A Brief Memorandum On Ruling The Known Universe Through The Use Of Memoranda
Whenever we are asked why we, as a semi-organized entity, spend so much of our collective time and energy on writing interoffice and intraorganizational missives, we, of course, lie like sentient rugs stolen unwillingly from the homes of eminent sorcerers whose collection of forbidden tomes and “Tom Swift” novels has not yet been plundered to our fullest satisfaction. If we break with tradition and speak a few truths to you, it is with the certainty that relatively few of this read this to the extent and with sufficient attention to gain from it any significant advantage, o thou bumbling fools!
(That is: We wish only to serve your interests, O Wise and Knowledgeable Patrons.)
Few things are more maligned than the inter-office memo. This is partly because, obviously, such things are, in and of themselves, terribly malignant; they spring forth from seemingly-healthy bodies and multiply until the sheer volume of trivial information becomes an enormous weight—to say nothing at all of the actual contents of that information.
And, indeed, it is the content of that information which is the brief-but-poignant subject of our current discourse. Because, as is quite commonly perceived, it is largely impossible to both create the actually intended works of an organization, and also produce a vast amount of snipingly trivial notes designed, hypothetically, to fine-tune said organization, but more likely to hinder it in a manner one might reasonably consider unspeakably annoying; certainly, that’s our own opinion, and given that this is our strategy, we ought to know.
Yet consider: not every battle goes to the fleet of foot or the agile of wrist; not every test is conquered by those who possess mere skill or knowledge; not every understanding is attached to a solemn study of famed sources and texts. Sometimes, the truly winning strategies lie nested within some set of semi-arbitrary rules, proclamations, declarations, and suggestions, such as this humble piece you read now.
We would never suggest that you ought replace The Necronomicon with an enormous and bewildering set of internal communications, trivial in and of themselves, but containing within certain wisdom, rules, and requirements which, it turns out, matter most in moments of greatest stress and challenge.
For example, we assure you that there are no hidden messages herein, nor will any part of this note matter to you in any way going forward. And it assuredly will have no impact upon certain potentially-fatal encounters soon to find their way into your possibly-rather-shortened lifespan.
After all—would an inter-office memo lie to you?
