It is not true that rocks don't talk. The rocks in my head have a lot to say, but mostly they ask questions:
"Do beavers ever get damned tired?"
"Was Oedipus Rex the first person to engage in sexual intercourse with his mother?"
"Is there a word for a person who engages in sexual intercourse with mothers?"
"How would cops cope if there were copious crooked cops?"
"What do cannibals pack for lunch? Ladyfingers? Esophagus sandwiches? Bellybutton pudding?
"Would we feel less lonely if more people had rocks in their heads?"
"Can we stop asking questions now?"
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