Scott Hanselman is one of the most talented technical bloggers around.
He recently posted Microsoft Killed My Pappy.
He talked about how some people hate Microsoft for specific and in some cases understandable reasons, but others hate Microsoft because hating is Microsoft is just what you do.
I’ve run into that myself. I run a user group for developers who work with Microsoft technologies. Ever so often I meet someone who deeply hates Microsoft and everything it has ever done or ever will do. Apparently it killed their pappy. Or possibly puppy.
I highly recommend you go read Scott’s post. It is both insightful and funny. Most of his writing is.
Now for my own bit of goofiness.
In the comments Scott said
Good discussion folks! Let’s do keep the language clean and constructive and avoid hyperbole.
The normal hyperbole on ye olde internets is to compare the speaker to Adolf Hitler. Boring!
I thought it would be fun to try to engage in some creative hyperbole.
As I began to ramble on that Saturday morning, I realized part way in that I was treading on Faulknerian ground.
So here, for your enjoyment, is my comment on his request to avoid hyperbole.
Your request that we avoid hyperbole is literally as bad as the psychotic offspring of Ghengis Khan and Shere Khan riding enraged tyranosaurs through a flower child reunion picnic while reading entire chapters of the Necronomicon screeched through giant arena speakers conveniently mounted to the backs of triceratops(es?) who have been trained to obediently follow the enraged tryanosaurs like enourmous, hornéd puppies with appropriately scaled speakers (and cute, little paper-mache horns taped to their fuzzy little heads) following appropriately scaled little Capuchin monkeys riding appropriately enraged turkeys through an appropriately scaled diorama of a park full of peace loving, tie-dye wearing other Capuchins who want nothing more than to share their love and various chemical substances (and possibly carbonated beverages) thus ushering in the long awaited Age Of Aquarius that our world so desperately needs; I do grow so weary with the burden of attempting to keep such a long, flowing verbal construct as grammatically correct as is possible given the circumstances of my birth in North Carolina rather than the more literarily advantageous Mississippi wherein the grand master of long, flowing verbal constucts such as this was born and raised, spending much of his life writing long, flowing verbal constructs set in the mentally constructed Yoknapatawpha County which might one day host a reunion of flower children which I sincerely hope will not be interrupted by dinosaurs; anachronistic, cross-species, dyspeptic, genetic abominations; turkeys; elder gods; Capuchin Monkeys (the bad ones); or the ever-looming specter of Patent Trolls.
Just so you can understand the depth of my feeling on this subject: MY PAPPY WAS AT THAT REUNION.