October 14, 2003
Is There Method in Their Madness?
Read it and laugh . . . or weep . . . or nothing. Do what you want. See if I care. And yes, there is a bare smattering of actual Shakespeare in there . . . credit where credit is due.
Apmrtnz: Good comrade, hast thou yet the email wherein is described the Time Cube?
Defel Seven: Yea and verily.
Apmrtnz: Prithee, seek therein for the name of the witless knave who did write said monstrosity.
Defel Seven: Why, that name . . . 'tis well known to me, for he is a fobbing, motley-minded joithead . . . 'twas Gene Ray, of a fact.
Apmrtnz: Thou speakest true, friend; ne'er have these eyes seen such tomfoolery as is set forth within that scoundrel's writings
Defel Seven: His words seem to me as those of a wenching, lily-livered whey-face.
Apmrtnz: My bowels do turn within me at the mere mention of his name; it is profanity upon my lips.
Defel Seven: You speak justly, friend, his name falleth from my lips as a churlish turd falleth from the hindmost regions of an ox.
Apmrtnz: Wow.
Defel Seven: Verily.
Apmrtnz: By my troth, would that I should meet the rapscallion, I should smite him a blow such as has not been seen in many a day.
Defel Seven: Were he to spend word for word with me, his wit should bankrupt itself anon.
Apmrtnz: Ah, there art thou mistaken, friend; for how is one to bankrupt that which is already void of substance?
Defel Seven: Verily, sir, he speaks an infinite deal of nothing. Were some learned scholar to take the measure of the lout, he would find most truly that the knave
possesseth more hair than wit . . . and more faults than hairs.
Apmrtnz: The sheer folly of his speech moves me to disbelief, and his inanities stir up my wrath.
Defel Seven: One might draw from his head not so much brain, as ear wax . . .
Apmrtnz: And if one should ever find his way into the man's head, he should have to contend with a large and bloated spider, fat from the atrophied grey matter
that did once reside therein.
Defel Seven: Surely I see that thou speakest as thou dost see most fit, and thy words do fall seemly before mine ears. Beyond any doubt, the fellow be a gorbellied, knotty-pated moldwarp.
Apmrtnz: The wisdom of thy words, when set in comparison to his, is as the warmth of the sun before the frozen wastes of the nether reaches; thine a melodious tune, pleasing and soothing to the ear, his a cacaphony of horrid noise, an abomination to the senses, and just plain wrong.
Defel Seven: Nice touch at the end there.
Apmrtnz: Why thank you.
Apmrtnz: Alas, mine eyes do perceive that the hour has grown late; I must retire to my bed, for the morning comes all too soon. But truly, I have enjoyed this foray into the world of wordplay; mayhap we shall meet again there.
Defel Seven: At the sound of those words, my heart doth weep most piteously within my breast, knowing that the sun always riseth in the east, unable to be stilled . . . bidding forth the night is such sweet sorrow, for we know how inevitably day doth follow night, even as the bear doth seek the honey pot, and the lecher the bed of his mistress.
Well . . . We had fun.