Some folks say it was a miracle. Saint Francis suddenly appeared and knocked the next pitch clean over the fence. But I think it was just a lucky swing. Too bad there's not such a thing as a golden skunk, because you'd probably be proud to be sprayed by one. To me, truth is not some vauge, foggy notion.
Truth is real.
And, at the same time, unreal. Fiction and fact and everything in between, plus some things I can't remember, all rolled into one big 'thing'. This is truth, to me. Something about a clown who makes people happy, but inside he's real sad. Also, he has severe diarrhea.