back in the day rocks could talk often they where casual, petty and small-minded just like us divinities platitudes every word a drop of manna its magic wow magic
so out of conceit we made them gods deferred to their credibility and like idiot children paid attention to their great allegories a provident sea of wisdom from the skeletons of time
we carved their faces from stones put them on pedestals and gave them names the great know it alls urns of heaven those oracles of old
and so ensued the epic cycle of talking statues and thats how decisions where made back in the day
the statues are strangely mute now sunken shadows into earths bowels and the age of reason has been transplanted by the age of what the **** a new hobbled world soul of darkened consciousness to cope with tentacles of complexity and a forest of trials where depth of thought has been replaced and decisions are made by the exalted ennie meenie minee moe method an abstruse form of ritual magic
so from now on all arguments will be settled by me sticking my tongue out