I agree with the sentiment. Not sure if the raunchiness was needed to make the satirical point, mind you. I tackled a related issue in Why Write Anything Anymore?

It’s a question of technological advances making it increasingly easy to attempt to sell out in all our endeavours. The Romantic ideal of the visionary, loner artist who heeds his or her muse at the cost of happiness and success is almost anachronistic now, harkening back as it does to the ancient world when rail-thin, mystical madmen prophesied in the dirt. Is the spiritual action found only in cults, while organized religions are strictly for poseurs and dupes?

Likewise, are true artists necessarily unsuccessful and unpopular, diamonds in the rough? But surely the true miracle today is performed by those preposterous few who somehow make a living as writers, when the internet overflows with trillions of writings that are available for free or for a pittance that are of equal or even superior quality to the stories and articles produced by the professional writers.

Knowledge condemns. Art redeems. I learned that as an artistic writer who did a doctorate in philosophy. We should try to see the dark comedy in all things.

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