If you left so long ago, why are you still here pushing me around?
Monday, 24 January 2011
I hereby swear to slap Neal Stepehehehenson across the face with either a handy copy of Snow Crash or my bare hand should I ever meet him. Unless of course I do meet him in which case I’ll merely inform him of the long lost vow herein; admit it was just bravado and I’m full of shit. Then look around a little and punch whomever he’s with.
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Two men were traveling in company along the road when one of them picked up a well-filled purse.
“How lucky I am!” he said. “I have found a purse. Judging by its weight it must be full of gold.”
“Do not say ‘I have found a purse,’” said his companion. “Say rather ‘we have found a purse’ and ‘how lucky we are.’ Travelers ought to share alike the fortunes or misfortunes of the road.”
“No, no,” replied the other angrily. “I found it and I am going to keep it.”
Just then they heard a shout of “Stop, thief!” and looking around, saw a mob of people armed with clubs coming down the road.
The man who had found the purse fell into a panic.
“We are lost if they find the purse on us,” he cried.
“No, no,” replied the other, “You would not say ‘we’ before, so now stick to your ‘I.’ Say ‘I am lost.’”
Take that, subspace.
