much ado

Kent scribbles out softyware for plado-grubbers who like to press buttons.

He can't stand to be around them, but the little fuckers do earn him a good dime. Kent had to squirt out a bio of himself for the grindmill's intranet site. The bio would include all the information needed to let Kent's fellow employees feel statistically more confident that not that he wouldn't assault one of them during a trip to the parking lot some cold and windery afternoon.

Under the "Hobbies" topic of this little self intruductus, I told him to put "biking," even though this cat couldn't spin a huffy the right way no matter how well he lubed it. Still, it is proper to at least make an attempt at appearing healthy in these little e-bios. And, since Kent had scored a sweet foto of his mug that nipped away a bit of the drooping chin and baggy cheekies - well, it just seemed natural that a youngish (if rather dumpy) looking white guy should be into biking...and maybe kayaking or 'bouldering.'

Kent had taken an afternoon of work to fiddle up the bio. That night at the sinkhole, I gave it a perusal and announced it eulogy-esque in it's rising crescendo of revelation and discovery. All it needed would be the cymbalic clash of an end-quote denouement to unravel and disperse the masses that were his readers.

The quote would be the finishing touch on Kent's re-creation of the self. It would sum up and best abbreviate all the complexities the human soul and mind put themselves through (well, those complexities that can be described in less than 25 words and a fotoshopped jpeg, max 25kb.)

The quote would be wise and multi-layered. It would be all the depth Kent would ever need.

"A kick ass quote - you got one? Maybe from Brando or Dylan...or some old Greeky like Socrates or Hippocruttas-what'sisnamus."

"No problem," I replied with ease. "We'll work off the Bard's leavings. Break out pen, brother, for I've just the drop of wordsmithy you desire and it won't cost you more than that next pint of micro to hear it. Buy two, and you'll get another to use in that bit of email romance you got going with Natasha."

Pen poised in anticipation, Kent's scribbling began as I took breath and struck a rather eloquent bit of posemakery. The slow, meaningful arc of an arm as out dropped,

"If all the world is a stage,
where the hell is my audience."

-oVanderhoot