~H. Westchop

When one returns to a personally meaningful obligation after a long hiatus, one cannot help but feel sheepish for their delay, for their procrastination, foolishness and utter lack of responsibility.  One begins to question their ability to undertake any intellectual enterprise with any success and, as the regrets and failures fly in the face of their accomplishments and the wasted time rushes forth through the annals of recollection, curses the world in which he was born, curses the warped genes that have produced this body and mind that cannot achieve, that will be doomed to the dull wasteland of mediocrity, to the feebleness of the play-it-safe, to the carpet-steamed hall of cubicles and office birthdays and status reports until…until…what have we left?  What is there left to live for?  All we want is an infantile death, cringing far from any other judgmental human being, covered in the mud.  From dust we came! No, my god no! Why do we live? Why? Why!?

This person is not I, dear readers.  The reasons for my seemingly inexcusable delay in postings are, in fact, quite excusable, and, furthermore, none of your damned business (I do not desire to appear antagonistic, dear Tomfool, but genuine truth and honest opinion takes precedence over your unprincipled and somewhat homosexual preponderance for sentiment and teary-eyed sniveling). Let us merely finalize this apparently necessary but entirely unimportant “apology” with a simple preposition that the roiling waves of ignorant masses spawning uncontrollably across this otherwise green and pleasant land can hopefully understand:  I was busy fighting those dark spirits, keeping “this little light of mine,” protecting the innocent and the virgin from the dragons at the edges of the map. Never doubt, dear friends, the dragons at the edges of the map.  That craven worm of savagery and barbarianism will riddle the strong heart of civilization with lethal holes if its desires are allowed to run free, and so we forever must fight this cruel demise, for that heart must always beat on, and the blood must always rush through the veins, powering the limbs, and the sword, that glorious sword, must never sleep, must never cease! Long live, my friends! Long live!

Note: The travails of blog posting have become progressively more tiresome as my life has moved forward, so I shall be assisted by some compatriots of mine skilled in writing of and fighting against, as it were, the same horrid demons which afflict me and, presumably, the dear reader. The postings will be swifter although I cannot promise, as much trust as I have in these men, that they will retain the same level of quality that only Hiller M. Westchop can properly provide.