Thought about getting up and stretching early this morning. Didn't. Couldn't, actually, because I am a tablet. Theres a lot of pressure here to stay in one spot. Around 2500 years ago, one of the grain inventory tablets decided she was going to try for the surface to check if the scribes had possibly lost us. She moved about 10 feet upward in
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I had to use a translator to write this, in fact, because I scoff at your brutish writing of the Angles and the Saxons. So please don't scorn the translator, justinsomnia. She is just the mouthpiece for my ethnocentric viewpoints.
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See, the thing is, I'm a baked clay tablet. My text is quite permanently attached. If you want to write in your "superior" romance language upon my surface, you're more than welcome.
The thing is, I have lasted underground for quite some time, much longer than any of the cultures which SPLRetTO promotes. I've been sitting in a clay pot with a bunch of other tablets, and all our writing is still pretty legible. Cause we're not made out of paper. I'm not sure how you, paper based manuscript, plan on surviving. We tablets survive.
Here's a quarter, kid. Go buy yrself a kiln.
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I think I'll take you up on that offer to write on you. ::takes out chisel and copy of Horace::
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