"Big things are afoot: bigfoots are a thing!", reads the flyer,
blowing across the cycle path. A sinuous submarine kayak
breaks the surface of Vancouver Harbour, a half-baker
steps ashore at Stanley Park, and a rapt audience of
crypto-zoologists hears him deliver his paper.
Across the continent,
once the dogs have stopped barking,
a half-baker raised his eyes to the hills for inspiration, and
spots a herd of deer in hi-viz and crash-helmets.
Somewhere in between, a half-baker begins the third
chapter of the preamble to an idea that only just, by *that*
much, doesn't trigger energy-positive controlled fusion.
A liveried functionary lifts a telephone, and arranges to post
bail with the central police station in Hohhot. His employer
has not actually left England yet, but he knows to get ahead
of the game. At this point, that half-baker is still rehearsing
the part of Squire Slaughter in an amateur production of
"Murder at the Red Holding Facility", the only occasion in
any given year when he would speak civilly to the vicar.
Under a distant tree, an upside-down half-baker ... will get
back to you later on that one.
Gazing wryly at the concrete that halves the Holy Land, a
half-baker logs in to be whole in the halfy land.
On the coast of California, a half-baker shares with his
sweetheart the benefit of his long experience in all forms of
Checking back in, we're on the fourth chapter of the
Undismayed by the provincial critics who declared his epic
mural "The Pricks of Conscience" an affront to public
decency, a half-baker relaxes into the embrace of Scarlett
Johanson's Korean twin two miles above Australia.
Somewhere in the Mulga, I've sited a battery of
prosepiparachutes to save him when the drugs wear off.
Somewhere in Norrn Irrrn*, a half-baker in socks and
sandals waters a small mangrove in the window box of his
In the Land of the Free, a half-baker celebrates his freedom,
at every possible opportunity.
Outside Detroit, a half-baker is well along with his life-sized
replicas of the vehicles of Wacky Races, but with sensible
modern safety features.
In a disused mining tenement in the Goldfields, a half-baker
presents to a rapt audience of blow-flies a slide-deck in
Latin on intermediate concepts in data-fossicking.
At the Grimbledon Down Research Facility, the less wealthy
geneticist half-baker, whose latest treatment has not
eliminated any known form of cancer, consoles himself that
he's managed to propagate in vitro an entirely new form of
cancer that his treatment *can* cure. Half a bottle of
prosecco is called for, but the fridge is full of ...
Somewhere unknown, but incorporated in Delaware, a half-
baker tosses another spun-off business to the grateful
mezzanine capitalists halfway down his staircase, and
explains again how, if it weren't for the government, he
would be even more of a contender.
... any day now, that preamble will get to the part with the
ascii graphic ...
In London, a half-baker of vision gets admirably angry
about epistemology, after contemplating more ancient
bugs than you'll find in a Cobol application.
Elsewhere in England, a half-baker breaks off from the
lonely struggle against corporate bourgeois materialism for
a lovely cup of tea, and *no* cigarette.
In low earth orbit, a half-baker makes the difficult decision
to cancel a new product launch due to insufficient health
and safety concerns.
Many others are out there, I just haven't seen them lately in
The world turns, another day comes around.
*also known as The Six Green Fields of "Oh dear, we really
didn't think through this aspect of Brexit very well, I mean,
even compared with all the other aspects!"