Me: I’ll hurry this into production.
Streeter: Make haste, young Sam. For a kingdom may be your namesake, but at the banquetting hall of The Mighty Internet, tis he who claims the mutton first who rules! True, in days of yore we practiced our merry arts without thought or regard for time. Why should we not? T’was but half a dozen among the realm who did competeth with us. Diddle daddle did we when concocting our jests and no foul came of it. But now, dear Samual, Son of Robert, Husband to Elaine, our challengers have swelled in number. An idea tis only yours until another dreams the same, after all. From those who would be funny or die, from those with a tube of their own, even from the immortals who live only on Saturday nights, we are beset with competition. I would be loathe to extract quality from the equation for the sake of speed, but can the two not live as one? Doth not the greatest champion of the joust not ride quick and true? Doth not His Majesty’s archers unleash torrents of arrows from their bows in a matter of minutes, striking down all enemies in their way? Doth not the women I visit at houses of ill repute in Southwark not claim to be satisfied even when’th I have spilled seed in a matter of seconds? No, Sam, quality and speed do not need to exist as two pillars holding aloft two separate roofs, but may instead be two pillars supporting the mighty weight of our ambition! ONWARD!
