No-one has the time to read all mine, especially not me. On the occasions that I've delved into the shite mountain to try to remind myself of something or other, I've just wanted to nuke the whole sorry mess. It's a pointless trajectory from earlier, funnier me (or so earlier, funnier me apparently believed

) through a period of endless whining, perving and unwise bitching, to a sort of heat-death where I just drone on and on repeating myself, half unaware, half uncaring, my shrinking handful of facts and opinions attenuated across vast acres of screen so that information and order has given way to the sucky nothing of entropy. And still
on I go.