Okay then. WTF? Really? I mean…WTF? Either someone believes so strongly in Mr. Moorcocks writing abilities and name cache that nothing can possibly deter readers. Or….his publisher would like to see him a drooling, babbling madman on the dole, waving copies of this book about screaming “You see this? I WROTE THIS! And THIS is the COVER they put on it! Rotten miserable..mumble, drool, stagger..”
I know this was published forty years ago, and Mr. Moorcock survived this attempt on his sanity, but surely it must be nice to have the occasional copy of your back catalogue sell…rather than, say, showing up here?
@Tat Wood. Nonsense. You just don’t understand the fine art of underwater assassination, English style. There you are, happily scuba-diving… when up to you dances a naked man with a fish for a head. While you are still paralysed with astonishment, he deftly and with unerring aim kicks a sea-urchin at you. Its spines pierce your wetsuit, injecting you with poison. You die. Assignment complete.
Editor: What?? His name is Morecock? Ok listen closely, we need to distract the reader, yes. Take his mind off the name. Yes. Ok listen up you troglodytes, I want an anorexic male, without genitalia, oddly short lower legs, no toes, bad shading and yellowish skin. Give him the head of a red snapper. Have him dancing the chicken dance and having an orgasm, frollicking around some underwater shrubbery and 4 (you listening) only 4 air bubbles!!
Yes Man #1: Genius, sir, sheer genius!!
Yes Man #2: I want to have your babies sir!!
Editor: (wipes brow) ok one problem averted. Now give me that copy of Alotta Fagina’s new book, I am on a role.
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