I never tell anyone exactly how clever I am. They would be too scared.

I feel like Alice falling into Wonderland. A line came to him: It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.

How did that go?’ he asked. ‘Your first lengthy conversation with a girl your own age?’ ‘Fabulous,’ said Artemis, voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘We’re planning a June wedding.

Artemis: "Right, brothers. Onward. Imagine yourself seated at a cafe in Montmartre." Myles: "In Paris." Artemis: "Yes, Paris. And try as you will, you cannot attract the waiter's attention. What do you do?" Beckett: "Umm...tell Butler to jump-jump-jump on his head?" Myles: "I agree with simple-toon." Artemis: "No! You simply raise one finger and say clearly 'ici, garcon.'" Beckett: "Itchy what?

Let us proceed under the assumption that the fairy folk do exist, and that I am not a gibbering moron.

A metaphorical weight lifted from his allegorical chest and Artemis Fowl felt himself again.

The only other scenario that could explain everything, up to and including your own bizarre apperance, is a convoluted conspiracy theory involving the Russian Mafia and a crack team of plastic surgeons.