I ain’t dead! I’ve just been hiding.
Admittedly, I’ve been hiding long enough that the guard wolves I stationed around the hidden entrance to Hidden Exit tried to gum me on the way in. I showed them, to be sure. But the bear traps! Those seemed like a good idea at the time, but unlike guard wolves they don’t lose their teeth to scurvy and old age. Troublesome, that.
Any way. I’m here now, and that’s what counts, right? Right?
Right. Here, while I dust the place off and put the kettle on, have yourself a muse at the meaning of trucks over at NAG. It is my attempt at proving I can maintain a full-time job and be a facetious perpetuator of harmful trucker stereotypes.
And you thought I didn’t care.
Surprise! A post! But not just any post; this is more like a pretend post, which is far more exciting.
It may be useful to think of this post as complete trash, because trash happens to be the subject of another post I have blurted out at NAG’s website. That other post is less pretend and also features kittens, so in many ways it is far superior to this one.
Really, it’s about junk. You should care about junk – but step away from that ingrained bourgeois guilt! I’m not trying to make you recycle; I’m just trying to get you to overcome your prejudice and instil an appreciation of the inescapable pollution that chokes our world. You’d be amazed at the number of completely useless things you can make out of litter and industrial waste.
Just try to be a little bitter and closed-minded for once, OK? It’s the secret to appreciating those other times.
My muttery musings on the gold rush of virtual mining have been entertained over at the online presence of NAG. They shouldn’t encourage me, of course, because I’m liable to start chewing the furniture, but I thank them for giving me the chance to use the term “interference methanometer” in a sentence without blushing. Continue reading