Mutant Hunter

‘I am the Lord of the Seven Different Types of Stuff,’ I told my devoted band of followers. They like to hear me say such things. They have come to expect it of me. I don’t really have followers of course, devoted or otherwise – that’s just something I say to make myself sound more important than I really am. ‘And how important are you really?’ says a nasty little voice in my mind. It’s my self-critic, needless to say. What a knob-end my self-critic is! What kind of thing is that to be after all? ‘And what do you do?’ someone asks you at a dinner party. ‘Oh – I’m a self critic.’ you respond. I don’t know if anyone actually asks that question anymore – it sounds awfully dated somehow. I don’t know if people actually have dinner parties anymore either, that sounds ludicrous too. Maybe they do. Presumably they do. I can only imagine that they do. I wouldn’t know, at any rate. All my information about the world comes from a previous time, a previous era. The modern age holds no interest to me. In my view it’s a thoroughly useless age – not that the previous age was any better of course. Imagine being at a dinner party or whatever, and someone comes up to you and says ‘Well what you do old boy?’ Quick as a flash you reply snappily like, ‘Why I’m a mutant hunter – I hunt down mutants and put a stop to their nonsense. You look a bit like a bloody mutant now that I get a good look at you. Do you mind if I carry out a few tests?’ The truth is that I’m thoroughly alienated from this modern age of ours. What do I care about Instagram and selfies? What do people stand for these days? What do they think that life is all about? It pays to have a sense of humour in this business – it just so happens that I don’t, that’s all. I don’t see the funny side of anything. When I hear people talking it just grates on my nerves; it grates on my nerves like a big industrial cheese grater. If there is such a thing, which there probably is I suppose. Suppose you met your self-critic at a dinner party. What would you say to him? Or her. ‘Well hello old boy, I hear you are a self-critic. That’s the word on the street, anyway. Do you mind me asking what exactly that entails?’ Here we all are in this modern age of Snapchat and Instagram. What does it all mean, anyway? Is there actually anything to it at all? Is there anything behind it or is it all just pointless stuff. Stuff with nothing behind it at all. It’s like a blank façade. The blank façade of modern living. I really don’t fit into this world, it occurs to me for the ten thousandth time. I don’t feel as if I belong. I feel like a frikkin alien here. It’s like I just stepped out of a flying saucer. Although if you were an alien from outer space you might actually be interested in exploring this world of ours and I’m not. None of it interests me in the least. I am completely indifferent to its so-called ‘attractions’. I don’t know what it’s all about. Nothing I know has any relevance to anything any more. Not that it ever did, mind you. Not that it ever did…






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