Everybody loves outtakes, right? No? Screw you.

Anyway, I was just doing some housecleaning on this here bloglike device, and noticed dozens of abortive posts. Many of them exist solely as enigmatic titles, and whose prospective contents I no longer remember. Here are some of the more promising sounding ones:

• The Krankor Level of Excellence: The Reachatariat
• Bashing Leno is so easy…
• Dick
• Do Not Press This Button
• O, Lincoln, O Chariot of My Nocturnal Reveries!
• What makes you think you’re so damn special?
• INGVAR YOU ARE MINE!
• It’s fun to be evil
• I broke the Internet
• <THIS SPACE LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK>
• Federal bailout cheque in hand, I retire to the study to raise a glass of Night Train in celebration
• Thoughts on my experiences with the profligate, not to say fishmongering, wastrels of the reindeer infested nations of Scandanavia
• Men want to be me, and women want to have sex with me
• Iran brings the funny

Naturally, some of those are from Lord Bryll, the Captain, Daniella, etc. Speaking of Lord Bryll, there are numerous half-finished posts sentences of his floating around in the Drafts folder. For example:

Now, if you will allow me a modicum of artistic license in service to the argument I am about to make, by which allowance I hope to convey the particular strength of feeling I harbour toward the subject at hand, I wish to begin by using terminology which may be altogether too strong, not to say shocking, to those among you of more a more sensitive, or, more particularly, feminine nature, in which case I must forcefully suggest you cease reading this missive before I reach the point where I employ the word “fuck”, I offer my most considered and, as I shall explained, well informed opinion that Scandanavians, and in particular those of a Norwegianic persuasion, are fishmongering shit-arses. Yes, quite, hmm.

Now, my assertion, shocking though it may be, particularly if you are unaccustomed to such frank discourse, is of course based upon a wealth of personal experience and, naturally, rather exuberant predjudice.

And this near-classic:

As I quickly approach the anniversary of my birth, which those among you with some unwarranted but nevertheless flattering curiosity should note is sufficiently advanced to claim a degree of wisdom and dignity but not of a vintage which would indicate a loss of understanding of the cultural mores of the day, leaving aside the rather horrible music the kids listen to these days, I am reminded of a time in my younger years, specifically here referring to my frolicking boyhood, whence I would dream of the clever wooden toys and carefully wrapped parcels of tobacco and rock salt that would inevitably be gifted upon your humble servant at the break of dawn on said anniversary. Hm, yes, hmm. Quite.

And finally, this little slice of fried gold:

An altogether admirable man, whom I had the distinct privilege of knowing as an amicable acquaintance, not to say friend, once observed that money cannot buy happiness, but being wealthy is in all circumstances preferable to being destitute and poor. Ha! Ha! He also said some rather controversial things about the Chinaman, as well, upon which I am disinclined to elaborate or dwell here out of respect for our esteemed Oriental friends, given the altogether unflattering, not to say slanderous, nature of said comments. But I digress…

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