*stretches* Now that was a bit more successful. Nothing like hippies and painfully bad text to dispel lingering romance. I’ll have to remember the trick. Keep a file on hand of atrocious prose to be offended by to banish soft fluttering. With the world the way it is, I can’t imagine it to be a difficult thing to find in spite of having never tried. My time on-line’s been blessed with the sane. I’ve been told it’s unusual to not run into horrid folk here, but so far I’ve only found the intelligent and the wonderful. Really, I hardly ever encounter pop-ups. It’s like St. Jude watches over my wanderings. (Bless her and thank her for being).
Now if I could only manage to do so properly in realtime. The world of flesh and bones. I woke to a mixture of fire painted canvases, space flight updates, and essays on Greek philosophers. My mail-box opening to give me a blueprint for a theramin and a letter from a friend trying to work me out. Oh world, how I love thee, with moonlight and starlight and unexpected friends. With technocrat saviours and microchip dreams. It’s a splendid universe to play in, in another ten years it can only be better. The trick is to make it there without someone killing me in a jealous rage.
I think I may write up a form letter.
Dear sir/madam,
I am uninterested in your suit. Your company, though pleasant, is not enough for me to desire your sex.
Thank you for your interest,
The Management.