So, while it provides nothing more than milk money now, at one point it provided wine money, I have been a writer and I guess once a writer always a writer.

Writer of fiction. Lover of fiction. Rabid consumer of same.

This is to say I'm a fan of all things fiction and at times the more wild and fanciful the better although the sweet spot for me tends to be suspense and thrillers with a dash of a love affair with Ian Fleming thrown in to insure that spies and men and women who kill for a living are preferred genres.

I get the desire to read the Novel "Covid 19 the plot to destroy Mankind" and get balls deep into trying to navigate the plot twists that by my nature pull me towards doors that when open lead me into a giant room with a giant saltwater tank with a giant man-eating shark overseen by a fat German dude named Blofeld, or in the novel we are currently reviewing, a bug eyed fuck wearing a sweater who cant code worth a shit.

Perhaps I'm just not thinking big enough but I just don't see how this works out to be some grand plan by some master villain or villains all sitting around a table figuring out how to fuck humanity and wipe a goodly portion off the map and then enslave the remaining schlubs to do their nefarious bidding amongst the ruins and wreckage of an almost depopulated world.

No, I think this story involves a bunch of greedy fucks trying to make a buck at everyone's expense, except them of course, and fucking it all up and hoping that their money and power and most importantly their powerful friends will look the other way when it turns to shit and they will retire to some sun-drenched beach where they will be earning twenty percent.

I do see a plot twist though in this one where the victims or those related to them actually figure out the whole nefarious undertaking and start lucrative catering business' and write best selling cook books all around the same theme...the tastiness and satisfaction of expertly processed and cooked long-pig.

I think I'm going to write a book.