They are, no one denies it, mysterious and unapproachable, our elders, but by god with your help we’ll exploit if not respect their datatroves. Hello latecomers. There’s room down front. May I present to you, in a single meatbag, a salvageable stockpile of chess strategy, secondary math, and typography, if I’m saying the word right, not that anyone cares: let’s welcome Mister Oldman, whose successful transcriber will likely be promoted.

Mister Oldman you’re a sweet old man
and we’ll all be sweet of course
when our business is done
and our grandkids don’t come
and our days are as empty as yours. 

Welcome, MO. My you are brittle residual and aromatic aren’t you? And deaf as a stump. No need to answer. Yesterday a man your age would have been devoured by predators, terminated by virus. Today nothing kills you. But the foundations you chair, sir, are lusty loaded and plunderable. We’ve taken a good look. Now, we don’t expect you to fall on your sword, sir, you prefer to obsolesce like the rest of us, but here’s the thing, your firmware won’t update. No it’s not a voltage disparity. Your gyroscope is losing speed, MO, you absorb energy with diminishing returns. Understand? Just nod. Don’t strain your neck please. It’s the last of its type. You don’t learn, MO, and what you know is fading, so we’ve asked you to mentor. We’ve gathered candidates to digitize your unverifiable memories of learning both chess and Euclid from your beloved granny. Candidates please present yourselves, and let’s help our esteemed elder produce Essence of Oldman in popular optical formats. With luck, Mister Oldman, your work will be the go-to guide for making fixed-size fonts of movable type from lead ingots. Just sign here, here, here, and once for the foundation.

Original Copyright © February 17, 2007
Revised Copyright © February 12, 2026