Being Illiterate is Underrated.
I, Lonnie, purveyor of all things pop-ee and smutty, am calling for an unlearning of written language as means of communication.
I want mass book burnings. I want the internet to consist of pictures and 2-d flash games. I want no one to appreciate this sentence:
Though she lapped at my stinky balls with the devotion of a seeing-eye dog, my mind drifted to rice pudding and the Indiana winter.
I recently volunteered to be a peer editor. And while I am guilty of a level of incoherence, circular reasoning and surface analysis in my own writing, I am NOT guilty of being a seven year old. And “peer” apparently means “playground”. The emotional drainage I experience when editing is worse than having a monkey uncoil my vas deferens across a field of jagged, fiery asphalt.
The answer could be that the peers who I edit (read: judge, denounce, and pity) need more practice–and that my pretension will get them absolutely nowhere. But until they read a book, write in full sentences, or understand that you never conclude with “in conclusion”, i will fantasize about nailing their tongues to a rhino’s taint.
In conclusion, fuck helping others express their ideas more clearly. I would rather shampoo my hair with their ejaculate than read another one of their thesis statements.