Je ne suis pas Lars Eighner...

...as I've mentioned before. That I'm not must, in his heart of hearts, drive NasTim mad.

Except - I've had a new idea. Perhaps NasTim invented Lars, just so he could hate him? Lord knows there's nothing he enjoys more than a good, thorough hate, and I suppose there's only so much venom you can spew at even such a capacious target as, for example, American publishing (or America). I wouldn't put anything past a man who would invent a gang of teen ex-hooker "artists" just so he could fantasize their various traumas and inevitable mentor-crushes.

I'm glad, I suppose, he's got a new dog, even if he is going the whole service-dog scam again; I wonder who's on his case about that bit of trivia?

As for who's obsessed, and who doesn't have a life? Darling, I've written little squibs some two-dozen times over two years or so, out of pure amusement and a glint of malice. Somebody else has made a cottage industry out of invective against my evil little self -reams of posts and blogs and poison-pen e-mails. You do the math. Pot, kettle, black.