Doug's Big Little Page o' Macro Stuff

A not too serious look at the subject,
in lieu of a finished Web Thingie.

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It has been said that 'Less is More'. This is entirely untrue, or at least certainly not at all that certain for a certain segment of the populace. 'More is More, and Bigger Better' is their creed, and those foolish enough to argue with them risk winding up as a rather nasty-looking greasy stain in- and I do mean in- the ground.

With this in mind, I'd like to step away from the generally accepted definition of Macro for a bit, and share with you my take on it. I mean, the other folks here certainly cover the generally accepted meaning in more than adequate ways, and I'd like to show you a few others that you perhaps have never thought about; at least, not thought about if you're considered somewhat nearly normal.

You see, I happened to sit there one day- never mind where- and thought: 'Gosh! Macro doesn't have to mean there's a giant looming over you, or you're doing the looming!' [Well, perhaps not in those exact words, but you get the drift].

Looking at the cheap dictionary I have close at hand, the word "Macro" isn't even listed (it is, after all, a cheap dictionary). However, I do know it means something like "Big. Large. Having much more size than your comon breadbox. Something you can not only see, but can handle without having to resort to tweezers."

"Oh ho!" you say, "That's a pretty open definition!" My point exactly. One does not need to stand eighty feet tall to be considered a macro character, though it definitely helps. Even a mere ten feet would probably qualify. However again, if you've visited the clever little Macro Stat thingie, you'll notice that there's a even more clever little section that allows you to plug in other vital statistics to have multiplied and expanded upon. Think about it. I did, a lot and well in the past, too.

Think for a moment upon just which vital statistics- some more vital than others- you could plug into those friendly little form requesters and then submit to the churning, heaving CPU-ery of this server. Ah, catching on, are we? Good! Now, think in feet. Yards. Gallons. Carboys. Tankers, for the matter, in both length, width, cubic area, dead weight and pumping capacity. Thinking? Very good! Now a test....

Answer the following questions Yes or No:

When I think about an erection, I also think about building permits, environmental impact statements, site surveys, demolition and telephone poles, all located in my bedroom.

The sight of firehoses in action produces a strange feeling of envy or desire in me.

A bra size smaller than DD is an indication of lack of physcial development, and even that's a mite puny.

Seeing the baggy-pants style sported by young people brings about thoughts of requiring such garments to fit comfortably.

Twelve inches in a ruler is not enough.

"Getting deeply into it" is a phrase that commonly runs through my head while contemplating lovemaking.

The sight of a piledriver in action excites me, as does thoughts of what's happening to the pole, its size, and how deeply and powerfully it's being driven.

If I have to have a condom tear, I'd prefer it to be caused by overloading it. In fact, I'd prefer if it were a custom made model, requiring half the nation's annual output of latex to manufacture and it would still require heavy lubrication to get it to fit- and it would still be a very tight fit and it would still tear due to being overfilled. During. Heck, before, for the matter, while it was being put on. Who needs condoms, anyway?

If you've answered Yes to any of the above (or actually had a sneaking desire to), you're likely of a common mind with me. Scary, isn't it?

Anyway, as this is still very much under construction, I'll let you link out now. Consider it my gift to you, and my consideration for your retaining what little sanity you now have left. Or you can click here to return to the top of the page without having to go through the bother of actually having to move enough to scroll, that heavy chore eased by the thoughtfulness of me, your erstwhile host.

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