There was once an increasingly violent discussion between two friends about punctuation. In particular, the taller of the two friends was telling the shorter of the two friends that the shorter of the two friends used the exclamation point way too often to suit the taller of the two friends' taste. The taller of the two friends told the shorter of the two friends that the continual gratuitous use of the exclamation point pissed him off.
"Really!" said the shorter of the two friends. The taller of the two friends started hitting the shorter of the two friends & did not stop until the shorter of the two friends could now be called "the friend who was now a bloody pulp."
"My God!" said the friend who was not a bloody pulp under his breath when he realized what he had done to his friend who was now a bloody pulp. "I can't believe I did that just because of an exclamation point!"
The New Yorker noted that "this story is amusing enough for pleasant company at cocktail parties, ski lodges, & barn burnings." The original writer of the tale, Savage H. Puncture, while agreeing with the review, quickly point out that the reviewer, summarizing the tale, left out the important ending & its import. In fact, there were two more paragraphs about a quizzical chair who watched the two friends with interest, especially when the blood began to be spilled.
Puncture's final paragraph told us that the chair did not get the same joke the reader of the tale should, & that that was sad, because it meant that chairs had no sense of irony. Chairs could be used ironically, or placed ironically, or discussed ironically, but they did not themselves understand the irony of a man angry at exclamation points using them when he realized where his anger led him.
Savage H. Puncture himself was murdered by a friend who didn't like his writing at all.
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