Words! Unlimited
transmitters of information, unparalleled transportation for communication!
These supremely significant symbols signify all knowledge that shall ever pass
from one human brain to another. Pouring from the mouths of all who live easier
than air, they infest the world with ideas equally insidious and ingenious. Thrown
to the wind like flowers in the breeze, they ingrain themselves in the hearts
of men. Also alternate genders of human, a small subset of clever animals, and
theoretical lab experiments where cardiovascular systems gain sentience. Words
are tools, to an author as a hammer and nails to a carpenter or confidence and
mental insulation are to successful businessmen. But there are not a thousand hammers
of varying shapes equally equipped to conquer every nail. For the humble author
need not worry about mere execution, but the tools. Before he can concern
himself with composition, he must select the instruments. Before he can compose
a sentence, he must select the words.
Truly, this is the plight
of the author. Arrayed before them lies an endless ocean of broiling
possibility, a sea of sparkling imagination where only weak waves of
inspiration wash upon the mind. They must be discerning! They must be precise!
They strike with the skill of a surgeon’s scalpel, the ceaselessly creative
continuity of a careful calligrapher. And when their great work finally reaches
its inevitable end, a modest miracle arrays itself before them. A set of
sentences, a parade of paragraphs, which chart the character of the very
cosmos. A spark that can be seen in every eye, a song that every soul may sing,
a piece of collective consciousness that the mirror of life reflects in all of
us. What they have achieved is not communication. It isn’t art or
entertainment, not laughter or beauty. It is nothing more or less than meaning
itself.
But then sometimes they
can’t do that so they fill a page with flowery nonsense to kill time.
Now that we’re firmly
entrenched in the dank pits of reality we can get down to the real content! As
is commonly known among scholarly institutions and readers who aren’t
braindead, there are two types of content around here:
1. Not actually content
at all, I lied.
2. Bad news.
Since I’ve already
supplied a sumptuous serving of the former, let’s complete the feast with a
hearty helping of the latter. I know it has become custom for me to spend one
of the happiest days on Earth whining about various terrible MMOs. I’ve got something planned. But sadly it may not
drop its payload of discontent on the intended day. Self-made deadlines for
other projects demand my attention, and my holiday season will surely be accompanied
by those most odious distractions of “friends”, “family”, and “being happy”.
The article in question is also rife with images, much like the previous
ritualistic disembowelment of DragonFable. Review. Review of DragonFable.
Review is what I meant to say.
Review is not what I
meant to say.
The images make it
difficult to work on the piece in the scary “outside” places, such as when I’m
commuting. Without those sneaky hours bolstering my productivity, the bottom
line is that content may be sparse for the rest of the month. But you’ll at
least have this style of self-aggrandizing nonsense to look forward to! And
really, isn’t that all anyone could want for the holidays?
…you need to learn what
the phrase “rhetorical question” means. And stop using that kind of language, I’ll
have you know my mother is a classy lady.
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