Lately, I’ve been subjected to a nearly endless parade of my friends, family, and other close personal acquaintances approaching me and expressing concerns about my maturity level. I’d like to use this opportunity to communicate, in a public forum, the extent of my feelings regarding this constant barrage of accusations defaming my character. Namely, I believe it is important to establish that the allegation that I am an immature person would only be true if it was levied during the course of a one-day holiday celebrating the contradictory essence of opposition. Furthermore, I feel that it is imperative to broadcast that individuals making such assertions subject themselves to certain reciprocal properties of their own language; they are the metaphorical adhesive to my naturally elastic polymer, allowing their words to carom off my persona and attach to their own.
In light of these revelations, I defy all of you – invoking not one, not two, but three entire canines – to criticize me in such a manner henceforth; as per the customary folk ritual of the Volkswagen tribe, now that I have assaulted you, it is nigh impossible for you to assail me in response. Indeed, such an action would be folly, as its fundamentally deleterious traits have been rendered inert; I possess a base inability to be harmed by mere language, though physical objects – boulders, branches, and the like – remain effective.
As a necessary precaution in the event of recurrent harassment of this ilk, however, I have but a single message to offer to those who would dare to continually put forth this fallacious notion that I am immature: I am fully aware that you are an individual who possesses this particular trait, but what am I?
