Mice are better than rats? I do not think you can make that kind of distinction!

Hello, I’m Mr. Mackerel. I’m not a fish. I’ve been told I can pass for a fish, which is not a nice thing to say unless you’d consider dating a fish or have it polish your shoes. It turns out most people wouldn’t date a fish.

I like fish.

Yesterday I tied knots in a rainbow and it seemed to work for a while. Tell me, is it inadvisable to stand twitching and sizzling in the sun though you feel like you’re accomplishing the impossible? A young girl in pyjamas passed me by and told me I looked like a musician. I didn’t reply, because I was too busy pondering how nice it would be if there was a band of musicians called the Brotherhood of Nothing, and I could knight those melody carriers I thought fit to be part of the brotherhood, cheerfully hailing them as guardians of the people immersed. Crane birds, do they signify that such a thing is possible? They might as well!

Mr. Mackerel needs a nap. I am going to call it a French nap. It sounds better.

My thanks to “Admin”, who is going to give the reigns of this blog to me (Ed: for the most part). I like washed lettuce! It feels like limp pages of cracked paper! Candy for the ex-shoe polisher? I must assume that tomorrow I will wake up as myself once more.