Comic Sans MS
Times New Roman? Times New Roman? All I have to say is: what a joke! You know what I picture when I hear the words “Times New Roman”? I see a toga-wearing, thirteen-year-old boy-humping pervert bouncing up and down in a horse-drawn chariot, thumbing through philosophy books and eating grapes or something! I mean, should we really be expected to take this font seriously?!
Although, I guess that’s kind of the pot calling the kettle black.
I thought maybe I could rock the “New” thing, too. Imitation’s the highest form of flattery, right? Although, I must admit, that wasn’t really my intention. Honestly, I wanted to ride some coat tails — a smooth and easy journey to the top. Fame, fortune…maybe my own little section in the New York Times. And look where it got me: a bunch of lazy-ass college freshman using my generously proportioned curvatures to inflate their term papers in order to satisfy length requirements. Yeah, sure, I mean, it’s nice to have a bit part in the final product, but let’s be realistic. I know their drafts are being done in Times.
Makes me feel like a three-dollar whore.
Gill Sans MT
Alright, Times New Roman, we all know you think you’re better than the rest of us. What with your ubiquitous default status on practically every single word processing application known to man, and your supposed readability, and your fancy-pants serifs. Well, aren’t you just God’s gift to typeface?
Let me ask you something, though: Why the pretentious “New Roman,” huh? What’s that all about? See, because I’m looking at you, and then I’m looking at Times. You, then Times. You, Times. You know what I see? The SAME FREAKING FONT, you smug S.O.B.!!! Doesn’t any-damn-body else realize this?!
You know what else? In case you hadn’t bothered to notice, serifs are EFFEMINATE! They make you look like Nancy boy! Like a piggy, piggy pig-tailed little GIRL! Stupid serif-wielding booby man!
Double right arrow black widow spider crescent wrench ball peen hammer tropical oasis ear spider dialogue blurb first place trophy first place trophy.
Since when does a little popularity among acne-ridden high school English students and their underachieving instructors earn someone bona fide street cred? Back in the day, it meant something to be a font. You were there, living and breathing it, one with the zeitgeist. A font was just as much a cultural building block as it was a means of written representation.
Times New Roman is nothing but the retarded brainchild of some stuffy, rotten-toothed Limey who wouldn’t know class and good looks if they were type-stamped across his forehead. Big whoop, you were developed for The London Times. What kind of a history is that? I was developed for the visual distillation of an entire intellectual and artistic school of thought — not to mention the fact that I later went on to represent the purveyors of a remarkable new musical genre (I won’t even get into the groupie stories. Good Lord.). Then, what do you know? Here comes Times New Roman, popping up in all the popular new publications and stealing all the babes.
I know what you’re thinking, Times New Roman. “Pathetic,” right? You think I’m pathetic. That’s cool, man. Whatever.
Let me ask you something though, homes: You got an almanac? ‘Cause I got one. You got one?