Turdstock (Or, I'd Rather Have A Bottle In Front Of Me AND a Frontal Lobotomy)

Writing one's thoughts in sentence fragments punctuated only by modern phrase abbreviations is the mental equivalent of dropping a turd in an alley and wiping your ass with a chunk of polystyrene; you instantly lose all your dignity, then you walk around uniquely unaware of the wordstench you broadcast, or the gagging it evokes in the forebrains of your peers.

I don't judge you if you've been doing this with English, I just want to convince you to stop. Or at the least, please just at least finish this particular post. I don't think it's going to be about very much, except how fun words are when you don't ignore them. That likely sounds arrogant - which is an issue I'll address in a moment.

Often, people who write this way end up incapable of focusing on any series of words whose length prohibits getting a rough character count first.
It used to be that folks were loath to admit not reading an article due to its length - for fear of coming off as simple. Now all kinds of smart folks tell me that of course they don't read my stuff because it's obviously way too long.
Well, phooey.

I can't exactly say less than what I have to say, any more than I could send back half a plate of oysters, or pull my wiener out of a pussy and start a crossword, 90 seconds into sexual congress with a human female.

I would've inserted a premature ejaculation joke there if my ego afforded me the practice of self-deprecation, but it does not, ever. Hell, I have problems just with self-defecation. Pooping alone is frightful business when you've propped your psyche up as precariously as I have all these years. If I have to wipe more than twice I need to call a friend to tell me I'm attractive, or else I'll start trembling and end up with fecal matter on my shirt tail.

So with an id like a house of cards and a super-ego structured like a Ponzi scheme, I need to engage in constant, effusive self-praise and non-stop attacks on others, or else the wind of dysfunction will leave me broken on the cold floor - where the SEC agent of doubt will place me in leg irons.

And my sentence for this offense? 
Likely very long, with too many commas.

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