Happy Birthday, Sophism.
"Thank you, Erlend. Now bend over."
Oh? Was it something I said?
"Yes, I just read through your fanfic and I spotted some syntax errors and misspellings, which is why I'm going to ram this wooden log up your digestional system."
Will it hurt?
"Of course it will, you moron! The pain is there to tutor you. If we repeat this often enough, each time you make an error, you'll start to think of literary flaws as synonymous with hemorroidal pain. As a result, you'll do your very best to avoid them."
I see. So this is all for my own good?
"Indeed it is. Hey, do you think I LIKE touching your ass? God knows how much fecal matter has passed through there. That's CRAP, if I have to spell it out for you."
Good point.
"I know it is. Now drop the britches and tell me you want me to shove this log up your ass."
What?
"Sorry, got a bit carried away. Heat of the moment and all. Happens every now and then."
I see. So what is your purpose in life?
"Who knows? What is your purpose in life? Successfully reaching the retirement age, hopefully with a not entirely nauseating wife accompanied by offspring which do not annoy you, at least not on a permanent basis? Oh, damn. Run-on Sentences. Excuse me, I have to tutor myself now."
....?
"gghhhgh... Damn, now I know how much that hurts. And that Tabasco lubricant (another heat of the moment thing) is just plain mean."
For being exactly one year old, you have quite some attitude, haven't you?
"I was born of a handful of people's rage at other peoples complacency. My father was the sycophancy which only blind fanboys can provide. My mother was nonexistent critical sense of amateur internet writers. And then my mother had a sporadic affair with Mr. Self-Promotion while my father was away for on a business trip. Those living conditions does not make for healthy, well-adapted children. They are, however, perfect breeding grounds for activities such as world domination, performance art and just generally raising hell."
So all this is a charade? What are you trying to be here; helpful or sadistic?
"Both."
Isn't that a contradiction in terms?
"Yes. Sue me. Contrary to what you might believe, there is no masterplan behind me. This is all made up as we go along. There are no set targets, no road map on how to get there. All we know is what the things are that we do not like right here in the now."
Why did you pick such a name as Sophism?
"It picked me. Case closed. Move on. I could call myself Hildy, the incredible syphilitic gerbil and it wouldn't make a lick of a difference. Look at what I do, not at what I'm called. After all, I'm not the one with the President named after the female genitalia, am I?"
Hey, that was a low blow! The man can't help if it's his name. He didn't pick it, his family did.
"Exactly, Sherlock. What do you think SOPHISM is? The remnants of a scrabble game the dog didn't finish?"
Well...now that you mention it...
"I've got a wooden phallic device with splinters. Do not annoy me."
Point taken. Any wishes for Christmas?
"Well, peace on earth is not really possible anyway, since my version of Utopia is not the same as your Utopia and the both can never coexist, so I'll think I'll go for something more mundane. Like having Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Beyonce Knowles and all of the other perforated C-Note labias out there realize that they are in fact commercial whores, and should rather start a new career in the porno business, where they can at least hold their heads up high and say that they have gotten respectable jobs. Oh, and Britney should only star in films with huge dogs or small donkeys, seeing as she had the tenacity to claim that she is still a virgin, and plan to remain so until marriage with that freelance fellow cocksucker of hers."
Ranting, are we?
"You betcha. Stand back, I'm not done yet. I want that to happen, and I want several intelligent, yet highly attractive women to swoon over me everywhere I go, three millions in cash to be deposited in a Swiss bank account, Sylvester Stallone never to make another movie again, for me to be famous, rich and on the covers of every magazine of ill repute in the entire globe, and last, but not least, snow on Christmas Eve. As long as I get the snow, I'll be happy. If you really expected the other things to happen, you'd be living in a fantasy world. Which was the precise event that spawned me in the first place. You, living in the fantasy world."
Done yet?
"Not yet. Donkeys. Check. Corporate Whoring. Check. Insane Christmas wish list. Check. Severe Anal Plunging. Check. Check. Check. Snow for Christmas. Check. Yeah. I guess. Merry Christmas, Erlend."
Merry Christmas, Sophism.
"And a Happy new year to all the sycophantic fanboys out there. We hate you. And you hate us. And that is the way it has to be. Now fuck off and do something other than writing Fanfic over Christmas. Walk the dog, visit your parents, try to be nice to a girl for a change. You never know, it might change your life. Fanfic is not your life. It's your hobby. Never forget."
Amen.
"Yep. Now bend over, there was these misspellings I saw............"