BUS: An apology
We would like to sincerely apologize to Agora for my admittedly-minor malfeasance in public office. The timely execution of official duties is critical to avoiding confusion and missed opportunities, whose disorderly effects on Agora cannot be understated. Like the iridescence of a butterfly's wings, even small mistakes can have consequences as vast as the dolomite mountains of Italy. In this case, our miniscule error had the result of denying to twg eir rightful platinisation, although to be fair Jason could easily have acted sooner, in a way that made our own delay irrelevant. It is surely more difficult, however, to predict the true implications of any failure than to predict what happens when one runs a Malbolge program, and so it was irresponsible of us to take that risk. As I'm sure you all know, the office of Prime Minister is of critical importance to all of Agora, and we all demand the best of our politicians. While we allegedly reflect on the inconsequential error we made while holding that august position, we shall take our time to prevaricate and bloviate in the manner of the most accomplished statespersons, that we may pad out the length of this apology to make it seem more substantial. Despite that, we truly regret our error and we will strive to do better forever, or until this trivial incident has slipped Agoran minds, whichever comes first. -Alexis
BUS: An apology
SCENE: Outside a pagoda. An old man, shaken with palsy and spotted with age, sits on the steps feeding the pigeons. A stall is set up next to the steps, selling petunias. MAN: How come you here? MERCHANT, sullen: I fled. MAN: You fled? Fled from what? MERCHANT: Ask me not. MAN: Oh, come now, don't be so piquant. MERCHANT: ...I suppose. I've nothing better to do, anyways. I fled from a land where all the money came to a stop. How's a flowerseller supposed to sell flowers if nobody can pay? How's a flowerseller supposed to buy stock if he can't pay either? MAN: Seems fairly fundamental to the praxsis of commerce. How did such parsimony come to pass? How does money ... come to a stop? MERCHANT: Simple. Where I came from, all money is kept in a single giant ledger. A scribe is charged with keeping this ledger correct, recording each exchange of good for value and value for good. That scribe, however, fell ill - some primeval affliction of the spirit, as I heard it. With nobody to keep the ledger, no money could change hands. All trade stopped. Oh, it was awful. MAN: Seems quite the picaresque tale. MERCHANT: No need to be rude. As I said, I fled. It's behind me and I'd prefer not to think of it any longer. Are you going to buy anything, or are you content to throw perfectly good bread to the birds? MAN: I paid good coin for this bread and I'll do with it as I like. These birds, too, must be fed. But enough - do you smell that petrichor? Best to get your flowers inside before it rains. Good day. EXEUNT OMNES. This is, of course, something of an exaggeration. Not all trade stopped in my absence. However, the Shiny economy needs vigilant recordkeeping to remain functional for any length of time, and I have been derelict. Thankfully, we have no exiled merchants wandering in strange lands, but we very well could have. I apologize for my laxity. -o signature.asc Description: Message signed with OpenPGP
BUS: An apology
Prithee forgive my lackadaisical attitude towards my offices of late. I have been occupied with other business - forgivable, perhaps, had I made any effort to ensure that my duties were fulfilled in my absence. Instead, I was as easily found and as sturdy as a cumulonimbus drifting over the great mountain Kilimanjaro, in far-off and long-gone Tanganyika. I won't stultify you with the details of my distractions. Suffice it to say I've had my shot of caffeine, and that I return to my duties with a frisk and a vigor. While I may take my time, as molasses on a slope, I will move ever, unstoppably, forward. No more the three-toed sloth, I. There is one issue to which I must give vent. Through the trepans of this apology, perhaps we can reach some useful matter that may avoid this issue if the office of Referee should ever fall silent in the future. As things stand, the Referee is judge, jury, and executioner, and is charged with keeping a perfect and omniscient watch over the activities of Agora. Even had I been a present and obedient servant, I am only human, and my watch must fail. It seems unwise to rely so heavily on a single Agoran when we each desire to see the rules followed! Regardless, I hope I can amend this lapse and maintain your trust. -o signature.asc Description: Message signed with OpenPGP
