I, for one, would like to invite all of you women complaining about being leered at (or even casually glanced at) to check your privilege.

Well, if you think that sounds like fun, just wait until you read about oboe-poker (colloquially known as oboeker)! In fact, I was thinking I'd write an entire chapter from the perspective of the felt on an oboeker table located in a casino at the edge of a universe that consists only of Futurama references.

Thanks! And I didn't even mention the chapter written in the D'xax'rjnaian mathematical language which ultimately proves that the book doesn't even exist!

So you're telling me that my epistolary novel about a genderless xi'nja (it's D'xax'rjna for ninja!) named Derrida who speaks in dactylic hexameter, and who writes epistolary novels in between assassination gigs that involve time travel and a dimension where cats play a game called fiddle-chess is not going to find a…

Looks like we've got ourselves a real crisis on infinite logos here. Let's hope it goes the way of Angle Man!

Big Data I trust, but Big Lore...that's another story.