I was having a mildly paranoid day, mostly due to the fact that the mad priest lady from over the river had taken to nailing weasels to my front door again.

You must remember that the common criminal will always join the armed forces for, if nothing else, regular meals and expert training in the use of guns.

So this Zealot comes to my door, all glazed eyes and clean reproductive organs, asking me if I ever think about God. So I tell him I killed God. I tracked God down like a rabid dog, hacked off his legs with a hedge trimmer, raped him with a corncob, and boiled off his corpse in an acid bath. So he pulls an alternating-current taser on me and tells me that only the Official Serbian Church of Tesla can save my polyphase intrinsic electric field, known to non-engineers as "the soul." So I hit him. What would you do?

You're miserable, edgy and tired. You're in the perfect mood for journalism.

I want vasopressin, washed caffeine, Jumpstart, ginkgo biloba, guarana, and any intelligence enhancer introduced in the last five years.

If contemporary literary fiction doesn't read a bit like science fiction then it's probably not all that contemporary, is it

What? I bring joy to the world. I am filled with mirth and sunlight. Also, I am Batman.