Fine, you want me to write again, be it upon your own heads. My cunningly turned prose is a fearsome weapon and I am willing to point it this way once more. Why, oh why have I not furnished you with my amusing anecdotes and astonishing turn of phrase for so long? Well to be honest, here be pedants, that above all else but the wordsmiths are in a league of their own, but it’s the pedants, gods how I hate them.

Once upon a long time ago, this place used to be a thing of infinitely amusing stories and conversation that could stand and fight nine rounds without amphetamines. Today, well today you geeks stole it from the storytellers and the telltales, and we hate you for it. We shall hunt you down and tie your network cables together for what you have done to us, us and it.

For today I will remind you that there are stories here, tales that make the heart bleed and soul sing. When it turned into a place when we had to regurgitate facts to be here then it turned into a little amateur encyclopaedia, we already have plenty of those on the net so fuck ‘em and fuck you. Tell me stories and days and dreams and things which should be or could never be. Till that’s the thing to do this place will be a stagnant little pool of putrid linguistics.

More latter, I wore grey, as if you care.