I could tell you, and probably will, some of the things that have been upsetting me these last few days, but am considering whether there would be any benefit, other than a gratuitous display of honesty, in visiting all of those who upset me, and telling them to their face exactly where they are going wrong. I am not sure whether I share Wowbagger’s propensity for immortality. So far I have lived for a good many years, and not died once, so using the logic that my science teachers instilled in me, it seems likely that I will live for ever, However I am not sure whether the energy required to be expended in visiting all of those sentient beings who are in need of being put right by me would be worth it. I recognise that hiding in this obscure corner of cyberspace, disguised by an alias, and shouting that everyone is as daft as a canyon full of brushes is not the most noble of activities, but it suits me.
Rather than pour bile on humanity this evening (I really don’t know where to start), let me discuss marzipan. The creation of marzipan is one of the proofs of the existence of God. Human beings have not yet reached the level of intelligence where they could concoct something so crap on their own, only a supreme deity, and a supreme deity with a twisted sense of humour and too much time on his hands (the hands may be metaphorical, I am not privy to the physical characteristics of the creator of the universe. He, she, it or them may be devoid of matter, or they could be posing as that spider you just nearly trod on. It doesn’t really matter). When this age of darkness ends, and I am left to merge into infinite bliss in the golden age, there will be no messing about with food. Nuts will be eaten separately from anything else, occasionally added to a savoury dish, but never added to cakes or sweet dishes. It just is not right. I am not a vain person, I only suspect how wonderful and wise I am because people tell me that it is so, but should there be a flaw in my character then it is due to the trauma of having marzipan added to cakes when I was a young child. Cake I could understand and enjoy. And the idea of covering it with icing seemed logical, but then some prize tit inserted a layer of marzipan between the two. In the name of buggery, why? Go on, explain it to me. I bet you can’t.