We've known each other for, what, 30 years now? And in those 30 years we've become pretty good friends have we not? We've been through the good times and the bad times, the nuclear detonations and all the witch
burning. Hell, who could forget the holocaust? Not the real holocaust mind you but the mini-holocaust that used to be on the corner of 5th and Vine before all the big corporations came in and ran it out of
business. In those 30 years, I've never once lied to you, right? Right? That's why I feel the need to level with you once again, even though I know you'll be greatly disappointed. Yes, even more
disappointed than you were that one time your dad said that he got you a new bike for Christmas but opted to light you on fire instead. Hey, it's not like you could have used that bicycle anyway with your club foot and all.
I'd like to think that honesty really is the best policy and that you can't put a price on trust, assuming that the price of trust is less than the amount that I need to comfortably live out my days in a non-extradition treaty country, which is why I don't plan on lying to you. Not here, not now, not ever. I don't even think that I would be capable even if I tried, kind of like a person diagnosed with Parkinson's disease winning a breakdance contest. Excessive muscle contraction just isn't sexy. I'm not sure if you can handle the truth, similar to how the 49ers offense can't handle the football, but a clean conscience is the best feeling in the world. Well, next to clean underwear, especially if you plan on leaving the house because sometimes you never know what might happen. You might get into an accident or perhaps be in some kind of hostage situation where you'd be required to strip down and used as a human shield. Nobody wants a shield that has dirty underpants on. So, with that in mind, just like my uncle used to say: I know this hurts but I have to keep doing it anyway to show you that I care.
There is no update today.
Oh, I had one to be sure. It was one of the most glorious updates ever written. Poets would have sung it's praises for generations and it would have become standard textbook reading for any student in 9th grade. (If you failed 9th grade you would get to read it twice which, unfortunately, would have led to a huge shortage of 10th grade students due to it's overwhelming popularity.) It would have surpassed Orwell's 1984 in terms of political impact and would have bested Garfield in terms of social awareness. Scholars would pour over every line of text looking for clues and the reasons we exist. Dan Brown would probably have asked for rights to make another novel while all the conspiracy nuts would spend years trying to decode it thinking that it was nothing more than a secret alien telegram laying out plans for a space siege on Earth. Alfred Nobel himself would have risen from the grave just to hand me the last Nobel prize for literature since no future text would have been able to top it's excellence. But none of this has come to pass, sadly. Why, you ask? What could have possibly stopped this literary avalanche from seeing the light of day? Did Jesus resurrect himself as a means to stop it's publication? Maybe, but it appears a cruel fate can best even Jesus.
A dog ate my update.
I see your slack-jawed disbelief and raise it 50. I am well aware that I don't own a dog so you can save yourself the trouble of emailing me and pointing out that fact. Please be advised that I never said that it was *my* dog who ate the update, merely that "a" dog ate it. This could mean any number of dogs on any number of streets in any number of countries, except those in the Asia-Pacific region. Everyone knows that dogs are the ones getting eaten over there. So, you question, how is it that if I don't own a dog, I still managed to get my update eaten by one. And to you sir or madam, I tip my hat, for that is a very good question indeed. However, it is one that I cannot answer. You see, after this vicious canine incarnation turned my work of art into a mass of wet pulp in his stomach, I sat down on the nearest small child and began to transcribe what had just happened. It was a whimsical (but true) tale, going over the facts in such detail that J.R.R. Tolkien would have asked me for a bit more brevity, and as I was putting my finishing touches on the very last paragraph, the aforementioned dog managed to climb over all of my erected security defenses and eat my update once again. He devoured it so voraciously that I began to wonder to myself whether this particular dog had eaten anything ever before, save for when it ate my first update.
I am not much of a dog man so you will have to forgive me for not knowing what to do at this particular juncture. Remembering the lessons I learned during the fire safety course I took online three years ago, I began to stop, drop, and roll while trying not to panic. Unfortunately, that did nothing to stop the dog from digesting yet another great literary work of art and it was all I could hope that my fiery pen had somehow ignited the words on the paper so that they may be forever seared into the stomach of the demon dog. If they were, I will never know since, without missing a beat, the dog consumed the small child that I was perched on mere seconds ago, forcing me to run away screaming like a little girl. Yes, I lost two great volumes of text today but works can be re-written and sometimes bested. No, it's more than that. I lost a little piece of myself today, watching the dog chew ravenously through the pieces of construction paper where I prepare most of my updates. I lost my innocence and faith in the system. Also, I lost a fingernail when I was making my escape. Those things don't grow on trees, you know. But, in the end, I can sleep at night, even without my pride, for I have not lied to you on this day. In the end, isn't that what friendship is all about?
I'd like to think that honesty really is the best policy and that you can't put a price on trust, assuming that the price of trust is less than the amount that I need to comfortably live out my days in a non-extradition treaty country, which is why I don't plan on lying to you. Not here, not now, not ever. I don't even think that I would be capable even if I tried, kind of like a person diagnosed with Parkinson's disease winning a breakdance contest. Excessive muscle contraction just isn't sexy. I'm not sure if you can handle the truth, similar to how the 49ers offense can't handle the football, but a clean conscience is the best feeling in the world. Well, next to clean underwear, especially if you plan on leaving the house because sometimes you never know what might happen. You might get into an accident or perhaps be in some kind of hostage situation where you'd be required to strip down and used as a human shield. Nobody wants a shield that has dirty underpants on. So, with that in mind, just like my uncle used to say: I know this hurts but I have to keep doing it anyway to show you that I care.
There is no update today.
Oh, I had one to be sure. It was one of the most glorious updates ever written. Poets would have sung it's praises for generations and it would have become standard textbook reading for any student in 9th grade. (If you failed 9th grade you would get to read it twice which, unfortunately, would have led to a huge shortage of 10th grade students due to it's overwhelming popularity.) It would have surpassed Orwell's 1984 in terms of political impact and would have bested Garfield in terms of social awareness. Scholars would pour over every line of text looking for clues and the reasons we exist. Dan Brown would probably have asked for rights to make another novel while all the conspiracy nuts would spend years trying to decode it thinking that it was nothing more than a secret alien telegram laying out plans for a space siege on Earth. Alfred Nobel himself would have risen from the grave just to hand me the last Nobel prize for literature since no future text would have been able to top it's excellence. But none of this has come to pass, sadly. Why, you ask? What could have possibly stopped this literary avalanche from seeing the light of day? Did Jesus resurrect himself as a means to stop it's publication? Maybe, but it appears a cruel fate can best even Jesus.
A dog ate my update.
I see your slack-jawed disbelief and raise it 50. I am well aware that I don't own a dog so you can save yourself the trouble of emailing me and pointing out that fact. Please be advised that I never said that it was *my* dog who ate the update, merely that "a" dog ate it. This could mean any number of dogs on any number of streets in any number of countries, except those in the Asia-Pacific region. Everyone knows that dogs are the ones getting eaten over there. So, you question, how is it that if I don't own a dog, I still managed to get my update eaten by one. And to you sir or madam, I tip my hat, for that is a very good question indeed. However, it is one that I cannot answer. You see, after this vicious canine incarnation turned my work of art into a mass of wet pulp in his stomach, I sat down on the nearest small child and began to transcribe what had just happened. It was a whimsical (but true) tale, going over the facts in such detail that J.R.R. Tolkien would have asked me for a bit more brevity, and as I was putting my finishing touches on the very last paragraph, the aforementioned dog managed to climb over all of my erected security defenses and eat my update once again. He devoured it so voraciously that I began to wonder to myself whether this particular dog had eaten anything ever before, save for when it ate my first update.
I am not much of a dog man so you will have to forgive me for not knowing what to do at this particular juncture. Remembering the lessons I learned during the fire safety course I took online three years ago, I began to stop, drop, and roll while trying not to panic. Unfortunately, that did nothing to stop the dog from digesting yet another great literary work of art and it was all I could hope that my fiery pen had somehow ignited the words on the paper so that they may be forever seared into the stomach of the demon dog. If they were, I will never know since, without missing a beat, the dog consumed the small child that I was perched on mere seconds ago, forcing me to run away screaming like a little girl. Yes, I lost two great volumes of text today but works can be re-written and sometimes bested. No, it's more than that. I lost a little piece of myself today, watching the dog chew ravenously through the pieces of construction paper where I prepare most of my updates. I lost my innocence and faith in the system. Also, I lost a fingernail when I was making my escape. Those things don't grow on trees, you know. But, in the end, I can sleep at night, even without my pride, for I have not lied to you on this day. In the end, isn't that what friendship is all about?
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