Sometimes I wonder what would happen if Jacques Derrida ever met William Strunk and E.B. White?
I don't know, but I imagine it would involve a lot of commas. Angry commas, with French words in italics and long, tangential commentaries on etymology. And parentheses. Livid parentheses, with honest, energetic, colorful words inside. (And perhaps a few lists of the items that make up a garbage heap thrown in for good measure.)
I could see it being jolly good sport, actually...
Perhaps Charlotte could referee. After all, they're all dead as well.
Could someone make that happen? Thanks.
I love Saturdays.
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