Freebsd Fortunes 6

Two men were sitting over coffee, contemplating the nature of things,
with all due respect for their breakfast.  "I wonder why it is that
toast always falls on the buttered side," said one.
        "Tell me," replied his friend, "why you say such a thing.  Look
at this."  And he dropped his toast on the floor, where it landed on the
dry side.
        "So, what have you to say for your theory now?"
        "What am I to say?  You obviously buttered the wrong side."

Two peanuts were walking through the New York.  One was assaulted.

Two percent of zero is almost nothing.

Two rights don't make a wrong, they make an airplane.

Two Russian friends happen to meet in Red Square.  One of them says, "By
the way, did you hear that Romanov died?"
        "No," replied the other, "I didn't even know he'd been arrested!"

Two sure ways to tell a REALLY sexy man; the first is, he has a bad memory.
I forget the second.

Two Swedish guys get of a ship and head for the nearest bars.  Each one
orders two vodkas and immediately downs them.  They they order two more
and once again quickly throw them back.  They then order two more.  When
they arrive, one of them picks up his glass, and, turning to the other,
toasts him, "Skoal!"
        The other turns to the first man and scolds, "Hey!  Did you come
here to screw around, or did you come here to drink?"

Two wrongs are only the beginning.
                -- Kohn

Two wrongs don't make a right, but they make a good excuse.
                -- Thomas Szasz

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright            Where the hammer?  Where the chain?
In the forests of the night,            In what furnace was thy brain?
What immortal hand or eye               What the anvil?  What dread grasp
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?        Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

Burnt in distant deeps or skies         When the stars threw down their spears
The cruel fire of thine eyes?           And water'd heaven with their tears
On what wings dare he aspire?           Dare he laugh his work to see?
What the hand dare seize the fire?      Dare he who made the lamb make thee?

And what shoulder & what art            Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
Could twist the sinews of they heart?   In the forests of the night,
And when thy heart began to beat        What immortal hand or eye
What dread hand & what dread feet       Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in thy horrid ribs dare steep
In the well of sanguine woe?
In what clay & in what mould
Were thy eyes of fury roll'd?
                -- William Blake, "The Tyger"