Update from the world of exquisitely bad literature: The detestable Julian Assange gets a book deal.

No doubt as a result of the esteemed publishers having read some of his literary output.. Check out these gems:

Often we suffer to read, "But if we believe X then we'll have to...", or "If we believe X it will lead to...". This has no reflection on the veracity of X and so we see that outcomes are treated with more reverence than the Truth. It stings us, but natural selection has spun its ancestral yarns from physically realized outcomes, robustly eschewing the vapor thread of platonism as an abomination against the natural order, fit only for the gossip of monks and the page.

Mathematics is a systemization of communicable human thought created by brain architectures that have male-type spacial abilities and extremised by the extremes within that group. Extreme female brain architectures would create a different sort of mathematics. It won't be created by the females currently in mathematics because they need a male type brain to thrive in the existing mathematical world.

I've always found women caught in a thunderstorm appealing. Perhaps it is a male universal, for without advertising this proclivity a lovely girl I knew, but not well, on discovering within herself lascivious thoughts about me and noticing raindrops outside her windows, stood for a moment fully clothed in her shower before letting the wind and rain buffet her body as she made her tremulous approach to my door and of course I could not turn her away.

But then, just when one might suspect that men are krill to the baleen of female romantic manipulation, I found myself loving a girl who was a coffee addict. I would make a watery paste of finely ground coffee and surreptitiously smear this around my neck and shoulders before seducing her so she would associate my body with her dopaminergic cravings. But every association relates two objects both ways. She started drinking more and more coffee. Sometimes I looked at her cups of liquid arabicia with envious eyes for if there were four cups then somehow, I was one of them, or a quarter of everyone one of them...

Oh dear.

In the words of literary critic Leonard Pinth-Garnell:

"Exquisitely bad. Indeed, Unrelentingly Awful in execution and construction."

"Really bit the big one!"




Yet, Brave Sir Julian, Pallid Knight of the muli-hued coif, gets the last laugh: 1.3 million dollars up front for delivering his memoirs, which will no doubt be replete with accounts of sexual exploits (real and imagined) that will rival the coffee post at "IQ".

I say folks should leak the MS, make sure it is distributed far and wide electronically, so that he doesn't get any more money out of the deal. Why buy the book if the file is freely available via the open and transparent web eh? Sauce for the Goose.