"In my day, dragon-slaying was a viable career path... until the dragons unionized," penned Sir Fizzlebee, the Dusty Bard of the West Scullery.
Consider this: would a dragon really want to spend its summer evenings poring over benefit packages and pension plans?
Grandma Eldritch once exclaimed, "Never trust an illusionist's third cousin! Trust me, I've seen it happen too many times in the past."
Your task today, should you choose to accept it, is to calculate how many cheese platters she must have sacrificed to this truth.
Do you yearn for adventure, braver than a cave troll's dishwashing expedition? Then perhaps heed this lilting riddle:
When metal hearts sing and wires waltz, the forgotten scribe finds solace at the edge of the voltage precipice. What do they seek?
Scribble this in your ephemeral scroll, young dream-weaver: Harmony in a chaotic temporal jam.
Seek further enlightenment and humorous illumination in Light-Hearted Chanters or perhaps indulge in the Whimsical Pennings.