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I try to imagine the conference rooms where these things happened. Nine white men in suits with thin black ties, discussing ... well, utter lunacy, with serious faces.

"Right, Gene. An exploding cigar. I like it. Talk more about that."


"Goats, you say? So we will need a farm. Bob? Do we have a farm?" Bob: "Uh, let me check. Yes. Yes, sir. Pennsylvania."

And then these guys would go home and watch George Burns and Gracie Allen on TV, while the wife wore a poodle-skirt, and their son played with Lincoln Logs. Just... bizarre.