Cranky Large Medium reading, 3 September

Go away.

When are you going to leave? Is this some sort of test of my tolerance to idiocy? Because if it is, you should know early on, it's very, very low. Lower than your coming though that gate, in fact. So, now, why are you still here? Oh, you are a supplicant, are you? What is it you seek, then, as if I had no clue? Sigh. I see. You want me to give you a reading. And what do I get out of this arrangement? You'll return my solitude? O joy, o rapture! Let me get started, then. Here you are:

You are uptight in your judgment and methods. Not only do you have mechanical abilities, you are mechanical in your actions and attentions. You do not make friends easily. Oh, heck, you might as well drop the "easily" from that last sentence. You will spend your adult life lonely and bored, therefore boring. That cave in the mountain over there is still unoccupied by a hermit, when you're ready to move in.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But then, who really cares whether you're happy? At least you can still gripe at me, if you so choose (of course, I'll have to resort to direct physical action if you do choose). Any way you look at it, you are still ahead of these people, all of whom, on this date in history, quit griping, had their physical actions all stopped for all time: Edward Coke, Oliver Cromwell, John Montgomery, Edvard Beneš, William Rehnquist, Donald Blakeslee, James Harrison, Robert Greene, Jean Hardouin, Archibald Bower, Ivan Turgenev, Edward Estlin Cummings, Alec Waugh, Emily Kame Kngwarreye, Albéric Magnard, Harry Partch, Johnny Marks, Major Lance, Frank Capra, James Dunn, Duncan Renaldo, Steve Ryan, Thuy Trang, Francis Ouimet, John McLoughlin, Robert E. Gross,

and Alan "Blind Owl" Wilson.

Now you can stand up and leave me.
Happy birthday, anyway.