Dr. Foxy delivers a response to people who say people are mostly good: "no they are not, and in fact, if you look into it, you will find out much worse than I did"

Dr. Foxy was in town today or yesterday to talk about some stuff.  He got up to a podium.  He lifted the microphone because it was lowered for an earlier host.

The gooseneck was rusted out, made sometime in 1865, probably in February, and it made a screech across the entire basketball court at the Arena.  All the people stared, waiting.

Dr. Foxy did not disappoint the crowd of just average Joe's.

"I have spent a great deal of time looking into the matter, and I have this to say. [5 minute pause where someone had to be taken out by paramedic and then airlifted to a super hospital].  I said, I have this to say: 66.666% of the people are beasts.  Those are very accurate numbers, we've run the tests over 665 times and the same results come back each time on the calculator.  This is an Internal Business Machines brand of calculator, so there is no chance the numbers are mixed up behind the scenes like those upstart Texas Instruments copycats.  No sur!"

Dr. Foxy then looked at his clock, walked home, washed pans, dried them, hung them on their hooks, then returned.

"Where was I?" Dr. Foxy said, tuggling his giant tie to the King's standard, "66.666%.  That is not a round number or an estimate.  It is not something we extrapolated or analyzed in any way.  All it is is an exact figure.  What we call a number.  Here, I'll give you all a way to think about it.  Imagine there are three of anything.  Now, One out of those anythings is going to be 33.333%, which is not what we are after, but twice that figure, bear me out, is 66.666%."

"So, if you take three of anything, and there are two of that, so one is not, and two is the number that is.  So that is why it makes perfect sense.  I gotta say, if you can't parse out those numbers, what we call one over three, and two over three, frankly, you fall in to the later category of anythings.  That is just being frank.  That is just being perfectly frank, just to be perfectly clear."

A person in the front row stood up and said, "I think you shouldn't say those things publicly."

Dr. Foxy walked down the front row, and tackled the man, punching him three times, waited for him to rise, then he tackled him again, then he punched him three times, the man stumbled to his feet, then Dr. Foxy tackled him, waited for him to get up, and gave him three more punches.  He ran on like that, that is not a sentence, it is an account of the events of the day vis a vis none other than Dr. Rudimentus Foxy, renowned all doctor.  The man being corrected sat down in a daze and was consoled by his feminist best friend Charlie Furley.

However, then Dr. Foxy took the stairs like a King, two steps at a time, and shook blood from his fists before screeching the gooseneck one more time and even giving a new tap to the microphone (time travelers in the area should search out low-hanging forensic evidence in this time-space venue, you might find some gems of research fodder that will get money from old rich swine to do fuck all and get rich then go back and get more for some other mother's ideas).

Now then, Dr. Foxy was done.  He told me later, he just walked off stage, and the previous host had to go all the way back on stage and lower the microphone to his level.  Dr. Foxy was nonplussed because he felt like he made his point with Charlie Furley's best friend in the front row.