul, a couple choice words About whipped cream! Versus potato salad! God dammit! Son of a bitch! A real tongue lashing! Geez, you're kind of smothering me. I'll talk to you later.note
— Nern Guan, LISA
