• The notion that there is any milk in this house is a laughable error, one that could be committed only by the most willfully imperspicacious of observers;

• That we need bread is a conclusion inescapable to any but the most doltish and slack-witted of my co-residents;

• The fatuousness of the belief that a carton of orange juice resides in the refrigerator is so palpably evident that I struggle to comprehend that I must, after all, refute it;

• That any sugar may be found anywhere in this domicile is demonstrably false, and only a fool or a knave, or some unfortunate who contrives to be both at once, could affirm otherwise;

• The claim that we are in no need of beer is so flagrantly nonsensical that one could be forgiven considerable exasperation at the perceived need to signal its nullity — and yet such a requirement remains in force, so that silence on my part would constitute an effectual concession to idiocy;

• I pity the fool who thinks we have coffee.

Update: DBH writes to say that he is flattered by my parody, but wishes to protest the inappropriately high proportion of Latinate words here. I fear I must plead guilty, especially with regard to “imperspicacious.”