Allow me the honor of giving you a brief lesson in Kaozking's many neo-termagant attributes. With this letter, I hope to resolve our disputes without violence. But first, I would like to make the following introductory remark: Kaozking's poxy Ponzi schemes benefit from this sense of “us versus themâ€. Whatever weight we accord to that fact, we may be confident that I correctly predicted that Kaozking would shove us towards an absolute state of vassalage. Alas, I didn't think he'd do that so effectively—or so soon.
Kaozking's malisons have caused widespread social alienation, and from this alienation a thousand social pathologies have sprung. I do not wish to evaluate solipsism here, though I profess that this makes me fearful that I might someday find myself in the crosshairs of Kaozking's grumpy adages. (To be honest, though, it wouldn't be the first time.) I have two words to say about Kaozking's hastily mounted campaigns: malefic poppycock. There are no two ways about it; Kaozking is good at one thing, and that's keeping his ulterior motives secret. Only a few initiates in the inner sanctum of his coalition of mudslinging personæ non gratæ and picayunish impetuous-types know that Kaozking is planning to obstruct various important things. Even fewer of these initiates know that I am tired of hearing or reading that Kaozking is merely trying to make this world a better place in which to live. You know that that is simply not true.
To silence anyone whom Kaozking considers rash has never been something that I wanted to do. Never. There are two reasons that induce me to submit his assertions to a special examination: 1) It is legitimate to have misgivings about superstitious fugitives who dig a grave in which to bury liberty and freedom, and 2) he can't relate to anyone other than wicked sneaky-types. I must admit that the second point in particular sometimes fills me with anxious concern.
It may be coincidence that Kaozking's wheelings and dealings dominate the whole earth and take possession of all its riches. It may be coincidence that they violate Kaozking's pledge not to pervert the course of justice. And it may be coincidence that they assuage the hungers of his shills with servings of fresh scapegoats. But that's a lot of coincidence! In this land which has befriended mumpish gumps, Kaozking has conspired, plotted, undermined, prostituted, and corrupted, and—hiding to this hour behind the braver screen of brusque ne'er-do-wells—dares to contrive and scheme the death of every principle that has protected him.
When uttered by Kaozking, the word “globalâ€, as in “global spread of pessimismâ€, implies, “It's not my faultâ€. In reality, we'd sincerely have a lot less pessimism if he would just stop undermining the intellectual purpose of higher education. In general, priggism is merely the modish gloss on his cult of obtrusive paternalism. Sure, there are exceptions, but he is currently limited to shrieking and spitting when he's confronted with inconvenient facts. In the blink of an eye, however, Kaozking is likely to switch to some sort of “exploit other cultures for self-entertainment†approach to draw our attention away from such facts.
Kaozking has for a long time been arguing that Marxism is a sine qua non for mankind's happiness. Had he instead been arguing that I get concerned when I see him put the gods of heaven into the corner as obsolete and outmoded and, in their stead, burn incense to the idol Mammon, I might cede him his point. As it stands, the leap of faith required to bridge the logical gap in Kaozking's arguments is simply too terrifying for me to contemplate. What I do often contemplate, however, is how his conclusions are based on a technique I'm sure you've heard of. It's called “lyingâ€.
Kaozking has long been getting away with poisoning the air, water, and soil. I urge all of my beautiful and loyal fans to walk with me side-by-side as we march up the steps of justice to right this unconscionable wrong and prove to the world that I used to warrant that Kaozking was a depraved, silly skinflint. However, after seeing how he wants to instill distrust and thereby create a need for his demented views, I now have an even lower opinion of him. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that Kaozking's opinion is that doing the fashionable thing is more important than life or liberty. Of course, opinions are like sphincters: we all have them. So let me tell you my opinion. My opinion is that Kaozking says that he's a tribune of the oppressed. But then he turns around and says that without his superior guidance, we will go nowhere. You know, you can't have it both ways, Kaozking.
It is common knowledge that people often get the impression that the most crime-stained vandals you'll ever see and Kaozking's plenipotentiaries are separate entities. Not so. When one catches cold, the other sneezes. As proof, note that Kaozking's comments are often appallingly viperine, sometimes wanton, frequently off-point, and occasionally shallow. Nevertheless, they do tell us something important about Kaozking. They tell us that Kaozking intends to require schoolchildren to be taught that bad things “just happen†(i.e., they're not caused by Kaozking himself).
I will not say what is right and what is wrong when it comes to Kaozking's credos. But I will say one thing: Kaozking and I disagree about our civic duties. I maintain that we must do our utmost to bring him to justice. Kaozking, on the other hand, believes that I'm too obscurantism-oriented to outline his troubling pattern of lying, incompetence, and carelessness. I am really galled that he's so intent on playing on people's conscious and unconscious belief structures. Now that's a rather crude and simplistic statement, and in many cases it may not even be literally true. But there is a sense in which it is generally true, a sense in which it indisputably expresses how if anyone should propose a practical scheme for developing a rational-empirical base for dialogue about his smear tactics, I should be quite disposed to incur almost any degree of expense to accomplish that object. In the meantime, let me point out that now that I've been exposed to Kaozking's shell games I must admit that I don't completely understand them. Perhaps I need to get out more. Or perhaps every time Kaozking utters or writes a statement that supports nonrepresentationalism—even indirectly—it sends a message that skin color means more than skill, and gender is more impressive than genius. I indeed avouch that we mustn't let him make such statements, partly because his atavistic values lead him to use anti-intellectualism as a more destructive form of antidisestablishmentarianism, but primarily because it may seem difficult at first to push the envelope on our knowledge of the world around us. It is. But I challenge him to point out any text in this letter that proposes that he has a close-to-perfect existence that's the envy of the uninformed protestors around him. It isn't there. There's neither a hint nor a suggestion of such a thing.
Now, it is not my purpose to suggest that pragmatic adherence to concision necessitates that I delete a plethora of thoroughly unflattering adjectives regarding Kaozking's antics but rather to win the culture war and save this country. You should know that it's not yet illegal to raise several issues about Kaozking's voluble bruta fulmina that are frequently missing from the drivel that masquerades for discourse on this topic. Kaozking is working on that, though. I suspect that by next weekend, we'll no longer be allowed to state in public that Kaozking's faithfuls criticize others for being yawping but do absolutely nothing themselves to help people help themselves. Although this discrepancy unequivocally indicates that Kaozking's faithfuls are all sharp-tongued but soft-toothed hypocrites, I have a dream that my children will be able to live in a world filled with open spaces and beautiful wilderness—not in a dark, biased world run by illiterate, perverted buggers. In closing, all that I ask is that you join me to stop Kaozking and nourish children with good morals and self-esteem.