We’ve Gone to the Dog
Here at the Mill, which, for those of you not steeped in the arcana of dreck, is the center of the most boring “high fantasy / mensch role-play” metaverse in the entire Blogosphere, we spend the early part of the season lining up new editorial assistants. They become fodder for sophomoric jokes and potty talk, then, later in the season, they either quit or die so I don’t have to remember what I wrote about them when I start writing again next season.
Long time readers (there are at least two) will know that each year’s new crop of assistants are really just last year’s assistants in new skins. Those skins are often young and female, because, after all, this is my “high fantasy / mensch role-play.” This reuse of previous material is part of samsara. Your samsara, not mine. It is the cyclic rebirth of the dreck machine. Since nobody reads old posts on Medium, the past doesn’t exist on our platform. It’s OK to rummage around your old ideas, have one of them detailed, and sell it as a new car to our loving hoard of robot readers.
My plan this year was to get a dog as a editorial assistant. There are several reasons for hiring a dog. Let’s revert to a listicle:
- Dogs sell
- Some dogs can hunt
- Dogs don’t drink all the…
