These kinds of philosophical questions are natural for those born under the Sagittarius constellation. We are, after all, the philosophers of the zodiac, the wanderers, and the adventurers. The arrow the centaur draws is thought to symbolize our desire for direction, and a higher purpose.
It seems relatively simple, then, to link the crappy astrological definition I pulled from google's third search result with the Sanndine Residence, the house I am currently living in. (For those still uneducated, that would be an amalgamation of Sarah, Anne, and Nadine, put together so cleverly by that master of linguistic tricks, Jason).
One morning, I woke up, pushed open my curtains, and pulled up my blinds to a sight so bewildering in my semi-sleep state I had to walk into the kitchen and look out that window to make certain of what I was staring at. What stared back at me was this:
If you're still having trouble, as I did, here is a close-up:
What is the purpose of this? Where did these come from? What is the meaning of life?
As you can see, my philosophical nature handled this situation optimally well. Sarah, Nadine, and I thought about it a while, discussed, and posed the question to our friends, but the best we could come up with is that the missionaries downstairs were either pranked, or playing some sort of fork game, like Don't Step On The Fork, or Plant Many Forks, the latter of which can be found in the New Testament.
We then overheard Greg, Priest-in-Training, discussing with Sam, or "Dad" that we might have been the ones to do it. Really? Three university-educated girls and all we could think of was to bombard our own backyard with a hundred plastic forks? Really boys? Really? Maybe it was a higher calling. All I know is that I found this little gem,
and now it doesn't matter what direction I'm going, because I'm sitting first class on Babylon Airlines with God as my captain. How do you know there's a pilot at the party? Don't worry, He'll tell you.
