Neither Oscar nor Alex knew of game theory’s prisoner problem.
Oscar, because he died in 1900. The prisoner problem wasn’t formulated until 1950. Alex, born in 1974, because he was a blithering idiot, spoiled brat, and above all, ignorant.
As soon as Oscar hits Reading Gaol, he begins to flail.
Alex Jones should have hit Reading Gaol.
A lot of you folks out there should note, and take heart, about the treadmill machines at Reading Gaol. Treading water, treading millstone, treading bread cast upon the waters, milling grain, separated from chaff, from mean mistreating goats foreskin seeing their oats, blotted and bloated on oats, on streams, or brooks, or rills, or a rill casting up a spring rainbow, but no.
A treadmill at a fitness clubber.
A rowing machine to fitness flubber.
Tote that bar, lift that bale.
Alex Jones should have been made to wail,
Treadmills at Reading Gaol.
Oscar, a perdiem carpediem, smug smegma — Oscar, effete, effete though physically suitable material for linebacker, or tackle, American football, getting Oscar, an unattractive bulging and raving glory since earlier days at Oxford, especially after the USA visit, and after pederasty cementing as a sidewalk of New York, loosening ties, passages to India, suttee, needs to get into fighting trim. Treadmill is the way to do it, twenty-five hours a day, five hundred and sixty days per year. Hup two three four Hup two three four…
Spam of Human Affection 
Leave a comment