Dear Mr. Knight,
You were brilliant as Newman in Seinfeld and even though Jurassic Park was clearly just trying to cash in on the Seinfeld money train by casting you as Dennis Nedry, the portly yet brilliant computer nerd who succumbs to greed and nearly dooms the entire world, you were awesome in that too. Also, Basic Instinct, that scene with the leg crossing is one of the most notorious in all of film history and you were in it. Talk about bragging rights, you fucking got ‘em in spades. Thus it pains me to let you down in this manner. However, I must be brutally frank. I am not some machine. I can’t go around learning stuff left and right like an AI or some system of intelligence, or type of AI, or special intelligence. I am just a man, a lone crusader on a quest to rid the world of technology hype one ridiculous notion at a time. Also, I hate fish, those ugly, slimy, gross things, the sea should be swept clean of them and would be if I were in charge. Alas, I am not and definitely wont be if I cant learn the difference between a magazine and a clip. Like an idiot I only knew the difference in the most common, everyday sense, but never went the extra mile to learn the difference with respect to how they are understood and used in the world of guns and ammo. My brain just too dumb or something. I will not make that mistake again that’s for sure.
To the library! Fetch me my favorite word defining thingie, the what’s it called, you know what I mean, the thing with the pages and words and more words about those words. I must look up this “clip” and “magazine”. Never again do I want to face the humiliation of not knowing the difference. If my quest to rule the world is to have any hope of success I cannot be caught using words for things I do not care about in any way shape or form in the wrong way again. Will I ever live down this shame I am feeling, will I ever be normal again, sane again, a real man again? The stain of this embarrassment will haunt me to my grave. Maybe I could have the definitions of each (not the 1st definition but the number 2 and 3rd sub burger dot definitions respectively) engraved on my tombstone. That way even in death what these words mean for a subsection of the population that knows and cares about guns will be forever close at hand.
I can at least thank God that I do not have any children. How could they ever go to school again, surely they would never get a date, let alone find a husband or a wife. My failed genetic line ends with my death and the world will be a better place for it. Imagine the horror should my clearly defective chromosomes be allowed to replicate and propagate throughout the rest of the population. In only 100 years time the entire world may fail to know the difference between all polysemous words. Wait, that’s not right is it? Polysemous? Whatever, words that have different meanings depending on the context in which they are used.
My fate is sealed but at least the rest of the world can rest easy. The poor fools will never know how close they came to disaster that night in college I was really drunk and didn’t use a condom when I had sex with that random co-ed with the red hair and cute smile who I never got her name or saw again in my life, like I always (mostly) did every (at least a majority) other time I did that same stupid thing.(Dude, that is a mother fucking run-on, an epic run-on, damn…). Luckily my nerdish demeanor, annoying tendencies, and lack of social skills, conspired to keep that number low or who knows what might have happened. What might have been….