----- wishes he were born on a leap year. He also believes had that been, he would have white hair, only to add to the irony. He also hopes, one day, he will come to make cents, thus being rich and unerringly logical. One must also note, he would, had this been true, been nearly five years of age, smarter and richer than the lot of ya’ muppets. The tendency to emulate British slang (muppets) must also be scrutinized. Particular attention must be placed on the “emul-” of all things, for he, much like most others who attempt the same, can never truly imitate the genius that has now become the British vernacular, rather, ----- is left to the dregs of a colonially subverted Canadian dialect that has spawned such horror one abstains to speak on--yet must, out of clarity--that being the nightmare of Canadian Literature, a literature even bereft of a counterpart to the greatest, yet simplest, master narrative that is Green Eggs N’ Ham, one which our superior neighbours (superior in all ways—ignorance, petulance, debauchery, sodomy… cuckoldry—one can only hope to achieve such superiority) to the south may lay claim. Instead, ----- sighs with much discomfort and less relief at the copious amounts of dubious literary work springing from such exalted hacks as Margaret Atwood. Canadian literature, having now fully embraced the accomplishment of failure, has now accepted such authors and their struggle for “survival.” One may also observe the ridiculous notions of the neo-feminist that permeate Mizz Atwood’s writing, and, through consequence, erringly eroded the minds of our young women into the acceptance of such preposterous claims to the privilege of equality—however; it must, both, be considered and conceded that the proto-feminists were spot on (with the Windex and the rag—no, not that rag, you dirty, dirty son of a bitch) in purporting equal opportunity, rather than equality. It will, then, come to be seen that this particular Mizz has missed the mark (poor aim and such…) in forcing what should now be the non-issue of equality—mind you, taking the concept of the Glass Ceiling into consideration (consideration that it needs to be cleaned), those of us graced with such clear magnanimous superfluity of logical thought can conclude that such obstacles are self-imposed, only subject to the innate genetic deficiencies of the other, an other who shall remain not-so-nameless for not-so-obvious reasons. Yet, perhaps one is being too quick to assert that which is painfully unclear, and, for matters of expedience, should unveil the aporia hidden (yet aptly displayed) beneath such sesquipedalian grandiloquence… or perhaps not. ------ What's your reaction? Wry smile or phlegmatic spit to the content (more comedic than serious) and style? I would think it's meant to annoy to some degree, yet in the spirit of entertaining.
