Dear Mr. Shelley...

I'm really really sorry. It's all the statistics, you see. It's affected my mind.

So when I read this, well, it was bound to happen.


I met an emigrant from an angry land
Who said ‘Two vast and mindless parties blow
Their voters’ taxes. Above them, one man stands
Power drunk, his shattered voice all lies, his frown
And curling lip, and mass of odd commands
Tell that spindoctors well those passions formed
That yet survive, stamped on his lifeless heart
The hand that swatted but was never blamed
And on his wet green seat these words appear –
“My name is Gordybrownias, Prime of Mins,
Look on my works, ye voters, and despair!”
Nothing much else remains. Round the decay
Of Parliamentary dreck, worthless and bare
The equal-righted drones still vote his way.


Mrs. S. wrote 'Frankenstein', which might yet become 'Mandelstein', but that's going to take a looong time. Besides, better not piss them both off at once. If there's one thing worse than being haunted, it's being haunted by two ghosts, both with a vicious wit.