Much ado

Apparently when I decide to write, without feeling any particular urge for it, just because It's not been done for a while, I also decide to have my eyes closed, for what reason I really don't know, I mean of course I can come up with some philosophical one-liner for a reason that everyone would love to lap up, but why bother? So anyway, I can feel a lot of typos creeping past, well, I'll fix them once done, and you'd never know how utterly lacking my blind keyboarding is...

Now that we have the mood set, let's come to the point, it's a very important point, the kinds of which one stares long and hard at and grimly concludes that they have a headache... The point is, that there is none, absolutely, conclusively none.

But don't fret, I've spent a good few decades in the business of engaging people with just a lot of nothing, so no need to run for cover, yet, that is. Now before I give you a tour of the wonderful, trippy, psychedelic world of utter pointlessness, give me a moment to open my eyes and look at the number of typos I made...

Ugh.

Nothing like looking at your un-visually-aided typing to throw yourself into a shameful, self-loathing guilt trip. Try it sometime, you'll be depressed. Well, that being done, here we go again. So what was I talking about? Ah, right, nothing. So as you see, nothing is very difficult to do, in fact nothing is impossible to do! [insert more wordplay about nothing here, I can't bother myself with thinking them up]... But seriously, can you actually ever do nothing? Even breathing is something, even existing is something. Tch, it's difficult to blind-type with a cigarette between my fingers. Wait, let me finish smoking.

There, done; so where was I? Right, I was right in the middle of nowhere, just a few blocks away from Courage the cowardly dog's house. Sitting and discussing important useless things. So now would be a good time to draw attention to exactly how much I've already made you read without really saying much, go ahead, take a look upwards, do it, I insist!

That's a lot of text innit? See? I wasn't joking when I said I'm good, I really am.

Now let me assure you, that throughout the rest of this discourse, I will continue to deliver tankerloads of bovine fecal matter, which, I'm sure, you being a survivor of this modern world, have possibly waded through oceans of before, so it's no biggie for you; but wait till you read till the very end of this, when that awesome, mind-boggling punchline surprises you and shakes you up, just by not being there. It'll be worth your while I tell you. In the end you'll thank me profusely, for stopping, that is.

But no, we aren't there yet, I can't just proclaim beginnings and endings of profound inconsequence and still expect you to continue reading; no, I'm not that unfair. Therefore, I'll give you something to ponder, and that will be the subtle fact that though the beginning and the end were pointless, the middle bit was also pointless, yet amazingly, when you consider it all together, that gestalt form, will be larger than the sum of its parts! Which, is a lovely way to tell you that it will be even more pointless than each of the individual pointlessness. In essence, it's like saying that adding up a lot of tiny zeroes would give you a bigger zero than all the tiny zeroes together. Thought provoking, I'm sure.

And now that I'm also sure that you're even more prepared to finish me off in a violent bloodbath, to extinguish my pointlessness once and for all. I'll leave you reveling in your frustrated murderous intent, with a nagging reminder of the fact that even that act, would amount to an infinitely vast, infuriatingly tranquil, immeasurable quantity, of nothing.

Pointlessly yours.
NesQuarX