You sit and you sit and you sit some more and then your buttocks go numb and by that point you are considering giving it all away because with all the sitting and numb buttocks and general inactivity that causes such a condition, you could surely be spending your time more fruitfully.
You finally stand and are immediately liberated, free of the oppressive shackles that I sometimes wear when I am sitting down for extended periods and wish to maintain stability. With blistering speed, I gradually rise to my full height and survey my surroundings. "Where the fuck is my dartboard" I'll ask. It's that kind of absurd, oddly placed and misleading query that typically annoys the shit out of reasonable people. Not only do I have no dartboard, if I did have one I doubt it's whereabouts would concern me. It could be in the loo, the lounge or the laboratory where I conduct all my dartboard related experiments for all I fucking care. Fuck! There's a pungent aroma wafting from under the lab door that is the cause of this rather unsavoury taste in my mouth (it's worth noting that the general you became the specific I at some point in this paragraph. There, roughly. I'm pointing at it).
I am shackled in an entirely figurative sense as well, in that I can't seem to escape this particular style of writing. I can loop around it, make simple words about stuff and get really basic and not do much words but ultimately I return to an unnecessarily verbose, expansively overwritten and excessively inflitistimant writing style, crueling any chance I have of escape. It isn't especially amusing and again serves only to annoy people. This cancerous literary dribble marks me with both an avuncular tone and lecherous grin, warming me with familiarity whilst feeling me up a bit. It's sick you know. This incestuously prosey bastard's days are numbered though. Simplicity in all things is the new motto and I plan to recite it to anyone and everyone who so much as looks vaguely in my direction or thinks about gingers.
