Klarinet Archive - Posting 000876.txt from 2000/10

From: LeliaLoban@-----.com
Subj: [kl] Critics (was: [kl] Mozart and clarinet range...)
Date: Sun, 15 Oct 2000 16:58:36 -0400

Oliver Seely referred to,
>...that life-form of retarded evolutionary development, the critic...>

We've had several other comments along those lines lately, although perhaps
this is the most pungent. I'm curious: Who do you people think critics are?
Where do you think we come from? No doubt some of you naively assume that
critics are normal human beings like yourselves -- perhaps even fellow
musicians, artists, writers and movie-makers.

BWAAAAhahahahahha!

Since you can't see us on the Internet, you can't recognize us for the
hideous mutants we really are. Yes, hear the truth and weep in terror:
Critics aren't born in the normal manner at all. We're spawned by mad
scientists hard at work in the bowels of a toxic waste dump in a secret
location near you. Our genetic materials come from recombinant DNA
experiments with stinging insects, poisonous toads, vicious warthogs,
venomous puff adders, rabid vampire bats, lethal fungi and a wide variety of
noxious plant life. The chortling maniacs in their white coats brew us in
pits of radioactive slime and nourish us on ground-up flesh of innocent
creative artists captured, struggling and screaming for mercy, on their way
home from late-night gigs. In fact, a big new brood of mutant critics
hatched, already foaming at the mouth and ravenous for blood, at midnight on
Friday, since Friday the 13th in a full moon in Scorpio is a particularly
auspicious time for propagating critics of most peculiarly malevolent
distemper.

True, some of us can pass for human and even masquerade as actual fellow
musicians and other *artistes* on the Internet, if we're cagey. Although
we're taught next to nothing of any substance about the arts we criticize --
indeed, ignorance is one of our most formidable weapons! -- we're trained to
camouflage ourselves, so that we can spy out just enough of your trade
secrets and your professional vocabularies to use them against you.
Naturally, all of us hate hard-working creative people. Our mission: to do
anything in our considerable power to degrade the level of culture of the
human race, so that when the Mother Ship lands, humans will lack any
imagination whatsoever, and will meekly obey.

We're well-equipped to express our envy and loathing of successful artists.
Most of us have venom sacs behind four-inch fangs. We're not even allowed
out of the vat with fangs shorter than three inches, though some legendary
critics, such as B. H. Haggin, were endowed with foot-long fangs *and* an
auxiliary poison gland in the tongue. I exude a corrosive gelatinous
substance similar to Napalm, from every pore, for the purpose of burning my
victims. Since I am a movie critic, I also have a miniature but deadly laser
cannon concealed in my right eyeball, thanks to research my progenitors
"borrowed" from scientists working on a satellite missile defense system. If
you saw me, you would quail in horror, though of course you will not see me,
because only under cover of darkness, and well-disguised, will I slither
forth from the reeking cesspool, teeming with other critics, where I now make
my home.

Don't believe me, do you? That's the beauty of our plan. BWAAAAhahahaha!
Resistance is futile!

Lelia
(rhymes with "necrophilia")

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