There’s always something to howl about.

Recognizing greatness by means of outrageous insult…

Let’s play a little game of practical morality.

Imagine that you’re the Mozart of real estate webloggers, the Jimi Freakin’ Hendrix of the RE.net. Winner of the Carnival of Real Estate more than any other writer, winner of the Odysseus Medal, three-time nominee in a field of twenty nominated posts in this past week’s Odysseus Medal competition. Imagine that you are such an amazingly great writer that you can get away with anything, that you can get people to read everything you write, avidly, to the very last savory word. Imagine that even among the rivalrous best, you are acknowledged as the best of them all. Imagine that.

Now let’s reward your greatness.

First we will isolate you by sex, so as to imply that your lack of testicles disqualifies you from the real competition.

Then let’s group you among eleven ciphers, so as to dilute your greatness not to one-twelfth strength but to 1/144th, or possibly to 1/12^12, an infinitesimal residue of everything you are in your unique state of perfection.

Just to gild the lily, let’s ignore the worthy women who write with you, writers who, at their best, can see their way to the pinnacle you alone have pioneered.

What could possibly be missing from a celebration such as this?

Music, of course:

Congratulations, Kris. You’ve been “recognized”…

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