Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
Fool me three times, oops. Duh. Right.
Fool me four times, and it’s possible I’m kind of in to it.
Fool me five times, shame on my friends.
Fool me six times, it’s possible I need professional help.
Fool me seven times, shame on you! Shame on me! Shame on him! Shame on the whole freaking system, man!
Fool me eight times and now you’re just being kind of a dick.
Fool me nine times, win two tickets to The Decembrists concert this weekend at the Keller Auditorium!
Fool me ten times and, seriously? Why do you keep fooling me? I mean, this can’t even be interesting for you at this point.
Fool me eleven times and, wow, major shame on me. This is embarrassing no matter how you look at it.
Fool me twelve times and, wait, am I the guy from that movie Memento? Leonard? You know, who can’t form new memories?
Fool me thirteen times: Yahtzee!
Fool me fourteen times and I don’t know who has the bigger problem.
Fool me fifteen times and we’re beyond shame into a place where time, space, and fooling are all illusions. All is one. All is shame and pride. There is total understanding that we are the fooled. When you fool others, you fool the cosmic I that is beyond being fooled. There is peace. Except shame on you a little bit.