I am the greatest thruster of the hips since Apollo fired his arrow in some fuckin ole book. Also, a better writer than anybody ever born, even all of you shit writer types. Just I tire easily, personally. Would you like to know how good I am at most things everything? I am very good, though married so my tragedy is epic: I am only able to imaginate how I made, and am making love to absolutely everybody ever born [let us say over the age of twenty-one, alcohol, a most important lubricant in the USA market of books.] You, imagine it now, whiskies of the world smeared across your buttocks. How good am I? I mean, I could do it all GIVEN HALF A CHANCE. And those publishers? I have written many novels, or bits of novels. I need to cut/paste them all together, sticky, stick in the speech marks, and then little people are allowed to buy my book. But I don't yet possess the publishers e-mail addresses, not yet, or the literary agencies telephone numbers. They are waiting for me, they don't know it quite yet. I'll tell them when we make love. It is phzysicology. Anyway, to paraphrase I am the greatest writer, I can't miss this boat, let me on it, please Mummy.