I’ve often been accused of composing unnecessarily convoluted sentences, among things other than convoluted.
“Why do you brush off the simple, concise and, most importantly, authoritative, rules from the style guides: AP; Chicago; The Elements of… (of White and Strunk fame)?” some have condescended to ask me. “You are your own worst enemy. And then you expect recognition? What the fuck’s your problem?!”
Me? I’m just a Union Joker, holed up here in The Kyiv Commix, trying to bring you the latest in modern-day criticism techniques not influenced by AI, but from the heart. Typically, my job is to preview reports freshly posted to this website for Our Astounding Readers, and they can take it or leave it – because they are free!
I am poor, and I am therefore humble. But I know my shit. So, don’t fuck with me.
And know you this, proud, indignant Style Guiders: You are nothing to me but a collection of sickly pedants and low-level verbal technicians. You are jealous and petty. You are not writers. Nor do you have the slightest notion of what it means, of what it takes to be one. For that, you lack the most important thing of all: Imagination.
As for the present story (the link immediately above this one), “Welsh Losser introduces one fellow – but you must wait, for the 4:58 – to Zippy Zamazda as apprentice artisan under the latter, who is frightened and shocked by the unexpected development”… nah – forget it! Even the title of the damn thing’s too long. It’s not even what it’s about. I mean, it is, but it’s not.
That’s all I’m going to say.
I’m sick and tired of trying to explain things to you, even if you are Our Highly Indisputable Readers. Therefore, read it for yourselves. Come to your own conclusions. Why does someone always have to do that for you. I’m telling you, you’ve got it too good, and don’t even know it.
Do you even appreciate what I do?
I’m a professional. I have to keep up my standards. After all, I have a reputation to uphold.
3.3.26