Scrambled Egg

I notice only now that the author of the aforementioned accusatory letter (see post below) was none other than Aldous Egg, an ancient rival of mine. About a year ago it was drawn to my attention that said critic had a blog. The blog still exists - and I can safely say that in its present state it contains absolutely everything of interest that this ignoble mind has ever penned.

Common decency prevents me from pouring any more of my freshly produced scorn upon Aldous Egg and his unwashed pan of a career. For those who know nothing of him (lucky souls) I feel I must, however, offer the following observations. Egg was, and maybe still is, the editor of a cultural journal entitled ‘Knockespotch’. I have never read it - or if I have, I have since been through therapy to erase the trauma. Now I think of it, I doubt that he has ever had much time to put into the rag, since he seems to have spent the majority of the last three years sending my own journal hate-mail (two instances of which can be found here). Most of it is painfully unoriginal, although I will congratulate him on the sentence with which he closed one such missive. ‘Sir,’ quoth the villain: ‘If you have ever gone anywhere, you have gone too far’. See how this insult bites at the heels of meaning, without ever quite sinking in the teeth?

All else I know of Mr. Egg beyond these few paltry facts is that he owns a beard and has no sense of smell, an unfortunate afflication, from which the following saying derives. ’I cannot smell,’ declaims the idiotic oviform - ’but I can smell a rat’ (a clear lie, since he cannot smell himself.)