oh well

Varaster Mehlgvwhorl collects rindges. Rindges are apparently specially constructed Faberge like ridges, that are plasma coated with a number of different metals in turn, and then treated at twelve kelvin for fifteen years in oscillating hexapole magnetic fields, then blessed by two holy men of conflicting religions. The rindges are then vacuum sealed under lucite and kept in a maze of drawers in a environmentally controlled warehouse that Mehlgvwhorl maintains in Wyhervbrac Commons, by the Drayvespright Promontory. Mehlgvwhorl's collection has won some awards -- maybe the Vellespront Object Collecting Award, or the Trantellington Prize (seventy five thousand wonzlos sterling in polished bismuth cheeses or ravvit arcs or something esoteric and pretty. He tries to maintain a superposition of feeling about his collection: he is between vague-listless-irony and discontented-arrogant-ennui most of the time, but takes time out of alternate sundays to feel just a smidge of rotten-ameliorated-bathyscapesquenss. While most people see his collecting as being deeply and anesthetizingly dull and boring, the documentarian E. Thellington Wesselwright was sufficiently impressed by the subtlety of Mehlgvwhorl's emotions about his collection that he (sadly) produced a nineteen hour documentary about the fleetingest of Mehlgvwhorl's emotions. Two hours spent on ribald-otolithic-panegyric, followed by another two, ploddingly labyrinthine hours on velumniciously-obstreperous-noodle-rage, then another ear-wringingly painful minutes on dirigible-gas-excretions and so on. Wesselwright seems like a sommelier interested in disgusting the viewer with laborious, contrived, and vapid catalogueing of the Mehlgvwhorl's emotionscape.