THE ORACLE

        THE ORACLE


The misshapen oracle crouched on its haunches on the side of the path, hugging its knees to its forehead, and, peeking between its legs, watched the passers-bye, the floroflyte feather in its head-band bending in the breeze.  Catching the eye of one rollerbye, it said -- Hi bit-myte --, the bit-myte nodded and continued rolling down the trail, and the next time the bit-myte rolled past, the oracle said -- Hi bite-mote --then the bite-mote replied, --Hi, I was a bit-myte, but now I see that I'm not much more than a mote -- so the BM roller thing continued on rolling by every hour, because it was going in a straight line and it was a very small planet.  Every time it rolled bye the oracle would call it something different, such as bog-muhr, or blight-mut, or bug-mug, and normally the BM roller thing would merely nod and continue on its way without even slowing down.  Then, finally, the oracle called it migraine-booger, which was certainly out of context! The roller thing stopped, and said --Well, if your such a good oracle, what exactly am I? --, and the oracle said -- How would I know?, but if you'll take that left-hand path, or that right-hand path, I wont have to look at you again.  So the BM roller thing did.  And the oracle never saw it again!  Then the oracle started standing instead of squating on its haunches - and that's the moral of the story, because every story has a moral.