Inside a stone of cream there is a language

Look at that. Typical fucking mammal propaganda. Oh yeh lizard kings are always diabolically-laughing, scimitar wielding, crazed despots. Boo! I do have a cat though, so at least they got that thing right. See! That proves us Sauropodeans can co-exist with you milk-bearing furry types. Just as long as you know your place. No 'Sauropodeans' isn't in your wikipedia (or wicked paedophilia as I hilariously call it). It's our word not yours. You know nothing. It isn't even an Island, (everybody now!) it's a ........

I'm so lonely.

When I'm bored in times like now, I tell myself a little tale...

No don't carry on with that. It's the fist line of a highly disturbing poem I wrote with my brother years ago, that gets more misanthropic and racist as it goes on. Frankie Boyle would be shocked I'm telling you. I tell you what, I'll write it and the Britain Now! song in the private bit so only top hackers can find out what a sick little puppy I am. Or at least I was. It was just a phase. I've gone all mushy nowadays and get all squeamish about any kind of violence, even that I'm forced to inflict on my enemies. It breaks my heart to see them crying out in such pain and uselessly clawing the air for breath, it really does. Poor me.

This whole thing has become even more demented than usual. Where's the promised Mongoose manifesto? Eh...? I'll probably leave it for now. It's too explosive for you bipedal lactatiforms to cope with. Unless anyone actually wants to read it, of course.

This blog, like a big chunk of the t'net, comes under the general category of 'Why are you telling me this?' which is also a terrific punchline in an episode of Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends which obliged to mention more regularly as it where Crackers originated from. No not those Crackers. Read the 'my profile' bit. Yeh, a whole show turns out to be an anecdote being recited to someone who doesn't understand its point and very likely doesn't care. This whole blog is an elaborate tribute to that episode. The title of which momentarily escapes me.

I'm on to Ch 52 of The Year of the Flood now and it's really got me hooked. I only came and did this to stop myself getting back into it tonight and using up the whole experience of being totally immersed in a novel too quickly. I gather Ms. Atwood isn't too keen on her work being labelled as Science Fiction, which is something I can understand. Any genre fiction is easily ghettoised and dismissed by the semi-intelligent reading public. This is especially true for science fiction because of the way it's been thoroughly fucked-over as a genre by hollywood. All the same, it is definitely science fiction. Defi defo.