While fantasy remains one of the great escapes from the somnambulistic haze we live in (And will, of course, remain the sole focus of Tommy Atkins), I have noticed a somewhat disturbing trend in that the Republic seems to be burning to ash. This has concerned me greatly; and after a whisky-tinged visitation by the Patron Saint of Cynicism, one Ambrose Bierce, I have decided to try my hand at an updated “Cynic’s Wordbook”.
In any event, his ghost departed, muttering something about a bullet-riddled wall in Mexico being a “Lateral Move”, and called me a dunce for not understanding a reference that happened over a century before I existed; and lo! I had my title.
The Dunce’s Dictionary is your guide to understanding terms that no longer mean what they once did, having been polluted by the imbecile-collective following the smell of blood to the next place to loot, reduce to cinders, and all the while claim the moral high-ground.
Enjoy. Or don’t. I don’t give a toss whether you piss, or go fishing, quite frankly.
Christ, I need a drink.