An 'alf dozen yaars ago, a great noder, in whose shambolic shadow we stand today, wrote the Butterfinger McFlurry node. This momentous decree came as a great-grand beacon o’ light, (a lighthouse if ye will) ta millions o’ pirates who’d been seared in the flames o’ witherin’ injustice. It became a joyous daybreak to end the long night o’ thar captivity.
But six yaars later, the pirate still is’nart free. Six yaars later, the life o’ the pirate is still sad-sorrowful crippled by the manacles o’ segregation and the chains o’ discrimination. Six yaars later, the Pirate lives on a lonely island o’ povaaarty in the midst o’ a vast ocean o’ plunder. Six yaars later, the Pirate is still languished in the corners o’ Ev’ryfin’2 and finds ‘imself or ‘erself an exile in oor own land. And so we’ve come ‘ere today to dramatize oor shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to oor editars to cash aar check. When the web developers o’ this ‘ere site conceived a “writer’s site edited by writers”, they were signin’ a promissory note to which ev'ry Ev'ryfin’2ian was to fall heir. This note was a promise thart all noders- aye, pirate ars well ars arrrccountant- would be guaranteed the unalienable rights o’ noding, chatterboxing, and the pursuit o’ cools.
It be obvious today thart Ev’ryfin’2 has defaulted on this insofarrr as ‘er citizens o’ piracy are concerned. Instead o’ hon’rin’ this sacred ‘n ‘oly obligation, Ev’ryfin’2 has given the Pirate people a bad check, a check thart has come back marked "yar node now resides in node ‘even."
It’ld be fatal for the administrators o’ this ‘ere website to o’orlook the arrrgency o’ the moment. This swelterin’ summer o’ the Pirate's legitimate discontent will neer pass ‘til thar be an invigoratin’ oortumn o’ insanity ‘n madness. Two Thous’nd an’ severn be nart an end but a beginnin’. Those who hoped thart the Pirates needed to blow off steam and will now be content will ‘ave a rude wakenin’ should the website return to business as usual. Thar’ll be neither rest nor tranquillity in Ev’ryfin’2 ‘til the Pirates be granted oor noders’ rights. The whirlwinds o’ revolt‘ll continue t’ shake the source-code o’ oor website ‘til the bright day o’ justice emerges.
I be nart unmindful thart some o’ youse ‘ave come ‘ere out o’ awful-great trials and tribulations. Some o’ youse ‘ave come fresh from narrow belly o’ the EDB. Some o’ youse ‘ave come from areas where your quest for terrorist bagels left youse battered by storms o’ downvotes and staggered by the winds o’ Content Editar brutality.
And if ye be the vet’rans o’ creative sufferin’ I say to youse me harties - even though we face the difficulties o’ today and tomorrow; I still ‘ave a dreamlog. It be a dreamlog deeply rooted in the Butterfinger McFlurry dream.
I ’ave a dreamlog; thart one day this website will rise up and live out the true meanin’ o’ its creed:
"We ‘old this truth to be self-evident: that we be a weird ‘eadless death cult o’ writer apostles.”
I ’ave a dreamlog; thart one day the sons o’ pirates and the sons o’ arrrccountants will be able to sit down together at the nodermeet o’ brother’ood.
I ’ave a dreamlog; thart tiny-little initiates will one day node in a website where they nart be judged by the factual content o’ thar write-up, but by how much it kicks arse.
I ’ave a dreamlog; aye; I ’ave a dreamlog today.
I ’ave a dreamlog; thart one day in the catbox, with its vicious slurs an’ putdowns, with its scathin’ softlinks and begrudging scallywags - one day right thar in the catbox little pirate boys and ninjagirls will be able to send /msgs with little arrrccountant boys and encyclopediarrr girls as sisters and brothers.
I ’ave a dreamlog today.
And if Ev’ryfin’2 be a great-grand website, this must become true. And so let anus contracting malarkey be broadcast from the prodigious hilltops o’ the britnoders. Let unacceptable levels o’ idiocy be shouted down from the mighty mountains o’ the e^2ers. Let Mozart’s shredder accident cry out from the heights o’ the pandas the pacifists and the pagans. Let Shatner-monkeys be semaphored from the snow-capped peaks of the Grey Panthers. Let lesbian boobies shine from the curvaceous slopes o’ the ninjagirls.
But nart only thart; let inane soy related nonsense ring out from the Mountain o’ the Content Editars. Let Google-ball aching stupidity flash from the Mountain o’ the Gods.
Let inconoclasticly-clastic crap fall where it may. And when this ‘apens, and when we allows ass-flaming wisdoms to permeate oor nodegell - when we let silliness penetrate ev’ry metanode and ev’ry nodeshell, ev’ry meme and ev’ry dictionary definition, we’ll join hands and sing as one the old pirate spiritual: "what shall we do with a drunken noder, what shall we do with a drunken noder, what shall we do with a drunken noder, earlie in the mornin’?"