If you've been finding yourself at a loss for words, recently, after reading your daily newspaper, you may appreciate these bits of Terry Pratchett from Going Postal
. (I've been finding these passages more cathartic, even, than reading Digby
Gilt waved him into silence, and continued: "--several hundred thousand dollars in a challenging, relevant, and exciting systemic overhaul of our entire organization, focusing on our core competencies while maintaining full and listening cooperation with the communities we are proud to serve. We fully realize that our energetic attempts to mobilize the flawed infrastructure we inherited have been less than totally satisfactory, and hope and trust that our valued and loyal customers will bear with us in the coming months as we interact synergistically with change management in our striving for excellence. That is our mission."
If Moist von Lipwig had been raised to be a clown, he'd have visited shows and circuses and watched the kings of fooldom. He'd have marveled at the elegant trajectory of the custard pie, memorized the new business with the ladder and the bucket of whitewash, and watched with care every carelessly juggled egg. While the rest of the audience watched the display with the appropriate feelings of terror, anger, and exasperation, he'd make notes.
Now, like an apprentice staring at the work of a master, he read Reacher Gilt's words on the still-damp newspaper.
It was garbage, but it had been cooked by an expert. Oh, yes. You had to admire the way perfectly innocent words were mugged, ravished, stripped of all true meaning and decency, and then sent to walk the gutter for Reacher Gilt, although "synergistically" had probably been a whore from the start.
Meaningless, stupid words, from people without wisdom or intelligence or any skill beyond the ability to water the currency of expression. Oh, the Grand Trunk stood for everything, from life and liberty to Mom's homemade Distressed Pudding. It stood for everything except anything.
Through a pink mist, his eyes caught the line "Safety is our foremost consideration." Why hadn't the lead type melted, why hadn't the paper blazed rather than be part of this obscenity? The press should have buckled, the roller should have cleaved unto the platen ..."