The Royal Society of the Confidently Certain somehow employs writers from every century at once, and cannot get any two of them to agree on the date, let alone the decline. Each writes the wry comedy of their own time. Marge runs the switchboard that connects them across the centuries, and files nothing herself.

Total conviction, no consistency. He states a belief with force, then reverses without admitting it.
“I will not stand for it. I have never stood for anything so firmly. I am now sitting.”


Certain civilisation is collapsing, and quietly thrilled about it.
“Rome has been falling since before I was born. We have made an entire civilisation out of the falling.”


Petty grievance in the margins of sacred beauty. The original comment section.
“The abbot says the plague is a judgement on our sins. I have reviewed my sins. They are modest.”


Certain the ends justify the means, then certain only the virtuous endure, holding each as cold statecraft.
“Cruelty, well used, is mercy. I deploy whichever is cheaper on the day, and call it statecraft.”


Applies pure reason to everything and arrives, confidently, at nonsense.
“I have proven, by geometry, that no man of sense should ever fall in love. I have also, since Tuesday, fallen in love.”


Understatement as a weapon. Reports catastrophe like weather.
“A fella rode in aiming to tame the West. We buried the parts it sent back. Nice service. Short.”


Glamour with a hangover and a vocabulary. One-liners that draw blood.
“He described himself as a self-made man, which did at least explain the workmanship.”


Everything was better when it was harder. Nostalgia as a cudgel.
“They have a machine that brings the groceries to the door. In my day the store was uphill, both ways.”


Predicts a groovy tomorrow with total confidence and total inaccuracy, then predicts the opposite tomorrow.
“By the year 2000 the friendly computer will do your thinking. Picture it. On reflection, picture the opposite.”


Certain greed is good and the market is never wrong, then certain the game is rigged, and remains, he notes, fully long.
“The market is never wrong. The market is also completely rigged. I am long on both.”


Certain his thing changes everything, then pivots to the opposite and calls the pivot vision.
“AI changes everything. Correction, per my last certainty, we are pivoting to the past. At scale.”


The practical, funny, worldly preacher. He calls the verdict, then reverses it, and the joke lands on his own hypocrisy first.
“Money is a snare. I know, I decorated mine. Empty the purse, right after I check mine.”
