Because, of course, the last laugh is mine. Whom I destroy, I first make bug-hopping angry, and then deny favoured method of recompense. Ha...

NaNoWriMo approaches, folks.

Which means, inevitably, that I will have to spend far less time bonking your mum, and far more time with nose pressed very hard to grindstone.

Yes, I know you haven't got those incest monkeys off your back yet. You and your psychiatrist will just have to work this through, maybe up your dose of lithium in the meanwhile. And maybe if you actually talked to your mother rather than constantly thinking about her breasts, you might feel less uncomfortable around her. Just a suggestion.

Oh, and stab a small child to death and bury their body in the woods for me tonight, someone? Dedicate their souls to the Muse. Then dress up in their shredded, bloodstained costume, and go round begging people for candy. Ta.

A big tip of the figurative hat to all of this page's supporters, particularly those who I first set out to cheer up.

Real, actual, coloured-in artwork has been promised! Isn't that great? I love my fans. Platonically. Mostly.

Anyhow, I am feeling festive, and there is a novella to be written.

Big hugs, people. And see you around.