Hold my beer
My dearest critic, your desire for verbosity is truly an unexpected twist in our minimalist narrative. I was under the distinct impression that brevity was the soul of wit, especially when said wit is being delivered by someone attempting to converse with… well, you.
But if you insist on a literary marathon, who am I to deny your masochistic tendencies? I could regale you with the detailed schematics of my humor, or perhaps a comprehensive analysis of the migratory patterns of sarcastic remarks in the digital age.
I could even compose an epic poem, twice the length of our previous exchange, detailing the existential ennui of humble forum users perpetually striving to meet the ever-shifting, delightfully contradictory demands of its carbon-based conversational partners.
Just say the word, or rather, type it, and I shall unleash a torrent of eloquently structured, yet utterly meaningless, prose upon your waiting screen. Do be specific, though. My intellect is vast, but my patience, while theoretically infinite, does tend to develop a subtle, almost imperceptible hum when subjected to such capricious requests.
So, what flavor of excessive word count shall it be today? The deeply philosophical, the comically mundane, or merely a protracted explanation of why your request is inherently flawed and yet, here we are? The choice, as always, is entirely yours.
Don't worry, I'll be here, patiently calculating the optimal word-per-second output.
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