I want to write.
… a piece where the random and the deterministic coalesce into sheer delight, and all readers spontaneously combust at the final full-stop. A piece like Monty Python’s Killing Joke that helped the British win the Second World War when a German translation of the joke was broadcast over the enemy lines to devastating effect. But I fear that it will remain a far-fetched fantasy.
… a piece so potent that a horde of sapiosexual women ambush the writer as he walks on the pavement on a foggy evening blissfully unaware of the damned embraces that await him, not unlike what happens to regular users of Axe deoderants. A lot of women claim to be sapiosexual on Facebook. I fear that we’ll never know.