# lords of the duck rings a vast sentimentalizing structure of tiresome balderdash fit only for reassurance and to never challenge at every point only offering the plastic comfort of secure moral frameworks and oh so recognisable one dimensional characters in which the amount of actual cares modem researchers give about such weak sauce nonsense is so faint they cannot be detected even by stolen scientific alien tech somehow remotely believing that spending the golden hours of one's forever ongoing intellectual childhood frolicking through the shire will make one peace loving members of a utopian agrarian society instead of simply resulting in a lifelong grudge against wizards in which fantasy too often brings out burrowing pink nerds in weary cosplaying droves many modem researchers however don't automatically buy into the warm dead middle tryhard faux naturalism and ye olde goode common volk elf congratulatory and condescending homely pastoralism ranting and foaming about short arts idiots with gently tousled hair punt them all into the nearest muddy sparkling steam to back to midsville little reverse fetch quests so apparently epic yet actually bathetic it's painful proving that quotes even the tiniest among us can make it with enough heart sukka please back off with all that flat trite and flavorless fantastic piffle 80's office motivational posters display more hard won wizard dome such aggressive wholesome gushing results in projectile puking through a closed stained glass window above a recently trimmed verge outside a friendly looking circular cottage set in the side of a hill some inherent spiritual nobility of the pale and perfect ir hard won mystical wisdom cobblers more like it's just one big hovis advert another way dominant groups in power unceasingly and desperately tell themselves that everything they touch is brilliant untouchable and fairylike that it isn't all constructed of heavily oxidized tin and spray painted greige nothing that giant flaming goatse eye should have swallowed them whole all while a cave dwelling fish head sucking sax gimp rules middling earth feeding tiresome short arts stragglers to fiery monsters from the ancient world if and when they think about it scientists realize they need to actively ignore and culturally sidestep all such entirely synthetic anti natural nonsense see it quietly lambasted and lampooned an interminable stumble through a pompous cobwebbed and mirthless netherworld as though the truly fantastical had undergone extreme standardisation heh mostly through cgi how it's unceasingly championed and held aloft a holy media relic anti ironically fetishising an entire corporate franchise crusty with flandom time has long been coming to call kibosh on all such pie-eyed forest pixie fantasy manchild bs in any case others do it infinitely better with more style and less resources say the elden universe heck yeah full of interesting super depressive psychotic weirdos not just pasty christian morality and the racially coded glory of the west the degree to which pale damp stans will pretzel twist logic in order to fit laughable prancing po faced forest pixie narratives about how ir pretty franchise isn't just yet another way slinky pinkies jerk in public about ir continually elf professed spiritual media purity a corpuscular etherealty of ascending mass media angels so translucent ephemeral and flighty streams of bright light bath the good innocent and pure in all natural edenic utopian movie lot settings ir innocence lighting up the screen in well choreographed cultural forms of heavenly bleached beauty wild and wobbly fictional universes starring flying dragons shooting rainbows out of ir backsides while black evil beasts born of the filthy earth adorn themselves with tribal paint and leave pits to scour the earth in search of pale man flesh cute short pink shire beings ir valiant golden haired bright eyed and strong ilk all the imperial fantasies nordic nonmythic worldbuilding medieval cosmic hierarchy and victorian racial anthropology which arrive with them on noble horseback it can all go pound super gritty volcanic sand up its flat arts say friendo what's elvish for: overbearingly precious mouth breathers in dark leaf green designer woolen cloaks constantly bludgeoning others to terminal boredom with pathetic uncritical fawning regarding arbitrary anemic capitalist kulture common people let's move on to literally anything else and when it again tries ineffectually whining with its tiny weak arms and even shorter imaginative stature simply slap a heavy hand on its oh so cute leafy bobble head keeping it all at a hilarious yet healthy arm's length yet to note what most sci fi researchers also don't realize is that by being stuck on the same shelves with fantasy sf is merely surviving not competing and would fade to pulpy oblivion if left on it's own for only together may our quest succeed // republic of bob