The Boomers say cursive is dead. The millennials say cursive is useless. But I, a lonely sapiosexual, say cursive is life.
I like imagining the way cursive was invented. One day, someone looked at text and was like, you know what? These are too many fucking letters. Everyone needs to get a goddamn grip. I’m gonna make this shit one letter. Fucking take that, atheists. You didn’t think I could turn “contrapositive” into one letter — think again.
My dedication to cursive has proved something to me that I will never forget: Words are for the strong. People look at me strangely when I’m drawing connections between the letters on street signs to make them into a glorious cursive script, but little do they know how buff I’m getting from hand-over-handing it over the freeway. You really develop those ‘ceps when you do your work dangling over literally hundreds of speeding cars for hours every day.
My quest to improve the world’s typology cannot be stopped. Even now, I am putting in place the final steps to launch myself into space so I can recode all of the satellites’ stored text into beautiful Lucida Handwriting, the closest it can get to pure, sweet cursive.
But it is not only I who can change the world: you, too, can take action. Deface public signage. Fail the kids in your TA group if they turn in anything in the devil’s block script. Anything you can imagine, you can do. Bring those curly boys back to town, one crime against humanity at a time.
Some day, things will change. Will you be a part of that change?