When I was younger and had time to waste pondering questions that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things I allowed myself the little vanity of pretending to be a great philosopher. I would read the works of philosophers great and small while nodding to myself and loudly pontificating on the reasonableness of my own actions as I decried the foolishness of the world. Such are the frailties of youth that we imagine ourselves great enough to solve all the problems ever only to find out later that we didn't even come close.
Over the years I learned that just because I'm willing to stand up on a table and scream that I've got the biggest cock in the room isn't enough - you have to be willing to flip the damned thing out too. So consider this a warning that terrible things are being plotted over in Dyvers and that I mean to deliver.