My crazy logic

I can prove using nothing but argument and logic that any old table I am sitting at is actually a cow.
Here I go.
It has four legs, just like a cow. It’s  shiny and brown like a cow that standing in the rain.
Strangely silent this cow.
Maybe its dead.
Poor cow!
I already feel I knew her so well…
I still remember the love letters I wrpte, one of which started, ‘I can’t imagine you a cow. You are a great overwhelming udder’…
If I wrote that it must be a cow and not s table because tables don’t have udders.
If it is a cow, and has an udder, I should be able to milk it.
Like crazy old king lear I wave my arms about and shout for service, and some milk appears from the kitchen.
There. If it hadn’t been a dead cow, o could have produced a bucket of fresh milk.

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