treatise on being a chopped delight

 Any discussion on being a chopped delight has to begin with Wordsworth's definition of the term which he coined on his death bed in 1850

"Far be it from me to separate out the good from the bad, the easy from the difficult, the chopped delights from the silky swirly puddles of goo."

Wordsworth points us in the direction of chopped delights being dry, uniform in appearance and above all else, not a puddle of goo. Perhaps rough in texture? Wordsworth's loved ones cried out in desperation, "Tell us more! Tell us more about the chopped delights! Why did you wait until now?!" They shook him violently and slapped him repeatedly and then more for fun but the wry grin he set on his face as he shuffled off his mortal coil was all that responded.

Are chopped delights just a bit of japery on Wordsworth's part? A known rapscallion. No. Because when we examine the relationship of pi and e and the area under the curve we find with perfect mathematical beauty the succulent image of the chopped delight. Perhaps the very underpinnings of the universe wriggle and bounce on a vibrating mat of chopped delights. Like an old worn pillow covered in animal hair. 

And when in the course of human events the chopped delight rears its head once more in the chosen scion of a given generation, the people of the world howl and froth and swoon with the kind of mad languishing that only a miracle or a crusty baby on the edge of a dinghy holding an oil lamp and peering into the fog of the future can muster.

It is without a doubt full tilt. Many have tried to argue that the chopped delight is a passing fad or a figment of mass hallucination and they've been shouted down and clustered with wounds by the righteous and the gentle and the wanting-to-hurt someone crowd. Everywhere we look we see the chopped delight. In magazines and zines and limousines and lean cuisines and byzantines and submarines and well-oiled machines we seen a deen that can't be breen. 

It's all true, folks. I'll tell you as many times as I need to say it and a dozen more after that because I'm plum dunked on the voracious news. Choppy D's was, is, and always will be the Times New Roman of the mythical aether of yore.