In the relatively few years I've had to interact with people, I think I've figured at least one thing out. The mere fact that something is the case is not a good reason to say it out loud. In fact, I'll be so bold as to say that there are only four reasons to say something. That it's nice (“Gee, what a lovely shirt!”), funny (“Why did all the women love Jesus...”), interesting (“The plastic piece that keeps your shoelaces from fraying is called an aglet”), or useful (“If you don't clean your pots after you use them, the crud will bake on and it will be very hard to clean later”). The truth, as it turns out, is as often needlessly mean and useless (“Three years ago, when we were dating, I cheated on you with your best friend right before we broke up”) as it is valuable (“That girl has a history of abusing her partners”).

There are a few about, doubtlessly, who would try to propose that everything, in addition to being nice, funny, interesting or useful, must also always be true. No one, perhaps save Kant, could subject this view to much debate without realizing the impracticality of it; problems ranging from the impossibility of storytelling (“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...”), to much more frightening examples (“Is the person I want to murder hiding in your house?” ) quickly manifest themselves. A thing being true, naturally, increases its kindness, usefulness, interestingness or humor, but other than that, what's so great about it?

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