See, the thing about long sentences is that I sometimes use them to amuse myself, as that is really the only reason I go on rants to begin with yet sometimes I'm bored even by the terribly mesmerizing sound of my own pondering so I have to do odd little things to amuse myself such as agonizing antics and aggravated alliteration or perhaps trying to find convienient places to use Lovecraftian words like "stygian", "cyclopean", or even "syzygy", "psychopomp", and "armigerous" in everyday conversation though this really doesn't count as they're not in context, thus defeating the whole point of the entire exercise even though it is, in fact (and, paradoxically (though I, myself, believe that a paradox is merely an unsolved enigma caused by either a lack or a misunderstanding of a phenomena, rather than an actual impossiblility)), a pointless exercise, it is the process and not the goal that is important, rather like life itself if one could actually be so bold as to attempt to drag anything remotely meaningful into this senseless farrago of mobius mental meanderings and not utterly succumb to the shame of such a charade, wondering (as I have) on the origins of charades, as the word seems to have a rather francophonic ring to it and the French do have a thing for mimes, after all, notwithstanding the theory I have, which is mine, that perhaps France is infested with mimes not because the French, themselves, enjoy the presence of such painted bipedal vermin but instead because the French are less prone to mime-enduced violence (due to their floppy hats) and because the French, despite the absurd chapeau fixation of the Napoleonic hordes, realize that everyone else hates mimes and thus if they allow their country to be overrun with those infuriatingly reticent nuisances perhaps they'll have to put up with fewer of us flowery-smelling foreign-types who think that cheese is extruded from a machine as a byproduct of the plastics industry rather than, say, the curdled remnant of what nature intended to be fed to ickle baby cows, causing one to wonder, further, about who was the first idiot to decide it was okay to eat moldy cheese (as if it wasn't bad enough that it's curdled, they had to go and let it spiral down to a whole new level of ickiness and allow fungus to grow on it) or how many prehistoric gents had to drop over dead before they figured out which mushrooms were okay to eat when anyone with any sense would have just taken everything terribly poisionous off the menu rather than thinking that maybe the next one would taste like pumpkin pie, despite the fact that I'm currently unaware of the existance of pumpkin pie in prehistoric France, though they did have many colorful cave paintings of ickle baby cows, thus leading some archeologists to believe perhaps, that there were early cults of nomadic cave-dwelling blue cheese cultivators in the highlands of what would later become Gaul, though what that has to do with the Celts is entirely beyond me as they went in for more of the violent kiltish look than the benign floppy hat thing, and had several very nice henges whereas there were none in the caves, probably due to the low ceilings and all, and their cluttering up the place and making it difficult to get the cows in to make the cheese so it could grow mold, unless, of course, they developed dairy aquaducts (or rather calciducts) as the Romans later did when they took time off from their looting and pillaging to build large stone structures, though not as large as those made in Egypt, since the Egyptians lived in the middle of a bloody desert and really didn't have much else to do with their time, though some of the scholarly castes, the ones most skilled in heiroglyphics (or, maybe, least skilled at sleeping), were known to be sedulous in the practice of carving exteremely long and tedious sentences such as this one.

-Jn-
Efreeti Sophist