THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT:
THE OFFICIAL FUCKING NEWSLETTER OF THE CHURCH OF THE ONE TRUE PROSE
"Omitting shit periodically. Because we fucking can. Deal with it."
To The Terse Und Loyal:
Der Führer himself, our great leader of the Church Of The One True Prose, would like to extend his gratitude to you for your continued support of proper language. Nota bene: dues not received, like, really fucking soon, will be considered late. Exceptions by which your ass may be saved, or covered, or what have you in the realm of butts, will be only made for the most extenuating of circumstances, because, as some of you newbies learned in Doktor Näschen's camp, our annual retreat for new members, for those of you who don't know, all other tardiness shall be counted as unexcused! Insubordinate! Not giving enough of a fuck! Et cetera. Know why?
CUZ FUCK THAT SHIT!
Some exciting news, Genosse! We've decided on our new monogram! The C/1TP will be replaced with the much cleaner COOT-P. It sure was exhausting, and some of the members voiced their concerns with aggression, but the CAPS were very rewarding, and despite our differences - it being preferred that deliberations be made in a weak and passive manner - The Council At Park Slope was considered by us to be a great success. CAPS went on ahead [ : P lol - this is the only time you use brackets, by the way] and it was allowed by them that a final decision would be made and that a new hotel was chosen. As it can be recalled by you, the Winter CAPS conference last year was a disaster. Most were able to stay warm in the CAPS. However, many of our comrades had a run-in (not to be confused with a run-on, lulz) with a frozen lake that was not actually frozen. What the fuck, right? This year we'll make sure our members don't end up cold and wet. And it may be thought by you to yourself, hey, brilliant author, why should it be cared about by me? Here's why, you little shit. Maybe when you've gotten older, it will be understood by you that when one of our members gets wet, the entire COOT-P gets wet. Look, butthole, COOT-P is pretty cut and dry, but when it has been gotten deeper into, it will be known by you how heaven gets felt. It gets felt like a place where even Whoremac McCarthy, "Lengthy D. Lucifer," can be read by children and can it be guessed why by you? Because the paradise made just for COOT-P has periods all over the place. Seriously like, just fucking beautiful periods gushing everywhere. COOT-P's mission is to encourage the frequency of periods in all walks of life, so that COOT-P can disrupt even the most flowing sentiments with glorious periods.
Remember, Comrades von Collocation, that your strictest obedience to COOT-P jurisprudence is as important as fighting the fucking infidels, I shit you not. On this note, consider this your final notice, meine Kamaraden: all loyal members will keep in mind that we are still at war* with the rambling infidels, the fucking assholes. Listen up, man, if we don't put a stop to their "poetic prose" that "actually sounds good if you fucking read it out loud," the world could get so rich and vast that a single sentence thereof could take up a whole page! These buttholes think they can just go on and on with this ethereal bullshit as long as they want, but were going to break these fuckers down into tiny, boring pieces. Their ideas simply must be stopped. Period. Pages upon pages across the homeland might end up with a single, pretentious-ass sentence on them and that's it. The pages The Enemy wants to bully us with, are full of exactly the kind of hypocrisy from which The Enemy gets his shits and giggles, which is to say this: my terse and loyal friends of the one true style, who go by the name of Runners-On.* These ass hats must be stopped before there well-crafted and totally gay sentiments, rich in detail and in stupid commas or what the fuck ever write the next page in history, whose arrogant dick head ideas are too hard for the true-tongued to understand. But how does one understand things that are so long and hard? Loyal comrade, don't be a long and hard member. Stay in COOT-P, and be brief where there are interruptions a plenty, don't stay long, you'll have to cut it short when you see the period coming, but you can come as much as you like.
Unser Gefallene Kameraden Patron Of The Month, the late Herr Komissar Richard Böll of our most remote outpost, which we think is somewhere in, like, Alabama or something. For Herr Komissar Böll's unabashed and zealous defense of our core-ass values, you know, just in a kind of generally badass way, we have awarded him the honorary, posthumous title of COOT-P's second ever Patron Patriot Magnus Cum Fama.*** There is no doubt among the council of elders that those thinking of defecting to the evil army of the expansive and lyrical wording, ought familiarize themselves with Herr Komissar Böll's most famous speech about respecting the wishes of COOT-P, no matter how hard it may be:
"You don't want to end up as one of those members we've had to yank from COOT-P. Wanna use commas instead of starting new sentences? This constitutes fucking the shit out of COOT-P, which has regular periods, and not this fancy, "Look at me, I went to college," semicolon bullshit; we recommend dashing away from that marathon of sentiment. If our members don't have what it takes to please COOT-P, don't even bother coming."
In case you were busy writing your House Of Syntax representative about the Brackets Bill, have yet to subscribe to our Twitter feed (@thefuckingchurchofstyle_bitch) , or were too busy jacking off while reading Faulkner, the fucking dick guy, instead of watching your Führer tweet about the very issue of moles and infidelity, which has now officially replaced making The Reader work a little bit to understand these long, biblical-ass sentences, which have appeared in the works of some of the most acclaimed and buttshit authors, and which we are fucking slaying as we speak.
For those of you who did not see the speech, our Mr. Leader man made a super hilarious joke over the course of, like, seven tweets I think, something like, I don't know, it had to do with moles getting divorced or some shit, but it was fucking hilarious. I think Twitter, like, keeps everything you ever write, so it should be in there somewhere. Dude, I'm telling you, it's totally worth sifting through that bitch.
*If you can't remember this simple fucking fact, maybe you can re-god-damn-member that unser Führer keeps a fucking whip. So pay your god damned dues and act right, butthole; we're fightin' the fuckin' good fight, you dick.
**A word in Latin, which we're pretty sure is a language, for "total badass" or something. We could have gone with magnus in femina (see: a fucking dictionary) "Total badass" is just a guess, but fucking deal with it, nerds.
The COOT-P Hall Of Do You Know is usually brought to you by a brief message from our loyal, and pretty fucking rad sponsor at Bic Industries, S.S., This week, however, will be the last week of Bic's sponsorship. Fortunately for the terse and loyal, the members of Bic Industries have cut off all creative endeavors, COOP-T's word game contests included. We congratulate you on the inconvenience, and offer you one last prize in brevity that could be won by you if you are passive and awkward enough.
In this week's competitive contest game, a lifetime supply of white-out will be won by someone. Win the prize and correct the shit out of your dumbass friends! For fucking life!
How to enter:
In as few words as possible, describe something that ruined your rhythm. Fucking mail that shit. Spend the rest of your life huffing white-out. Fucking deal with it.
We honor now our brethren in brevity, with some of the unforgettable slogans that have appeared periodically in The Long And Short Of It.
"Bic: maker of pens and the only fucking lighters that work, probably since like, saying "Yolo" became a "thing."
"Bic: the official Führer von Kugelschreibelblitzkriegen of corny dwarf sentences since, like, yesterday come to think of it."
"Bic: holding long distance runners and other gay sentences at ballpoint, since fucking forever, that's how fucking long."
"Don't be a dick. Use a Bic."
And we leave you you with this fun morsel, for you, our COOT-P comrade fellow and lover of all things short, to the point, and boring as all fuck.
Hall Of "Did You Knows?"
No, really, I don't know what "Yolo" means.