Just keep screaming “you’ll never take me alive!!” and eventually somebody will try.
Faux affectation is a grand game. An attractive quality is the ability to penetrate the obnoxious pretense of wistfulness, to see the playful wit beneath the mask, to affect oneself in kind, to poke fun at the earnestly loquacious, to parry with garrulous superfluence, to spelunk the mines of deepest English atrocity.
The game ends when a player drinks his own hogwash.
So here I am, back in a Marriott, though in a different city, back on the same cheesy broadband connection, back in the same misshapen chair that doesn’t fit under the same uncomfortable desk with the same Gideon Bible and Book of Mormon, where I used to spend my evenings working on BOTD prior to Automattic. Even my clothes are the same.
Some things are different: my phone, my luggage, my giving a shit about my job, my being glad to be here.