"Truth and beauty", pontificated Plato, "are the cornerstones of our universe." He had been blethering on in this and similar veins for several hours, and Socrates, who, at first, had affected a devil-may-care attitude, was becoming increasingly irritated. In a sudden blast of flatulent impatience, he gave his annoying compadre a resounding smack in the face with a leftover piece of dolphin-steak from dinner-time, then topped it off with a hastily plopped turd to the forehead. Gasping upon the black-and-white tiled floor, Plato mumbled--"Indeed, that was a very truthful rebuttal...but I am not so certain of its beauty...." Later on, as the twain inspected a rather vile, pornographic piece of dubious literature entitled "Ho Voglia di Montare", a large, slat-sided yellow dog wandered by, with an enormous bone in its mouth. Inevitably, rude comments were passed back and forth about that bone, comparing it to comparable osseous structures observed in the magazine. How is Plato like a dead flounder? Neither has moustachioes. After a long and turdinous night of argument, the two immortal philosophers determined that both truth and beauty are, much like religion, quite subjective, and, as such, unsuitable candidates for the position of cornerstone of the universe. However, both were unanimously voted in as excellent toilet seats.

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