It would appear that the first issue of The Fibber would be some sort of beginning. Sadly, this is not the case, for, The Fibber marks the end of an important era in western civilization, to wit, the end of my youth.

Gone are the days when Novalis would carry me to fanciful, romantic heights , when attending classes on the history of Nicaragua would result in moral outrage which would be vented over endless beers into likeminded ears. Gone, also, are the times when I spent countless hours mastering billiards when I should have been reading about what dead scholars wrote about even deader writers. Most importantly, gone are the days when I thought that wisdom could be gained from information alone.

The Fibber, then, must be viewed in this light. It is not an idealistic swipe at the absurd consumerism of our times, not is it a revolt against similar lunacies committed by our amazing and amazingly short sighted species. In these pages I will hold it as a truism that humans must discover, 'advance', explore, conquer, etc… not because these things make us content but because they as much part of us as water. No, the Fibber will refrain from overt didacticism , but instead will serve only one function: to amuse it's founder after a day on the construction site.