Every Little Thing is Another Harsh Mistress
Soma

It's gotten to the point where you don't even care when the story takes place anymore. Everything is 'Once upon a time' or 'Long long ago.' It never happened Last Tuesday. For all I care, Last Tuesday might as well've been the end of the world. In fact, it'd probably make things a little easier on me. Or a lot easier.

But Last Tuesday probably does hold some significance. I'm sure I breathed a lot that day. It's a pretty integral thing, I try to keep up to speed on stuff like that. Last Tuesday I'm pretty sure I went to class, too. Learned some stuff.

LEARNING RULES!

One thing I learned in general, and not just Last Tuesday, was that aesthetics are either really important or really unimportant. I'm not really sure which. But i know it's an extreme.

"All things in moderation," said the sage.

"Especially moderation!" quipped some punk kid.

The sage was probably astounded.

Aesthetics are the opposite of ideas, I'd say. Either this story has a point [idea!] or it's just a beautiful piece of work [aesthetics!]. It's no Catcher in the Rye (Everyone fucking likes that book. It's started to sicken me. excusez ma francais. Although I'm certainly not exempt.) And maybe I hate parenthesis, too. I put approximately twelve sentences in that one. God didn't invent paragraphs for no reason. Everything has a purpose. So they say.

Even guns and seizures.

Maybe even Last Tuesday has one. Besides a framing device. But I guess in the end everything we do is just a framing device for the sick game of life. But sometimes I guess incorrectly. What if I guess I'm guessing incorrectly?

I suppose that'd be a meta-guess. Why don'tcha just go imprison me and call me a philosopher, already?

When people say pretentious things (which I just did) without doing something like mocking themselves for it (which I also just did), I usually get pretty annoyed. Annoyance at things like that is a sure sign of pretentiousness, or at least a pretty valiant attempt at it. We don't like to notice things like that in ourselves because, obviously, we're all perfectly correct. All of the time.

At least I am.

Even if you do notice something, though, you're better off just ignoring it. No one likes a do-gooder. We all just like egoists. Big fat egoists with big fat heads. If you put twelve of them in a big fat room their big fat heads would probably not fit in there. Because egoists have, as a rule of Nature, big fat heads.

My head is exactly seventy four inches around. I measured it with a ruler. A big fucking ruler.

These queer folk think themselves on a plane with Jesus Christ or perhaps another important historical figure. The biggest Khan since Genghis (that's out of context wordplay). I only said Jesus because people know who he is. Everyone and their mother knows about Jesus. That's why we have wars, usually. At least in the Long Long Ago bibley past.

"The past repeats itself," said the sage.

"The past repeats itself!" quipped some punk kid.

The sage knew he used a comma, though. He wasn't a goddamn sage for no goddamn reason.

Even a comma can ruin something important, apparently. And it's only one punctuation mark. Imagine what could happen if you hypothetically had a hypothetically serious story and you needed to have a hypothetical tagline at the end of your hypothetical story. The wrong one could probably ruin your hypothetical story all to hell.

I bet you'd probably go to hell for posting the story, too. God hates Taglines. Almost as much as Gluttony.

Just like how it works with boys and girls and that romantic True Love, each and every story has one perfect tagline for it. Sometimes, though, editors, because they were tortured as children and thrown in pits and had their hearts crushed so many times they turned out like Machiavelli, have arranged marriages for taglines and stories. And that's interfering with Fate. A pox on people who do that. I mean, seriously. Wicked-bad to the max.

I just asked Google for information on poxes and She told me that 'Monkey Pox' and 'Pseudocowpox' exist. It's amazing the things the internet can do. It really truly is. Did you know you can order prescriptions online? And even get it prescribed online? Me and Katie B read about that. If either of us (that includes you guys) ever get addicted to anything, which is stupid and even dumber than drinking alcohol like stupid morons, feel free to get your fix online. I'm sure they're used to corrupt stuff like that by now. That's what the internet was made for. And for the Navy, too.

Getting hooked on barbiturates and blowing people up. God bless America.

God bless barbiturates and alcohol together (I think it kills you). God bless me (blame egotism). God bless Taglines (he refuses). God bless you (its a sneezing joke). God bless the scientific method and any hypothesis anyone ever comes up with.

Lets rock, God. Rock and roll all night long. God days are millions of years long, you know. Creationists can rock with us.

And Evolutionists, maybe, too.