I too am concerned about what FR has become over the last, uh, 24 years. It's like you get a pimple on your butt and instead of lancing it with your Kabar you just let it grow until you have a perfect facsimile of Jimmy Carter staring back at you in the mirror after a shower and then he winks at you and pretty soon your Doc is involved and the stuff he recommends does nothing but make it worse and it turns out he's a Jimmy Carter fan and he's after the pimple and not the rest of you, which is pretty dang poor medicinal practice if you ask me but nobody ever does, I mean, it's one of those long run-on sentences that you have been reading wondering where it's going but you can't stop reading and pretty soon you're in unexpected territory like somebody's opus that somebody else has turned into a long rant involving a septic butt pimple and then you get mad but you can't stop reading and it's pounding, pounding, pounding into your brain that the people here are really the normal ones and that you have to leave but you can't leave because the words keep coming at you and then there's a knock on the door, and it's pounding, pounding, pounding, but it's really a squirrel in mating season and you wonder what it all meant as he chucks an acorn at you and chatters at you from a nearby tree. What does it all mean? What does it MEAN?
You'll never know now. Goodbye.
This is worthy of a “my pee-pee hurts” post.
Good post.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA