Despite what philosophers and college sophomores try to tell you, Truth is not an elusive beast. It’s not some shy chimera, hiding in a morally ambiguous forest, feeding on tender buds of nuance and leafy shoots of supposition. It’s not semantically ambivalent. It’s not coloured in a million shades of grey. It’s not a matter of opinion. Nope! None of the above! Truth is real. It’s big. It’s bold. It’s etched in stone. And I can prove it. Here are some hardcore facts — no ifs, buts, or maybes. This is Truth, and it’s happening all around us.
The square of the hypotenuse (the side opposite the right angle) is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.
There are three kinds of people in the world — those who understand math and those who don’t.
Your family always knows which buttons to push because they installed them.
Rock Bottom has a basement.
Paris is always a good idea.
The distance between loser and lover is sometimes measured in tequila.
Pregnant women are smug.
If you keep your clothes long enough, they might eventually come back into style — but by the time they do, they won’t fit.
A low-cut neckline beats a bad hair day every time.
The probability of red wine getting spilled on white carpet is directly related to the cost of the carpet, not the cost of the wine.
The only birthdays that actually matter are 18, 21, 40, 50 and 60.
And my favourite:
Everybody wants a sensitive man until the sonofabitch actually shows up.