Prototype of Real-Time Word Counter. You attach the green wired end to your girlfriend's brain stem.

I realize that you’re busy. You’re a busy, busy person and if you’re going to expose yourself to drivel, it had better be brief drivel. This, from the beginning, has been the central mission at Hard To Say:

To keep our drivel brief. To strain only the softest, topmost part of your brain. The part you also use to do things like to point at landmarks and get milk up your nose.

With that mission in mind, The Brow feels like there’s one more thing He can be doing to make sure these words don’t seep down into the more vital parts of your brain: posting word counts.

WordPress should create an option that automatically displays the word counts for each entry right at the top of the post.

Sure, I could manually type that information, but that’s no fun. In today’s modern world, if it ain’t automatable, it ain’t worth doing.

The Brow thinks that word counts would help you plan your day better and, selfishly, He also believes that they’ll help you gauge your willingness to read one of his pieces to the end.

For instance, you might be a fan of The Brow’s 300 to 400 word drivels, but you find that once He goes over that amount you kinda hope He steps in front of a Little Debbie van sometime soon.

Or, maybe you find His shorter pieces a bit too fluffy and cute. Maybe they make you think of a Pomeranian yapping in the corner. But when He hits His ranting stride in those longer pieces, you tend to settle in, thankful for the opportunity to escape the crushing reality of your present employment situation.

You may even read the longer pieces to laugh at The Brow for His inability to maintain a coherent narrative thread or line of inquiry. The Brow is not opposed to you reading His work in order to feel better about your own intellect. Just so long as when you refer to Him in the third person, you do as He does here and capitalize the H.

Now that He thinks of it, The Brow wishes many things in our world came with advance warning regarding duration.

That’s why TV is so awesome. It’s neatly packaged. You know how long it’ll be before you have to dream up some other useless activity to do between now and your eventual death.

Cigarette smoking is another thing like TV. It’s predictable. Depending on your brand and your lung power, you know exactly how long that cigarette’s going to last.

Sure, it’s not the best activity for helping you forget that the Grim Reaper will soon come calling, but if you’re going to start applying logic to the decision behind smoking, then you’ve already failed.

Seriously.

How is it that the idiot dogs always know to stay away from cigarettes, but you and I have often dreamed of a world where we could suck’em down without fear of reprisal?

Marijuana smoke and alcohol, on the other hand, do not carry the same revulsion for dogs. Sure, some of them don’t like that stuff. Just like some humans. But the cool ones know what’s up.

I dog-sit two miniature Poodles who, from puppyhood, have gone nuts for beer. Little drunk fuckers get so cute after a couple. And they slur their yaps, which is also quite entertaining.

Speaking of, how awesome would it be if little yapper-type dogs came with a ticker above their head that would let you know how many more yaps were coming before they’d decide to give it a rest?

It would be incredibly awesome. A yap count. Not to be confused with what happens when you visit Japantown with your Mexican girlfriend.

Ju see how many yaps in dis place?

Yes, Sandra. I see.

Hmm…Sandra. She’s another one that could use a word count early warning system.

Come to think of it, I wish that were my superpower.

In a meeting, it would be nice to know when Steve from accounting was going to wrap up his little impromptu lecture on the difference between the flat tax and fair tax.

At the park, with Molly who is the single mother of Aidan, it would be nice to know how many more words she’d have to lay on you before little Aidan gets hit in the face with a swing and she has to run to his aid.

Imagine. Just a little ticker, only for you to see, projected into the air above the head of every single person you have to engage in conversation.

But what if you’re married to that person and you think your marriage is going to last forever, but the word count is dwindling down from about 100,000? Will she leave you? Will she get hit by a Little Debbie truck?

On second thought, I wouldn’t want a lifetime word counter. Just a per interaction word counter.

But then again, if I’m walking down the street with my girlfriend and her word count for this interaction is ticking down from ten, I’d be freaked out. If we had like 20 blocks to go and she was only at ten it would mean either she was, for the first time ever, going to stop blabbing ceaselessly or, more likely, I should probably stay alert for any sign of a swerving, out of control Little Debbie delivery truck in our vicinity.

Ah hell. It’s true what they say. Every superpower is just as much a curse as a blessing. A great responsibility indeed.

And for your information, this little ditty has run us into the 1,000 word range. By far the longest entry to date here on HTSR. I bet you wish I’d told you that from the get-go, huh?

Hmm. Come to think of it, no word counts then.

2 responses »

  1. mooselicker says:

    Are you okay? You could easily make each of these paragraphs into their own entries if you wanted to haha.

    Sorry I didn’t email you back. Totally forgot. But yes, I am ready whenever you are to start out new adventure.

    Look, someone is reading this and wondering what this adventure is. Teaser!

You have nothing at stake here. Why not insult me?

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