Letter writing is emotionless swill
By Chandler Walter, Humour Editor
The other day I was shocked and disgusted to find my son, Phillip Thatcher, reading a letter in his room and giggling like a young lady at a ball. Ever since the futuristic technology of carrier pigeons was introduced into our small village, it seems that all the children tend to do is write short, 1,000 word messages to each other.
Their eyes are always downcast, reading the latest gossip or poem that has been sent to them, and they are missing out on all the exciting real-life things taking place in front of their faces, likes taxes, and the black plague.
I have tried to ban my children from taking part in such mind-melting nonsense, but every morning they seem to have a new batch of post in their hands. I have heard from the teachers at the schoolhouse that it has escalated to students passing notes during class.
If this dilemma is not addressed quickly, it is terrifying to think what will become of humanity as a whole. These fast—almost instant—messages are reducing this new generation’s ability to stay on task, and work the usual 12 hours a day on the farms.
I am afraid to think that if the rapid increase of technology continues to advance at such a rate—Old Pete down by the river has created some sort of magical “water-wheel,” which many in the village feel is strange and dangerous—then there is no knowing just how bad things will eventually get.
Furthermore, if these messages are not heavily regulated by the lords and king, then there is no knowing what may get into the hands of my dearest children. Mary was explaining to me at the market that she found some rather disturbing things written on some parchment under her daughter’s cot, and it is pornographic prose like that that will turn our children into demonic heathens.
There is already a sense of disconnect between the adults and the younger folk, a divide created by the devil spawned technology at their fingertips. I admit, I once tried my hand at sending a letter of my own to a friend of mine (nothing indecent, I swear) but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to get the pigeon to work. It is as if the workings of the systems are formed in such a way to be impossible for an older generation to understand, and that makes me extremely angry and confused.
Therefore, I will spend my days writing angry letters such as this one, and then, well, oh darn it.