A personal note from the High Priest of the Church of Piglet, Holder of Truth, and Keeper of the Ivy Staff

Good morrow, good folk,

'Tis from the heart I speak here, as I must, for there is something rotten in Trending that spreadeth like a sore left untreated.

I can’t say most trenders are delivering the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of their syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say they are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell them they have good faces; they are but rotten three-inch fustilarians.

Where art thou now, whale? Art thou afeard of forfeiting thy thirty pieces of silver? Art thou ignobly bearing their slings and arrows, when taking up arms should be thy first thought in the matter?

Prithee, shouldst thou not act, for this clan's sake, for once?

All ye whales cry havoc, I say, and let slip the dogs of war!

'Tis time, if not too late.

^{Image by @katharsisdrill.}