All The Animals, The Plants, The Minerals,

Danger's Over, Banana Breakfast Is Saved.

Some Typewriters In Whitehall, In The Pentagon, Killed More Civilians Than Our Little A4 Could Have Ever Hoped To.

Every Weirdo In The World Is On My Wavelength.

He Was Visited On A Lunar Basis By These Great Unspecific Waves Of Horniness, Whereby All Women Within A Certain Age Group And Figure Envelope Became Immediately And Impossibly Desirable. He Emerged From These Spells With Eyeballs Still Oscillating And A Wish That His Neck Could Rotate Through The Full 360 Degrees.

In Recent Weeks, In True Messianic Style, It Has Come Clear To Her That Her Real Identity Is Literally, The Force Of Gravity. I Am Gravity, I Am That Against Which The Rocket Must Struggle, To Which Prehistoric Wastes Submit And Are Transmuted To The Very Substance Of History.