I Try And Do 2,500 Words A

At Any Given Time, Ninety-nine-point-nine-five Per Cent Of The Human Race Are A Confounded Nuisance

In Spite Of Really Intense Competition For The Job, I'm Still My Own Worst Enemy.

There's All Sorts Of Things I Was Always Meaning To Get Around To - Learning To Play The Flute, Calculating The Square Root Of Nought, Going Mad - But I Just Didn't Have The Time.

Among The Gods, There Is A Dispute As To Which One Of Them Originally Thought Of Christianity; Or, As They Call It, The Great Leg Pull. Apollo Has The Best Claim, But A Sizeable Minority Support Pluto, Ex-god Of The Dead, On The Grounds That He Has A Really Sick Sense Of Humour. How Would It Be, Suggested The Unidentified God, If First We Tell Them All To Love Their Neighbour, Pack In The Killing And Thieving, And Be Nice To Each Other. Then We Let Them Start Burning Heretics.

It Was Irritating To Have One's Physical Shortcomings Pointed Out Quite So Plainly Twice In One Evening, Once By A Beautiful Girl And Once By A Dying Badger.