Farewell Felicities

And he's off again! Things bigger, better, more pronounced and empiric -- they're calling for me, and I must depart. Yes, I've been consumed by the prose of a Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose fastidiousness captivates the mind of us all -- if not inspires our kind daily!

A goodbye may not be issued! Oh . . . at once the sentimental and sensible of my readership hath called for one little dose of delirium to satiate their enjoyment for now. I give to thee (okay, you're pushing it, author) a tale of Jen, Dave, Wilbur, Dylan, and Alison forthwith (final straw).

The browser-based pool simulator Dave's been toying with is so bothersome. We might be so cruel as to place all online clickers into one category: time-wasters. But it's too obvious that great ones, average ones, and horrible ones exist for your selfish pursuits! Why delete minutes of life on a common, never-stimulating thing such as Most Boring a Pool Clone Which May Exist: The Bleh Edition.

The online activity of Jen -- nay, of us all -- has been gravely impaired by the new Flash era we've entered within our birthplace. But such a lady struggling with technical preciseness may be doubly affected. As of recent, her talk hath centered upon boots, purses -- whatever extraneous and expensive possessions our cousins may fester upon. Her benevolent neighbor may ask her specifics -- she complies, aware these obsessions of a superficial nature may render her memory inadequate. The price? Cost! Not! Relevant! Sir! When not on shopping sites I find this girl drifting forth to the most peculiar stops in Internet locale. She'll tell you of her exploits. I leave thou!

Not before a final, drawn-out, tear-inducing paragraph, though. My good pal Dylan, the class-leader Wilbur, and the symbol of confusion -- it's unique amongst those encountered in other academic endeavors; it, following the peak of joy, can be labeled a bawl of questions, or the misclick -- Miss Alice, became final brushstrokes in our endearments! I leave the literate, later, for multiple reasons. The time given to me is usually high, and that grandness breeds nervousness, e.g. "All these hours to write! I must deliver sanctity or else the people will frown!" Another obstacle is my pretense that thou shall catch up with the unread Nick Rapper material! I depart, at a reasonable epoch, with that dumpster of characters and their actions for you to fully grasp; and, I pray the foreshadowing of thy mind commences, or continues! Without more Puritan age jargon, without more shout-outs to key characters, without more hastily coughed-up morals, I enter a period of appropriate recluse! A final slice of aforementioned trio, please! Heretofore, Dave, be good. Good life and love, readers. Your Eternal Companion, Nicholas.