It has been said, by United States Senator Ted Stevens, that the internet is a series of tubes. These tubes spew forth unlimited information on a continuous basis. The quality of the information output tends to fluctuate with the quality of information put into the system, or tubes. In the vernacular of the day, shit in = shit out.
Recent trends indicate that an immense quantity of digital information has been stuffed into the tubes and it is stuffed in faster than it is output at the other end. Despite the best efforts of internet providers, this stuffing is creating a bulging of the tubes, or pipes, in the case of the commercial internet, pipes carrying a stronger, more robust connotation. This effectively can cause a tying, if you will, of the tubes. It creates a turkey, a large juicy stuffed turkey that tastes, well, let's just say, suboptimal.
What, a commercial internet? I thought the all the internet is the same, a proletariat transport system for all mankind? Hark, the internet does carry commercials, and you aren't getting paid for them.
Writers, with their insouciant wit, are able to streamline the flow of information with rapierlike laser beam that pierces through the internet cloud of data. This ability to clarify, codify, personify and imaginify is the essence of their work. Without them, the writers, you would have a useless, nearly empty series of tubes. Sound and sight would resonate off the walls, hopelessly confusing the meaning of content, devaluing it, as it echoes, echoes, echoes endlessly.
The internet needs material, content, to make it work. By attempting to cheat the very heart and soul of the content originators, (and sole of the picketers) big media is attempting to take control of the rudder, putting truth, and quality into a spin.
Pay them! Pay them! You will see! Pay results in qual-ity!
This blog is dedicated to reversing the flow of the deadly and dangerous spin. Get down, ye corporate flacks. Take repose. Sally forth and see the light. Give us our due. Hark ye parsimonious tophatters. Listen to the calling. Untie the tubes!
After all, one can only tolerate so many reruns of I Love Lucy. Been there, done that.