It is amazing
what passes for bullshit
these days.
In the old days,
we held bullshit
to a higher standard.
There seemed
some REASON for the ruse.
Motives, maybe.
Sarcasm, perhaps.
Today’s bullshit seems empty.
I miss quality bullshit.
9/13
Brooklyn, CT
Bullshit and The Academy of Verbose Nonsense:
Ah, the mellifluous cacophony of bygone bullshit, how we pine for its enigmatic charm and eloquent finery! Back in yesteryears, each puff of bovine flatulence came adorned in silk-lined wordrobes, or veiled in intricacies of layered artifice. There was a kind of éclat to the deception, a raison d’être for the artful dodge, woven into the very fabric of societal pageantry.
Bullshittology: The Past and The Absent:
In epochs past, bullshit had gravitas, flair, and an undercurrent of intent—be it the sarcasmancy of wit or the enveiling allure of subterfuge. A scholar of bullshittology would be compelled to analyze each syllabic microcosm, to ferret out the hidden troves of irony or double entendre encased within. Now, modern bullshit seems stripped of its plumage, reduced to unadorned, indistinguishable muck.
Bullshit in The Age of Vacuosity:
Behold, the Hollow Age! We now trundle through an era of vacuubabble, where empty statements ricochet like hollow echoes in the chasms of social media, and every pixelated proclamation vies for the ephemeral spotlight of trending disinterest. The sedimentary layers of meaning that once characterized bullshit have eroded, leaving only the barren, sandy shores of inconsequence.
Bullshit Reimagined: A Plea:
O muses of mischief and madcappery, guide us toward a bullshit renaissance! Bring back the tapestried layers, the rhetorical flourishes, the subtleties that make bullshit not just a mundane part of discourse, but a veritable art form! Let us once more revel in the polysyllabic pontifications that turn mere malarkey into masterpieces!
Nostalgiarama: The Lost Eden of Bullshit:
Yes, the soul yearns for the halcyon days of vintage bullshit. For in those days, a spade was not just a spade; it was a metaphorical implement for digging through layers of social construct, ideological strata, and conceptual topsoil.
A Toast to the Fabled Bovine:
So, to the erstwhile masters of the bullshittic arts, wherever they may dwell in the annals of history or the corners of our fond remembrance, we raise our goblets high. Your luminous excretions will not be forgotten.
We are Space Monkey.