I have never been especially fond of looking to the future. I know that this is not a notion that is especially popular with my contemporaries, but I have always been of the opinion that the soundest advice comes from the past—a time that has actually occurred from which we might realistically learn lessons—rather than the horrible, infinite possible worlds that constitute the future. The place of the editor is in a state of flux. We have, at present, qualified and unqualified writers alike with their heads on the chopping block all for the mere words they dare to publish to thousands and thousands of people every week. These agenda setters are being held to cruel account for sentiments they cannot be assured to so much as privately hold. People have the gall to decry our work as falsehoods. By what right? Words are infinitely valuable. Every word is infinitely valuable. Editorials like these are infinitely valuable to an infinite extent, greater than both previously stipulated infinities. I do not like the idea of working with robots, but if this is the human degree of account to which noble papers will be held, what option have we? Can’t prosecute a robot, can ya? Enter HATEBOT 1.0! There is no telling how many reporters The Garter will have to replace with automatons, but know this: my respect for outlandish hatred outweighs my nostalgia. We will adapt, and become stronger. There may well come a time where I, too, become redundant. So long as it is in pursuit of the Platonic ideal of a newspaper, it is not in vain.