Another Hunchbacked Theory

23/11/08

Hunchback Here

Having somehow managed to extricate myself from the manacles in the basement (Nostrum is a hard but fair employer) I have scurried up to the good doctors sanctum and correctly guessed his encryption (the password was of course 'cunt'). I will no doubt in the fullness of time pay for this transgression but for now I am free with the wind rushing through my three remaining hairs. Today I am a venerable 60 years old, a full and rewarding career of corpse theft behind me, free now to pursue my other interests.

Turning 60 is a remarkable moment in the life of any human(oid) I thought it would be festive and gay, with poppers and jelly (or is that the men only sauna that I frequent) a riotous whirligig, but instead Dr Nostrum merely added a spoonful of black molasses to my gruel. Are my best years behind me I thought as I dribbled the thin oats down my chin onto my favourite sacking shirt.

My theory then is in relation to the good doctors wild grasping at an answer for who it is that is reading this web log. The doctor has hit upon hard times in recent years and had to shelve his idea for a national advertising campaign to promote his 'art'. His meagre supply of 'cold hard' ended up only being able to fund a single billboard on the Isle of Mull. Now we may speculate that the entire population of Mull have been avidly reading his obscene rants having finally figured out what all this www. nonsense means after walkeing past the poster every day for the last 6 months, and this may have been the case were it not for the fact that the poster was inadvertently placed in a cow field. Believer though I am in bovine intelligence I find it a leap of imagination too great to think that a herd of Highland Longhorns are Nostrums key demographic.

No, it has come to the Hunchback's attention that there is a new phenomenon spreading throughout the blogoverse. We are now seeing the rise of robot readers. Yes, I say, robots or to put it more precisely mechanical machines designed to merely read and ponder the inane witterings of such self made men of genius as our beloved physician. The reason being of course that there are no human readers left, all now distracted by writing their own diarised thoughts in blog form and adding to the growing landfill of human irrelevance. So on our own little patch of heaven the onlookers have swelled by 40,000% in the matter of one week. We feel engorged by success and thus will keep tapping away like epileptic simians. It's as they say on Wall Street a win-win as they plummet past the smoked glass windows.

But I must go now as I can hear Nostrums hand on the door knob and no doubt his other hand will be grasping his favourite cudgel.