The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds - pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my privates. There really is nothing like a shorn labium... it's breathtaking - I highly suggest you try it.
That’s that… Moving on to the here and now.
Work: I’ve been spending an amount of time catching up on important papers and decisions made. Some people in this county are blood-thirsty, ambitious and very happy nowdays since they’re gaining in power by overthrowing the slower, more narrow-minded people with the use of techniques the old folks can’t even learn to spell. Well, that's my personal interpetaition anyway - leading my mind to linger around the subject of power for a while. However I’m not going to write a lengthy essay about it.
Strange thought at 10:14: I had a yoghurt called “Love” for breakfast and looked at the declaration, it said strawberry-chocolate-chilli. There was no mention of milk. Isn’t milk a basic ingredient for many things, especially yoghurt?
Tasking: My Master Mr. T is a very humble person - it doesn’t come naturally for him to order me around. My only duty consists in fetching him coffee, but every time he asks me for it he adds some comment about “No, I really could get it myself”, followed by a nervous giggle. Today I informed him that one of the benefits of being a slave-owner is the possibility of selling a slave to someone else (if he feels he can’t make good use of me he might as well gain something else from the ownership). So he tried selling me to Åsa for 1 sek. She wasn’t interested in buying and I’m a little offended I’m not worth more.
Revelation of the day: A deus ex machine really is a very handy thing. : )