And everything in between is life.

We wanted to tell him he wasn’t funny. But we wanted to be nice. That is what our parents taught us for the first ten years of our delicate existences. Even if wanted to go down the honesty is the best policy road of life we would be unable to do so merely because we were slaves of conditioning. So we laughed like we were watching stand up comedy, we asked for round 8 even though we wished to go back to a time where even round one did not exist. We felt terrible about the daily lies, but after a point you convince yourself that there are no truths or no lies in the world. If anything there are facts, coldblooded facts of life. Nice was a fact.
We wanted to tell her she could hold a tune as much as a high school girl could hold her alcoholic beverages. But we wanted to be nice. The Man and wife that fulfilled their duties to the Homo sapiens species by procreating believed that to be nice is nice. So we played along just as we played along with the Santa story and ghosts. We are not stupid, we are children, were children, are children. So we swayed to her vocal emissions like a swarm of bees. We clapped till our thenar eminence turned a shade that was the colour of communism. We did not wish the difference between our thoughts and what we verbalized to be somehow similar to the high definition contrast between Miles Davis and Milli Vanilli. Things turn out different from the original schedule. You have only the option of erasing all memory of the fundamental scheme of things. A nice pretence of falseness is a false pretence of niceness.
We wished to convey to her that all kinds of whales, big and large, in the pacific referred to her as ‘the whale’. But we wanted to be nice. We would not deny her the 56th ham burger she guiltily craved; instead we would incorporate fast food delivery phone attendant behaviour and convince her that the triple super duper combo with the fries and Coco cola was far more amicable to her pocket money. A good deal is a good deal. We blind man visioned her attempts to order juice over beer. A six pack was at the base of her Maslow pyramid, or so we made her believe. We made her believe because we wanted ourselves to believe the honesty in our dishonesty. We were shallow, shallow creatures of scum nature. We were truly lowly insects that sucked the blood of terminal cancer patients.
The world of Technicolor niceness was not the real world. It was a cruel world that made the shy believe they were scared, the genius that they were awkward, the overweight they were beasts, the poor they were weak and the rich they were nice. The fact of life is. What is the fact of life? There are no facts. There are truths and there are lies and everything in between is life.