It’s great to be owned by someone, isn’t it? The government, the Church, a political party, our slimy stinking corporate overlords – whatever. That kind of thing, that kind of crap. Who really cares, right? Who really gives a damn just so long as someone owns your ass! Someone or something, right? Or however it might work out, and who gives a damn anyway?

It’s great to be owned. Great to be a gimp, great to be a simp. All that kind of thing. All that kind of craic. A tool, a stooge, a patsy. Whatever. A kind of wind-up dummy, all wound up with nowhere to go! A real action man. A gimp of the system, a wimp of the system. I’m a wimp and a simp – a smirking tool of our vicious sociopathic overlords.

Simping and fawning, simping and fawning, how can anyone ever love and admire our corporate overlords enough? Surely it just can’t be done? My mind is baffled, baffled and without a clue. Without any clue at all. Surely it can’t be done. Gimping and wimping, gimping and wimping, pleading to be owned. Always pleading to be owned. By whoever (or whatever) might be out there. And who’s to say, after all?

Pleading to be owned, begging to be owned, that’s me. That’s me down to a ‘T’. But what does it all mean, you ask? What’s the universe here for? Is it all just a horrible trap? Part of me wants to be a better man of course. A very small part, admittedly. A homoeopathic trace, but still. Credit where credit is due, and all of that. We do what we can, we do what we can. Only of course we don’t.  Not really.

I always wanted to be owned by some group or other. The Church, the state, a pollical movement, some ridiculous doomsday cult – anything. I wasn’t fussy, you see. No one would have me, however. No one had any interest and I was left out in the cold. I was left to roam the Shadow Worlds – a sad outcast from the World of Half-Men. Simps in suits. The world is a very different place when you’re looking at it from the eyes of an outcast, you see. A very different sort of place indeed, as you might imagine. It’s a very unfriendly place.

Laughing one moment, crying the next, I entertained the crowd with tales of their imminent and horrible demise. They won’t believe it no matter how many times you tell them, and that’s where the fun is. As a small child I used to keep eels. I used to keep eels in a vast underground eelery. I have moved on from then, however. I no longer prize eels, instead I devote myself to loftier causes. I dedicate myself to more noble pursuits, as you might say. Only not really, of course. That’s just my little joke. I have decayed beyond all recognition, you see – both physically and mentally…

I am Master of this crummy world, you see. I am The Lord of All Unclean Things. I am the Wormy One – the Foreteller of Things Yet To Come.