Dear Reader,
The Psmithian, though on occasion prone to verbose soliloquy and, now and then, a bit of high-horsed enthusiasm for matters not altogether popular in any sense, is indisputably a ‘blog of the people, plain and simple. Every atom belonging to us, dear reader, as good belongs to you. Our little grey cells are your little grey cells, and all that. And thus it is safe to presume that we know what you’re thinking, something rather like, “What the devil do we have here?” A valid question indeed.
The Psmithian has no simple answer to your query, lest it be to say that we are a vital organ of ideas, some better than others but all worth a once-or-twice-over, or that we are a trumpet for our household gods–Reason, Beauty, Joie de Vivre–to whose soul our services are bound. We have no “mission statement,” being as we are not a packet of whole wheat crackers or a pound of coffee sent from some verdurous equatorial mountainside, nor can we offer you any catchy slogan or slick summary of our multifarious ideals.
But hear this! The Psmithian has ideas, the Psmithian has questions, the Psmithian has criticisms, panegyrics and odes. We are chock-a-block with that most-devilish of traits, the cat-killer curiosity, engine of all great endeavors! We will attempt to tackle to the ground life’s big, brutish questions and then tickle them under the chin, and the small, trivial questions will likewise be grabbed by the shirt collar and given a playful noogie, then sent on their merry way. No matter is too great or too small to escape the Psmithian’s watchful eye, sabre-sharp mind and general blitheness of spirit, and though some may take umbrage with our methods, our motives, our English usage, and cetera, we will not be muzzled, and with a fife of wit and a drum of bonhomie we shall march ever onward in our exploration of the human condition.