File: wittysteinbook.png (631 KB, 650x707)

631 KB PNG

They don't make philosophers like this anymore
>Only once my companion's shrieks had deafened would my wife meekly dare to lift herself out of the saucer.
>To aid her in her escape to the lavatory, I would bring up whatever labyrinthine problem I could imagine would grasp and hold his next agitative state which was certainly burgeoning in that brilliant mind of his.
>But for one exception this tactic would be sufficient. I mistakenly awakened him with an inquiry into the origins of milk. >For I said, "Why ought it be that men have nipples, if they can't be milked?".
>Ludwig immediately quipped back "Can't, or shouldn't? The nipple-function [He would Germanise his English often] is to dispense milk. Men have nipples, so they are to be milked, would you not agree my Malcolm?"
>To my horror I realised that this topic recast his mind towards my wife's privacy, and when he noticed her absence, he called for her... "Miss Lee! Come hither with a fresh saucer, we are all out of milk!".
>When no response came but the echo for Ludwig's voice, he gripped the saucer from the floor and stormed out of the dinette towards the lavatory upstairs.
>He galumphed up my hollow stairwork yelling for her nipples. I
> did not move from shock till I heard him say "Miss Lee we are to milk our saucer replenished!
>The door awry was busted open by Wittgenstein revealing my wife in the process of changing dress. "Remove your brassiere. The buds need milking, don't you agree Norman?", he said without looking at me.