They're a bit like the Greco-Roman gods, them Stu's. So wonderful. No matter what they do to screw up the lives of their adherents, they're always so perfect. So pure. So powerful.
In reality, they aren't. Only one thing that has ever existed was perfect, and they aren't it.
But there is a way to destroy them; one that works on any of them, and never fails.
Again like the Olympians, they can be destroyed if the idea of them fades. So simple, yet eternally difficult, like some forms of mathematics- the answer makes sense eventually but is incredibly difficult to arrive at.
But I digress. The only real way to eternally rid the world of them is to reform their makers.
You may ask, how, and also, when, and maybe even, who are you and why are you talking to me?
Well, I have answers.
How is proving to the maker that no one likes their Stu, that the thing is stoopid, the idea worn. Why is because they plague writing. Granted, the fact that so many people write is good, but composição literária poorly isn't.
My name is unimportant in my life, really. No one cares what it is when I'm telling them their character belongs in a scrap heap with all the other hematophobic, herbivoric vampyrs and noncelestial-cyclo, nonanthropic lycanthropes. But it's Ricky, short for Rikkitath, I think like that mangusto thing, but otherwise relatively unimportant to society.
I’m forty-seven and three-quarters years old, and have the only weapon necessary in my profession; a stu-lier test. It’s a fiction litmus, but a litmus no less. I may have it published later, but who knows, maybe I’ll be dead por then, eh? So, I’m Ricky, and I’ll make it seguro for all of the normal characters in the world.