Good lord and butter, America – you’re at it again. It seems that as the weather gets warmer and the taxes get filed the outspoken members of this country’s dumber sectors come crawling out of their low-income shanty-communes to voice their complaints about Whatever Is The Recent “Injustice,” shattering the peace and quiet and sanctity of sound itself. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Could be that you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past two months. I’ve been busy as my father is tall, my mother is dutiful, and my God is correct – that’s where I’ve been. I wrote numerous articles for the Journal of American Goodness, but it turned out that the guy financing the whole publication wound up getting called into duty in Afghanistan (I know, I was just as confused as you are), and we haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. I pitched a “Meet the Press” style show to Newscorp, but they refused to agree to my terms (including the one that stipulated that I would be the only person allowed on camera at any time) so I took my offer off the table. I wrote a screenplay about Andrew Jackson, entitled “America’s Hickory Hero: An Action Movie in Six Parts,” and it has since been bought by a studio, the name of which I am not legally allowed to tell you. My autobiography continues to gain chapters as I continue to live a wildly correct and engaging life. My associate G. GacGuffin has also been hard at work on projects of his own, and as a result the logic mill that is the Gource hasn’t been churning out quality thought at the rate you readers have all grown accustomed to. Do not expect an apology – you should know better. Here I am just the same, and that should be enough.
So, what is it that’s managed to pull me away from my important and lucrative duties for long enough to pen another piece of perfect prose? I’ll tell you: the unending and ignorant stream of complaints I’ve been finding in my inbox – both digital and classic – since the Grimary Gource’s inception. Below is but an example of a letter I received today, one that is fairly representative of the dreck I have to wade through on a daily basis:
Click here to view the attached page mentioned in the letter.
I know that anytime great genius is unleashed on a wide audience there is bound to be an indignant outcry from those of lower minds (this is colloquially known as “tardlash”), but this is more absurd than Kierkegaard, and not nearly as eloquent. This kind of idiotic complaining is especially relevant today, as another publication is being railed against by the clinically confused. I’ve got my own issues with the people in question, the most important of which is the fact that they seem unable to say anything without immediately buckling under the foolish weight of their (undeserved) tardlash. These people are not geniuses - on the contrary they are bumbling, inept, and sometimes-illiterate mouth-breathers with only half-decent senses of humor. They’re on the right track, but they’re still too timid to really go for the gusto, to say what needs to be said the way the Gource says it. Their hearts are in the right place, but their brains aren't, and as a result the work they do is infinitely simpler and easier for the roiling sea of flickering lightbulbs to understand, meaning that the misguided public outcry against them is much more substantial than what I have had to deal with. The Gource, with its compound complex sentences, is much more difficult for the masses to interpret, and therefore slug-headed cause-adopters haven’t got the cognitive prowess to be enraged by the words you find here. I might not have sympathy for anything, but part of me feels for those beleaguered and dumb writers who are being hassled endlessly by a whirling mass of unshaven armpits and poorly-fashioned hemp sandals. Nobody comes out on top in conflicts like these, because the Gource is already at the pinnacle.
Could be that you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past two months. I’ve been busy as my father is tall, my mother is dutiful, and my God is correct – that’s where I’ve been. I wrote numerous articles for the Journal of American Goodness, but it turned out that the guy financing the whole publication wound up getting called into duty in Afghanistan (I know, I was just as confused as you are), and we haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. I pitched a “Meet the Press” style show to Newscorp, but they refused to agree to my terms (including the one that stipulated that I would be the only person allowed on camera at any time) so I took my offer off the table. I wrote a screenplay about Andrew Jackson, entitled “America’s Hickory Hero: An Action Movie in Six Parts,” and it has since been bought by a studio, the name of which I am not legally allowed to tell you. My autobiography continues to gain chapters as I continue to live a wildly correct and engaging life. My associate G. GacGuffin has also been hard at work on projects of his own, and as a result the logic mill that is the Gource hasn’t been churning out quality thought at the rate you readers have all grown accustomed to. Do not expect an apology – you should know better. Here I am just the same, and that should be enough.
So, what is it that’s managed to pull me away from my important and lucrative duties for long enough to pen another piece of perfect prose? I’ll tell you: the unending and ignorant stream of complaints I’ve been finding in my inbox – both digital and classic – since the Grimary Gource’s inception. Below is but an example of a letter I received today, one that is fairly representative of the dreck I have to wade through on a daily basis:
Click here to view the attached page mentioned in the letter.
I know that anytime great genius is unleashed on a wide audience there is bound to be an indignant outcry from those of lower minds (this is colloquially known as “tardlash”), but this is more absurd than Kierkegaard, and not nearly as eloquent. This kind of idiotic complaining is especially relevant today, as another publication is being railed against by the clinically confused. I’ve got my own issues with the people in question, the most important of which is the fact that they seem unable to say anything without immediately buckling under the foolish weight of their (undeserved) tardlash. These people are not geniuses - on the contrary they are bumbling, inept, and sometimes-illiterate mouth-breathers with only half-decent senses of humor. They’re on the right track, but they’re still too timid to really go for the gusto, to say what needs to be said the way the Gource says it. Their hearts are in the right place, but their brains aren't, and as a result the work they do is infinitely simpler and easier for the roiling sea of flickering lightbulbs to understand, meaning that the misguided public outcry against them is much more substantial than what I have had to deal with. The Gource, with its compound complex sentences, is much more difficult for the masses to interpret, and therefore slug-headed cause-adopters haven’t got the cognitive prowess to be enraged by the words you find here. I might not have sympathy for anything, but part of me feels for those beleaguered and dumb writers who are being hassled endlessly by a whirling mass of unshaven armpits and poorly-fashioned hemp sandals. Nobody comes out on top in conflicts like these, because the Gource is already at the pinnacle.
