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Undephinedgeek said...
"OMG! The music is BRILLIANT!
Tamarfains"
This comment was of course posted by Tamar in response to the delightful soundtrack used in our fabled mushcake-a-baking vodcast, which was greeted by you, the readership, with much delight and aplomb. Now, many of you will be wondering, "but sir, how were you able to discern from the arcane nomme de plombs found in this comment the identity of its author? Truly you must be an individual of stunning insight and depth of understanding!" To which I respond, "indeed, verily it is so, my child! But do not believe me to be more than that which I am, which is but a man of humble learning and possessed of merely middling wits. It was only through a long acquaintanceship with the aforementioned reader of the time period that I became privy to the strange and varied epithets employed by Ms. Gressel to obscure her true identity!"
With regard to the actual content of the comment, much credit must be given to one Melissa Sanders, Chairwoman of the Worthis Trust, and composer extraordinaire, who secured the band of Semitic minstrels to play this lofty tune. It was an original composition by the good chairwoman, the product of many hours of labor and thought.
Anonymous said...
"Man, no one made me a mush cake for MY birthday either... and you didn't see me being a whiny little pussy...
Tbone"
Again, of course, the uninitiated might be a touch confused by Tamar's ongoing use of pseudonyms, but I can vouch for the authenticity of Ms. Gressel's authorship of this statement, which I determined only after much study and prolonged pondering. Now, Tamar, to respond directly to your comment, I must say that I find your attitude to young Jarthen's plight most uncharitable! After all, he is but a lad of twelve, nay, thirteen, who has endured far more in his brief years than the vast majority of us will be subjected to even when the full measure of our lives has been taken into account. Imagine, having to leave the parents with whom you have not developed a particularly deep or meaningful attachment, the rustic hamlet in which you had been reared, and the only other young man with whom you shared a deep, sacred bond. Imagine it, reader, and tell me that you too would not weep for lack of mushcake. I know that I, like our young protagonist, would also be apt to shed a tear over the fateful conclusion of my youth. For is that not the point at which both young Jarthen and Bertronius find themselves to be?
I will leave you to reflect on these thoughts.