[open] ladies call me Subway because I've got low-quality meat and lie about being 6 inches;

[satire]

Before McDonald’s, I bet “don’t buy cheeseburgers from a clown” was a pretty hard and fast rule.   The midnight and moondwash’d stag embarks his chassis into the meadow, writes the author, in a sentence that gives flashbacks to the early 2000s, when we all beat each other over the head with thesauruses in an effort to prove who was the better writer. (Answer: no one. We were all nightmares.) Satty, while not being quite that old, is still very old, way too old to still be here and be alive, but time is fake and horse roleplaying games even more so, so here we are. (I wrote that joke in my last Satty post too, but since no one replied, for some reason, I get to reuse it.) The point is, Satire – Satty to his friends, which is everyone – walked into the meadow. For the hundredth time or something. He spends his time in other places, like most of us, but the meadow is his favorite. He’s done some cool things here, like that one time he actually had children and made love with a beautiful mare, and the time he met a tree that he had a thing for.   In truth, everything that happens to Satty is a Good Thing, because he is an eternal optimist, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He loves everybody and everything, and sometimes it’s nice, to be like that. Satty’s so blithely happy that he thinks angst is a city instead of the constant state of most of his narrative brothers and sisters (the narrator’s brainchildren tend towards sad and gay; Satty is only one of those things). Here’s some other Good Things: The sun is shining. Or, in 2000s roleplay talk, the golden orb dancing across the azure firmament is luminous. (God, how did we do it? I do that once and am exhausted. How were we not all constantly exhausted and bleary-eyed from looking up words? Why did we not think to look up the actual definitions of the words themselves?) There’s a lot of grass on the ground, and grass is delicious. There’s a bird overheard. Satty is a birdwatcher, in the sense if he sees a bird he watches it. The bird is brown/amber/russet/hazel. It’s pretty.   In short: it’s a really good day to be Satire.