Well, more spam goodness for you. This is a particularly poetic and resonant image - lucky pickled herrings setting a trap for unwary cod. See below for cod philosophy.
or don't
fish are not known (how can they be? They have nothing to say, that isn't bubble-wrapped and reliant on gills) to be philosophers. so where's this idea that cod have philosophy come from? What next:
Google Analytics points out the continuing struggle to win the hearts and minds of the parvenu colonials (more green=more hits). Need to find some way of attracting the mid-west. Marshmallow-stuffed turkey ? Because I know you have fairly disgusting diets out there in the nasty blank miles of between. Or maybe I should find god? (Stuck to my sole). Rant incoherently for a while on plainly daft theories of ontology and epistemology? (How do I know I'm evolved from slime-mould?). Or is that too up its own fundamentalism? So if you have a friend (or a backwoods flange of interbred cousins you don't talk about) in the dead miles between cities, drop them a carrier pigeon and get them to access my blog (with their steam-driven Babbage engines , or hay-built abaci), let some slightly dingy British rain into their golden-corn lives. Also, it appears I'm not appealing to the redneck constituency. What's the matter with y'all? Too busy fucking your sisters?
I am diskgrinder, and I am larger than an ant, but smaller than someone taller than me. I'm also a damn sight cleverer than someone far more stupid than me. I can speak 7 languages, 6 of which I made up myself. I am spiritually indeterminate - somewhere between an agnostic and an atheist, should they be sitting quite close together. I have no beliefs except the firmly held one (as it's slippery) that you shouldn't believe everything you read in a phone directory. I take laudanum as a pick-me-up and take a snide remark as a put-me-down. I am diskgrinder, I am all of me.
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