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St. whY on Verbal Speech Mechanisms
(or What the Hell is a Phone?)

What the hell is a "phone" and how does it work? Is it that weird plastic thing hooked up to my internet line that sometimes makes strange clangy noises? What is it for? Why do I hear it trying to imitate email, but with this bizarre "speech" thing instead of just good old ASCII? Do real people seriously expect me to tolerate this form of blasphemy? And, if so, how much cash are they paying me to do it? Beware, for this humble (sometimes) servant of the great Jellyfish suspects that the Fiery Rain of Cnidocytes may quickly befall those blasphemers who would make crude breathing/eating noises over the nearly-pure network of thy great InterNet.

The Near Awakening of Communication? Or just Communication?

"And during the time of the Near-Awakening, the humble servants of Cnidaria became aware of a noxious new form of evil. It had the capability of making vibrations in the air, which offended both the senses AND the sensibilities of the Radiate Initiates and those who looked to them for guidance in the medium of communion. What evil, under-evolved, foul, false-intelligence-forms would DARE befoul the communications lines of Cnidaria's nervous system with these evil and putrid air-vibrations when a pure, holy, simple message in the most beautiful binary Cnidarian language ASCII (bow down to the GREAT name of ASCII) could tell so much more -- in such a precise manner? The emissary of the great Jellyfish looked down upon the idiotically deformed monkeys who had first stolen Cnidaria's nature preserve and then blasphemed against it with these foul breakings-of-wind, and decided that those who held sacred the belief in proper and decent and realistic forms of communication should be granted a partial reprieve during the coming Time of the Fiery Rain of Cnidocytes -- depending on their virtue. Either absolve them, or allow them a simple bullet through the head while being sodomized -- instead of the Fiery Rain of Cnidocytes, to come later. What a lucky stroke, for those of you who can only contribute to the sacred text by inspiring others to shoot bullet-holes in your mental bedroom walls. But, you ask, "please recognize our attempts at purity, and reward us with less painful sentences, even if we be bad musicians or mad scientists during the end-times, also known as the Time of the Fiery Rain of Cnidocytes." Behold the Blessed Cnidaria, or wish you could absolve your sins simply by fellating Ringo Starr. Bow down to the all-consuming evil of the flatulent hypno-ray and its evil degenerate brothers, and you will feel the burning of multi-hundred-foot tentacles flaying the very flesh from your body and chewing your mind up like so many square feet of aluminum foil. So there."

Or something like that. I think I'm home. Take me drunk.

Chris, Operative C

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