I remember Text back in the good old days.
We didn't have computers. Back then all members of Text met in an ancient tomb in Long Island. Twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, I would make the arduous five day journey so I could arrive the following Saturday and Tuesday, which is when the meetings were held. Through sleet and snow, hail and rain, earthquakes and outbreaks of Ebola- which occurred five times monthly- I would slowly make my way down the three-thousand mile trek, armed with nothing but the clothes on my back and a Porsche. And when I finally reached the ancient tomb, known to us as the Glorious Ruins of Edvansd Kontest, I would wait three days for my fellow Texticians to arrive, who all had a much harder journey than I.
We called ourselves Texticians, not Textors like you young'ns of today. The esteemed Jago S. Blumberg invented the name. And also, back in the glory days of Text, there were only five Texticians, myself included. And though there were only five members, we all entered every contest and voted every time! You "Textors" take it for granted, your twelve entries and eighteen votes. Back then, we only had five votes for five entries, and we were happy!
And oh, the envy we would get! Some young lady by the name of Heather Bombini was always hanging around outside, just achin' to become a Textician. Of course, back then we knew better than to let women-folk in. This was the especial reason I remember those days as the glory days.
Of course, like the Roaring Twenties, Text's wonderful era had to end. The personal computer was invented, and the next week, the internet. A Textician by the name of Binder Mussolini suggested we abandon our wonderful tomb and instead write through the Interconnecting Network Of Personal Computers Across the Globe, later renamed the World Wide Web. We set a meeting place at inopcag.worth1000.com, and we were ready to roll.
But now everything had changed. We were getting new members by the dozen, about half of them female, led by none other than Heather Bombini herself! We would have stopped them, but the crafty Heather had disguised herself in the masculine pseudo-name of hbomb, and coerced her female compatriots to follow. Soon women were entering by the droves, all masked in men's names: Meggie, Merbley, Anni, Icepigs.
The contests had changed as well. In the glory days, we had a five word limit because we had to chisel the letters in solid diamond. Now all we had to do is tap these letter keys. Where's the heart? And now we judged the winner through spelling, grammar, and creativity rather than who could fit the most raisins in his mouth! The differences had disfigured my beloved Text beyond all recognition. Gone were the days of the Textician, say hello to the Textor! So I unplugged my computer, and until now I've been using it as a mausoleum for all my socks I can never wear again.
Some people don't know to leave well enough alone.