In the last few minutes of the prelude music before Sacrament meeting on Sunday, the following conversation occurred:
Tim: (gazing meditatively on the A4 piece of paper he has just folded and crushed into a tiny cylinder) How many of these do you think I could get in my mouth?
Me: Open up, and I’ll estimate.
(He does so. I move the piece of paper around, trying to imagine.)
Me: About…eight I should think.
Tim: Yes, that’s what I thought. Do you think I could set a Guinness World Record?
Me: I dunno, you’ll have to look it up. Probably.
Tim: It’s too stupid for anyone else to have tried.
Me: Wait till the spinning drill fool gets hold of that idea – you’d best do it quick.
(Tim, slightly concerned, opens the piece of paper and refolds it even tighter.)
Tim: Ok. (Holds up smaller wedge of paper.) How about now?
Well, we’ll both hit our quarter-centuries next year, and fame and significance eludes us both. You have to take what you can get: Tim could become ‘Paper in Mouth Man’, a snowballing internet phenomenon, and I’d ride his coattails to glory and riches. It’s about the best plan I’ve come up with this week.