Preamble: This is the first chapter of a serialized science-fiction novellette concerning failures of fidelity in the transmission of culture. (See also: Chapter 2, and Chapter 3, and Chapter 4, and Chapter 5, and Chapter 6, and Chapter 7, and Chapter 8, and Chapter 9, and Chapter 10, and Chapter 11)
by Cheeseburger Brown
PART I, Chapter 1.
It was prolly Oliver Hardy who once sayed, "The problems of victory are more agreeable than those of defeat, but they are no less difficult," but it's hard to tell cause the picture part is so faded. It may have been John Candy. Still, it's a good quote.
Cause sure we've got victory. We've got epic victory. But also big fat problems.
I faith that history holds hacks against re-mistinking the mistinks of the past in the future. I tink well that this makes me unpopular. It's the bee's knees to tell about the cycle of time and how everything repeats itself over and over again, okay, but telling about unique historicological occurrences is the province of only a select few way, way intelligent douches such as myself.
It's not sacrilege to tink what I tink. We live in a totally progressive society, with guaranteed freedoms from unreasonable persecution and also for a strict seniority-based approach for access to the water hole. Those laws are cut into stone so that they'll last fucking forever. Quite fucking forever indeed.
But it isn't sexy to tink what I tink. We live in a sexy society, too, and my kind aren't embraced. The sexists steer clear of my laboratorium where I try and emulate a more classical life devoted to classical ideals and stuff I copy from books. Sexism is a rich, earthy kind of love and tinking on history is more like a gas -- weightless and special.
But I'm also an inventor so it's not like I have to go entirely without. Sexism is just a part of life, like the transmutation of food to fuel within the tummy, or sweating at the sun. To help in all of that stuff the tinking peep can build assistive appliances. So you end up with less time stuck on to the hunt and the cunt and more time stuck on to personal besting and deep tinkery.
I'm always reading books, such as they are, which makes me way good at saying words. Despite everything that's happened historicological learning lives on in me. That's what gives even this lowly file before you such an intricately embroidered tone of scholarly tink-tink.
O, this file I should prolly also mention is inscribed in way genuine and proper Classical English which may be more widely tunk by douches of the future than the day-to-day dialect we say around here, which is totally a crude and changeable lego I hope time forgets.
Besides I wouldn't know how to spell any of it.