Poetry Is One Of The Few Nasty

There's All Sorts Of Things I Was Always Meaning To Get Around To - Learning To Play The Flute, Calculating The Square Root Of Nought, Going Mad - But I Just Didn't Have The Time.

I Try And Do 2,500 Words A Day, Every Day Of The Year

Not Only Had He Lost The Only Girl He'd Ever Loved, He'd Lost Her In Duplicate, Like Some Heartbroken But Highly Efficient Civil Servant.

Among The Gods, There Is A Dispute As To Which One Of Them Originally Thought Of Christianity; Or, As They Call It, The Great Leg Pull. Apollo Has The Best Claim, But A Sizeable Minority Support Pluto, Ex-god Of The Dead, On The Grounds That He Has A Really Sick Sense Of Humour. How Would It Be, Suggested The Unidentified God, If First We Tell Them All To Love Their Neighbour, Pack In The Killing And Thieving, And Be Nice To Each Other. Then We Let Them Start Burning Heretics.

It Was Irritating To Have One's Physical Shortcomings Pointed Out Quite So Plainly Twice In One Evening, Once By A Beautiful Girl And Once By A Dying Badger.