Hewn before the knowing of Time from some antipodean proto-tree, the Australian Cricket Captain is a beast not of flesh, nor of myth. Born without language or love, he knows but one desire: to execute his skills. And yet, and yet; the latest of this kind feels an alien hunger stirring within his gnarled breast. Continue reading →
Blogroll
Recent Posts
- Election Strategies #248
- I am a terrible flirt
- Apicurean
- Retarded Reviews: The Compass, Islington
- MPs in black square abuse probe
- Selection Policy – a Plea
- In which I force myself to write about bacon yet again…
- Police: Nose Cancer Increase Victory
- Swine Fever! – Rotation
- Swine Fever! – Pork Scratchings
- Swine Fever! or, the Dunollie Bacon Project
- Don’t put them there!
- Dead Badger Removal: The Facts
- Stupid posters (again)
- Inept Ontology, or, The Modern-day Pinocchio