There aren't really ever so many of these, any more, to be quite truthful with you, so this month, er, year, I have permitted the <pedant> to fill, er, write this page.
Q - Why are you so shit?
A - It would appear that the Internet, as a medium, is not quite cut out for an erratic a publication as this one, not that this is in any way an actual problem as such, quite the reverse in fact, so much so that one is given to remark upon the astonishing facility with which such a facelessly personal environment as the aforementioned allows one to be at once entirely honest and yet entirely anonymous, as if the weight of the web's own sheer volume were itself a blanket of some sort in which one may hide in the pure oblivion of the line between public and private.
Q - I beg your pardon?
A - I'm sorry, I don't follow you.
Q - No, I didn't understand what you said.
A - That's not a question.
Q - Alright, smart-arse, fine, it's not a question. Very fucking funny. Ha ha. Now. Are you going to tell me what the fuck Swallow is about and why should I read it, or not?
A - Not if you're going to be like that about it, no.
Q - Oh fuck off.
A - That's not a question either.
NB - This is the first and last time that the <pedant> does this.
what do you mean not dead
The Internet Is Something But We Don't Know What
Three Questions by Leo Tolstoy