Attention

May I have your attention, please?  For those of you who may still be here—maybe even perhaps now only listening from a distance—this is to announce that from here on out, this blog will take on a direct and somber tone, as a show of regret, lamentation, and dignified self-loathing.  Being a serious person now, I will no longer the effort make for any sort of wallowing, for that is below me, and I am rigid.  Along those lines, there will still be love to be found, as always, but a general love, nothing sappy.    That kind of nonsensical love that found its essence from impossibilities, and what eventually materialized was shown to be nothing more than a fraud—drunken boasts from a pervert.  

In an attempt to salvage what's left, and express a general and direct form of gratitude, I will leave below a voucher, that I hope you may see me worthy some day, that you may call upon.  You will notice that I am laying the voucher before you below.  You will notice that now:

i.o.u.

I have decided to take over from that clown, the dandy, as a tune-up was needed to a project and spirit that owes everything to you—of course, I will not resort to dramatics like my predecessor, he left with his tail behind his legs.  Oh, of course, "Between his legs."  Funny, where that voice came from.  There will be no more jokes now.  More, I have often very little need for the kind of colorful language you unfortunately witnessed me stumble over.  Even more, when in need, I've purchased a book of obvious cliches that I run my finger through.  It is called as such, such being, "The Book of Obvious Cliches."  I guess I would have saved more time if I just said the title outright.  More or less, it is more preferable to our purposes here than the—the...well, "The Book of Subtler Cliches."  I found that superfluous to our needs; and after all, how long are we going to be raising a giant baby?  I will not cry over stats.   

Any talk of masturbatory actions, or impulses, excessive subconscious imagery, or bemoaning time spent saving things and running out of time before watching them, not being able to concentrate as a result—I will not be bemoaning.  Let it be known, if there is a word that's identical to the word starting off the next, well, word, I will go ahead and trudge through it.  Sure you got it out of him, and you'd think that if he started talking about it, there was a chance it would clear up, but each time you look up, persistent bugger's at it again!   You tell him he's a genius to lift him up, he starts becoming more of a genius. He tells you he's Tom Cruise, and the next day he's dancing in his underwear.  The man's a sexual terrorist.

That is all for now.  You are at the end of this correspondence.  Oh, I don't have to say that?  Oh, well, that's all right.  Hmm, that voice again.

I am exiting the metaphorical stage now.  Oh, right.