But It's My Style! I Can't Change It!

Writers Unclear on the Concept

Oh, Buckeroos, I saw something so funny today that I just had to share it. And no, it wasn't a turtle making sweet, sweet love to a cocker spaniel.

If you look closely, you may see yourself in this picture.

On a related note, I will soon be posting the greatest post ever in the history of WG—an esoteric, ambiguous, yet pointed assay (no—if I meant essay, that's what I would have written; don't bother) on the true nature of writing. I hesitate to share it, it's so good.

Pigeons and sparrows who read it will become hawks, shit writers will win awards, good writers will become Pulitzer winners, and great writers will become gods. That's how fucking good it is. Of all the really good shit I've written for free, it's probably #12 or #13, that's how good it is. I mean, hell, my #20 is pretty much Man Booker quality, so #12 or #13 is like finding the Fountain of Youth or guiding a Carnival Cruise ocean liner through the Strait of Magellan. It's nearly as good as playing lead guitar for Kid Rock at a clothing-optional festival in Iceland.

But I digress. Check out the pic while I slave away for your entertainment and absorption.

It's a cold world out there, Buckeroos. Don't forget your condoms.



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