Lofty prose and extended extrapolation can often be misconstrued simply as intellectual self-stimulation. The Cynic deems it appropriate to fervently disagree with this shameful conclusion, and berates any would-be parties willing to go so far as to endorse and even propagate it.
Such a monstrous denial would forever tarnish the divine landscape wherein it germinates, sporing the vacuity and impotence which will eventually seed the new world of consistent literary ambiguity. This plague of doubt, deconstruction and dissolution must be prevented, and the only way to triumph will be to barrage the surrounding countryside with wave after wave of effluent pontification and expostulation.
The Cynic has thus divined that the detractors of embellishment and general floridity shall be cast into the empty, colourless, odourless and senseless pit of inanity from whence they were begotten, to be forever assaulted with blatant mediocrity.
(NB: two instances after having posted the above, The Compassionate Cynic had to duck out the back for a private moment. He has not been heard from since.)
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