Gentle visitors, we are loathe to share the internal memoranda of this publication-- consisting primarily of office policy guidelines and harangues of one sort or another -- against working conditions (marginal), pay (nominal), or benefits (fringinal). We fear scandalizing or, worse, boring our loyal visitorship. But, there comes a time for a full accounting and full disclosure; hence, the following urgent missive.
Lent has begun, and it is a time of discipline for those who keep it -- not that I am suggesting that any of you do, since you strike me as the worst kind of heathens -- friends of the Festival, foes of the Fast -- yes, charmed with the Carnival, but with no penchant for Penance.
Yet, there is always hope, even for the worst of sinners (such as yourselves). And, this is an excellent time to put aside the futile comforts and frivolous distractions of life -- whether it be child-rearing or wage-earning -- to take up the reluctant pen.
Why, even your fellow and humble Contributor (moi) has giving up dish washing for Lent -- not only for the vain inspiration it presents, but also for the intemperate sensuality of the aroma-therapeutic dish-washing liquid we now employ. It might have been different if we still had recourse to a bar of hard lye -- but, no more.
Mind you, I am aware of the audacity of this remonstrance and request. For, who would demand that Rembrandt produce more paintings? Or that Einstein fashion more theorems? Or, that Jackie Mason invent more shtick? Rather, the Muses of the great ones follow no schedule or routine. Instead, we, here on earth, watch the dark sky for nights upon end for that unpredictable shooting star -- ah! how brilliant it appears against the bleakness!
Nonetheless, we call as one crying out in the suburbs. This is a true vocation (small 'v') -- will you answer it? Or, will you eschew it, as John the Baptist did in the desert, for something far more worthwhile? The choice is yours.
I remain,
Your humble Contributor,
Remainderman
I am chastened! Sackcloth and ashes forthcoming. Grinding the ink, quill in hand. . .
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