The cake gremlins....

that recently plagued my pc appear to have gone. A souvenir photograph was left on the door of my fridge. It's a group photo and all are giving me the finger except one that's showing off its bottom. Makes a lovely memoriam given Fat Trev ate the lot as they attempted to make good their escape. By all accounts his attack was silent swift and deadly. None survived. Problem is they'd become infused with RAM and now Fat Trev burps the noise of fax machines and modems. When he farts bubbles of algorithm shush by. And his shit, man! You could say that of late my business has becomes Fat Trev's business but that wouldn't be funny. One disconcerting phenomena is the recurrent synthesis of humidity and harmonics, particularly troublesome on warm still nights. These are strange nights when it's not equations but the eerie sound of my privacy that often whispers through the bins out back. Voices half heard on the drift, fading like old radio signals. Trouble is the embarrassing stuff has started leaking most. Notes to old girlfriends, begging letters to old friends, things I've ordered in plastic, the burro (hey, it was on offer). I'm hoping to be around when Trev farts out my e-mail address book, I've even boiled a jar to catch it in. Well, I actually boiled 10 jars and offered the local tots £5 for whoever can capture the most. Yesterday morning I occasioned on two of them squeezing Trev like a toothpaste tube but nothing of use emerged. A third tot suggested to the other two that they jump on him a few times to loosen up the innards but they relaxed their grip and he escaped. 3 inches of runny msdos doth not a summer make I later lamented pressing a penny into three small palms latticed with base configurations. They seemed happy but that's six year olds for you, no sense of what things are worth.

Not seen Trev since yesterday.

The tots liked my joke about the constipated mathematician who worked it out with a pencil.

Funny, not seen them since that joke.

Hmmmm.