Each time a cliche is repeated it looses part of its rhetorical power. You'd (and by you I mean I ) think that at a certain point along a cliche's asymptote any value it could offer would eventually drop to zero, but infinity rarely behaves in ways you'd expect. If I've lost any of you, don't worry, calculus was invented by an asexual occult theoretical physicist alchemist Englishman. Not that there's anything wrong with asexuals or alchemists etc, but those bloody English, hooligan's all of them, especially my granddad. So the sins of my father's fathers may explain why any explanation of the preceding sentences would be futile. I'm speaking English after all.
Everything diminishes over time, empires, hairlines, sexual virility, hard-ons, but I repeat myself and that's the thing isn't it? Not to put to fine a point on it, which as I have masterfully demonstrated is in no danger of occurring. Repetition is the mother of all boredom to simultaneously borrow and murder a phrase. In its more traditional form the said cliche also holds true. I share this first, because I am incredibly generous, and second, because it's Sunday night, what the fuck else am I gonna do?
The joy is in the journey and not the destination. The truth of this statement grows like the average bra size for women (for the sake of political correctness I should include men here too. There has been a dramatic increase of man tits recently compared to historical instances of man chests) in the western world. I'm not sure if something can become more true over time, but such is the mystique of the humble cliche. In the beginning a punch is just a punch, when you're learning to punch it is many things, when you've learned to punch a punch once again is just a punch. Punch on compadres.
Hasn't it been far more fulfilling for you to arrive at this moment of lucid insight with me, through arduous and unrelenting non-nonsensical verbiage? Would things have not been a tiny tad more dull, had I spoken off the cuff, on the nose, and called a shovel a shovel to begin with? I like wandering. I like meandering. I'm in no hurry to meet my final destination. I enjoy not being at the end, because that's the part where you (and by you I mean I) die.