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On the Internet purposeless information steadily accumulates in collections such as Wikipedia, BabelFish, MySpace, and the International Archive of Panty Shots. What purpose is served by this purposelessness or -- to be clear -- how does one justify dyscourse in the service of intercourse?

We will ignore this (and other questions) here. Or, if we do not ignore them here, then we will ignore them in a non-existent article of a similar but imaginary nature.

To Restate the Problem[edit]

Well, actually, " restating the problem" is simply rhetorical filler. As we see no need to repeat ourselves, and "restating the problem" is mere repetition for repetition's sake, we see no need to repeat ourselves by "restating the problem" and thereby "restating the problem" again, thus repeating ourselves again also -- redundantly.

Alright, Alright, There Is No Need To Flog A Dead Joke[edit]

Anyway, so far our article is off to a content-free start. The reader might have expected that of course: if in the context of food UnFilling means " tastes like soggy toilet tissue" then in the context of online information UnContent may mean " means like soggy toilet tissue".

Oh -- and here's the cruncher -- it may not. It all depends.

"Depends on what?" the reader may ask, unhappily. By now he or she must be longing for some concrete, specific details. Something to sink his or her eyes into, as the case may be.

Rightly so! Quite rightly so.

Specific and detailed details follow directly.


Orlando Bloom dancing pert brown nipples with Angelina Jolie's swollen lips while snail intestines smear on wetly shining Bass Weejun smooth soled shoes amongst the black cobblestones of a Paris alley, even as the rainclouds belly down gloomily over the Notre Dame like the vast dark buttocks of Queen Latifah lowering themselves heavily toward the pencil-thin moustache of Johnny Depp.

Thank you. We trust you enjoyed these details.

Back to the Subject of UnContent[edit]

Nothing is better than anything else, as Axl Rose so aptly sang, as long as you have something left to lose and therefore don't stand to lose anything much.

Sorry if that seems unclear. It's Axl's fault. He should not have had the third Tangerine Dreamboat dacquiri before falling off the stage at the Aspen Festival.

The point is, you read this and expect something -- anything -- to make some sort of sense. But consider: if in quantum physics any particular thing does or does not "make sense" (as Einstein claimed) then why should you hold UnContent to a higher (ie, lower) standard? Is it merely because UnContent makes you feel bored, cheated, angry, disgusted, outraged, and ready to chuck it all and go to Belize and start a new life?

Well, Belize is nice. Good beaches, ancient ruins, mangroves, cheap rum and seafood, dancing nipples. Go ahead. We are not stopping you. But we will not abandon our discussion just because you are outraged and disgusted, dear reader.

Think of the children.


Poster for John Hawkes' movie The Snail starring Dame Judi Dench as Angelina Jolie.

Is one picture is worth a thousand words...or more precisely, fifteen verbs, two shillings, and a dried Norwegian herring?

Some contend that the Internets serve primarily as a source of pictures and not words, although others claim that no one contends any such thing. We take both positions. And we prefer neither position, as standing bolt upright on our own stomach suits us better.

But there is no doubt: Dame Judi Dench's lips look as depravédly succulent as the snail in the poster at right.

Do you like the poster more than the description of snails, shoes, and nipples in the Details section above? What does that say about content versus UnContent -- and, more importantly, what does it leave unsaid?

These are not the questions which will determine the course of the rest of this article. Not at all. Perhaps they will determine the course of another article, one which we will not write.

Further Explorations[edit]

So far we have explored the pros and cons of nothing, and exhaustively discussed considerably less-filling content than what remains in Orlando Bloom's nylon stockings after he rips them off during a hard night's Oktoberfest -- ie, yet more of nothing.

Baby-eating pygmy lava-hippos have colonized many suburban neighborhoods. Watch for them. Do not feed or otherwise seduce them. Remember, wild animals belong in molten lava, not in your sex dungeon. You filthy pervert.

Nevertheless, we must ask -- as did Dr. Hendrix, PhD, MoG -- are you experienced? That is, can you tell random horseshit from candidly uninteresting UnContent?

We thought not.

Neither can we. Christ it's tragic.

We soldier on despite our cultural blindness, despite our inability to write simple declarative sentences. The cat sat on the mat. No. The cat sat, coughing up bezoar stones as if it would never stop, on the woven grass mat given us by Aunt Pharnabley. You see how it is? We cannot leave bad enough alone.

Already we have revised this article 50,000,000 times. 39,543,931 of these edits were to reverse the effects of previous revisions. It makes our kidneys hurt, the shame of it.

The shame of Drooling Prose Disorder.

In Closing[edit]

But in the final dialysis, what do pygmy lava-hippos have to do with UnContent? Everything! And, predictably, nothing.

(An alert reader will have seen that coming.)

UnContent: Is it a great and lasting literary innovation, or merely a mosquito sucking the heart blood of more vital, more meaningful articular writing?

"Articular?" What the...?

Never mind. We are trailing off into content-free limbo...not that we ever emerged from it.

No. We never really did.

See Also[edit]