No Cant TodayIt's fallen down to me, the last of the original Cant authors to uphold the tradition of posting his article on time, every week, week after week. One by one my fellow authors have been hit by buses, or been kidnaped, or just offered really really fat bribes to not write an article one week or another. And so now... now... now there's just me. The lone timely author.But I'm sorry to say that this is the day I fail. There will be no Cant article by me this fine day. It's not because I got hit by a bus, or was offered money. No... they couldn't offer me enough money to get me to shut my damn trap. And it's not because I'm a lazy slob. Oh no. I'm quite adept at redefining what it means to have handed the article in "on time" as it were. It used to be before the midnight deadline -- pah, I blew that one a long time ago. No... now the critical moment is basicly before breakfast on the day it's posted. I'll even say breakfast East Coast time, to satisfy our iron fisted overlord. And it's not because I'm kindhearted and filled with compassion towards my other Cant authors. Oh no. I'm just a mean mean bully that will steal Harlock's high horse from under him and ride around the site going "Look at me! I'm so incredibly righteous!" Oh no. Much as I'd like it to be, that's not the reason. No, I'm failing to write an article today because the muses hate me. It's not just the sort of blind ambivalence that strikes most people when they get writers block. Oh no. When that happens I go hire some bum for a bottle of Bacardi and have him blather at me until I get some random text to fill up the screen. It's cheap, and if it was good enough for Bush's speech writers, it's good enough for me. But this time my muses have had enough. They've gone on strike and it's an ugly sight. They've called up their union reps and gathered in force; and now I've got my muses, the fates, and an entire Greek chorus circling my house with placards and torches. They took my scab drunk and they lit his beard on fire with his own rum. They've even forbade me to write about the incident... So here I am, no ideas, pushed against the deadline, left grinding away at my fate. I suppose I could slink away with my tail between my legs... Couldn't I at least earn some solace in knowing that I was the last to fall? No. I can see the gloating faces of my fellow cant authors, redeemed by my failure: "See how he falls? See how his den fills with the smoke of defeat (or at least burnt beard hair)? In this moment he is made mortal, and we are raised from our dejected states to that of living, breathing, web-authors once again!" Damn them. Damn them all and their renewed scripting vigor... Here Harlock, I give you back your horse. Go... go start a parade or something. |