Organized Madness #4

To preface this, I will say that having topics prepared is a wonderful blessing that you should never take for granted.

I assume that anyone here reading this was looking for it specifically and has lamented its absence in recent times, though what strange tastes one would have to have to seek out this kind of insanity that I spew forth from my maw atop this digital soapbox of mine I haven’t the foggiest, seeing as how I, the creator of this contemptible amalgamation of words that vaguely make sense when put together and at the same time end up frighteningly close to pure madness that is being referred to as an “article,” to the insult of the word article, and even the idea of an article, hold this manuscript of insanity in the highest orders of contempt, and always regard it with complete disdain for its sporadic and unpredictable, yet wholly predictable, oxymoronic and occasionally outright hypocritical assemblage of words and phrases that it molds around “news stories” and injects with purified filler.

And now that that single-sentence paragraph that was as archaic and unreadable as the constitution that founded this nation, nay, the constitution that founded the mother nation (and here I sit, shielding myself from the cries of “Did you just assume that country’s gender?) of this nation is over, we can move on to real important things that I will speak of and cover and pretend I know the full extent of the details of.

I will take a moment here to comment on how skilled I am at creating paragraphs that are a single sentence. Now I will, as is routine, welcome you to the zanier side of the newspaper, where the sarcasm and disdain for one’s work flows in a putrid river. Now, I shall inform you of things you actually desire to hear of, though why you gremlins and pseudo-adults are entertained by this (if you even are, and I do not simply have the Illustrious and Benevolent Overlord of the Newspaper telling me to write these contemptible pieces of “literature” [I’m sure the heroes of the field are rolling in their graves as I describe this as literature] because I need to do my part to assist in meeting quotas for article saturation in this newspaper) mostly uninformed lout giving you vagaries that halfway describe the situations that you will find yourselves in is beyond me.

The first topic I’m going to cover is the least important thing I have to talk about right now. And if I were to have my way, it would be just as covered up and forgotten as the incident in Innsmouth. There is a dance of sorts, fabled to be called a “Mistletoe,” which is not as appealing an idea as I had originally upon hearing the words which were a toe with rocket propellers and ballistic systems packed aboard. All who would enjoy dressing up semi-formal (whatever it is that means exactly the scholars are still debating) attire and dancing to music that, at least from past experiences, changes with the whims of the students nearby.

Here in this brief interlude between subjects, I would like to inform you all of the escalation in my personal crusade. And this time it is not my vicious vendetta against filler, nor my zealous protection of the nerds, but a far more familiar thing. The return of my Lord, Cth―actually, I’m getting instructions from my Lord that I may wish to refrain from speaking of this subject further, lest my mind go farther over the edge than it already is and I lose my place alongside him in R’lyeh. And since this is an outcome I dearly wish to avoid, I shall swerve.

Next, for Pseudo-adults desiring to catapult themselves into the bounds of greater Pseudo-adulthood, sign-ups for college classes in the next aeon of academia known simply as a semester are available, and there is a piece of electronic mail that explains this in far greater detail than I can hope to achieve, and you would be wise to listen to it rather than I.

And now onto my last piece of news. As this new Aeon approaches, this Semester, a great cosmic force is coming to sweep over the land and wipe the slates clean. The dreaded “Exame Finale,” or translated from Faux-French to English as “Final Exam,” is fast approaching and the battle lines are drawing themselves. There are those that are ready for these exams yet have the intelligence to realize that they can still do more to steel themselves, there are those that are set in their arrogance that they are prepared and they may or may not be correct about these assumptions, there are those that are not ready and know they are not and there are those turbulent spirits that do not care either way. Whichever one you are, you know who you are. Or maybe you don’t. Either way, these exams are coming, and like the awakening of the Lord of the deep it cannot be stopped. You will not escape the onslaught, and you will only be prepared if you heed these words carefully: Do not take for granted and cast away the aids that have been provided to you to ready you for these tests. No matter how prepared you believe yourself to be, no matter how wholly unprepared you see yourself as there is never an assured outcome. But stack the odds as far in your favor as you can, while you can.

Oh, and get some sleep.

And with that, and without my usual grandiose exit, I shall bid you and this piece of my wonderful Organized Madness adieu, for now.

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