As with any human brain, my own has glaring deficiencies. Whole cavities of knowledge that I hope to fill. Proper restitution of the immediate territories reveals still more estival pores occupied by pop music lyrics, needlessly pedantic refs to events from twenty years ago, and other lithe, trunk-clad, mnemonic divers hoping their swan dives mesh with the wintry waters. Which is to say that these four lobes cannot be duly mapped or mopped, tapped or topped, and I remain at the mercy of a fallible and fluctuating organ. In the end, none of us really know anything. And I quite like that. But there’s no harm in trying.
Do, or do not. There is no try.
No need for false modesty, Ed. You’re way worse than that.
Derek! If you don’t care for the site or my writing, why read it? I mean, you must have quite a miserable life to spend your Saturday nights (not even a commonplace Travolta impression!) leaving a smug and silly comment on my site without citing a specific example to support your remarks, which are about as small and shrunken in scope as a man’s testicles just after cold water. (Or maybe this is the size of your cojones year round?) Even some of my most vociferous haters have more to say in a sentence than you do in your commenting oeuvre! Is cretinous and superficial bile — meaningless trollish words that don’t corrugate my steel edifice in the slightest, nor even cause a scratch or a dent or even a hollow gust of air from your arthritic lungs — all you’re good for?
Please do us all a favor and either get laid or get a life, or get a penis pump, and come back here when you actually have something constructive to say. Or cook an omelette or something! Empower yourself, son, with some sunshine! Unless you’re one of those sad sacks who, oh so predictably, wanted me to rejoin to your trifle. Because you’re so used to being a cipher, a blank, a know-nothing.