Manuals are often written with a lack of humour so acute they’re funny. I’m not expecting “so … three men walked into a bar and … eleemosynary arse burp, bumped their head on it” between paragraphs in a D80’s manual. The tiger tank had a funny manual which was distinctly unfunny in context (1).
What objects warrant manuals? I think, much like many a wanky wankster, had they the balls, that for every ontological entity there is a manual that is real or potentially real. Manuals for everything. The previous three word sentence is same as the sum of the sentences that preceded it which is something I done-gone-did to make a point about semiology (2).
I am tired and typing, and typing when tired, is something you can read, a great deal, on blogs. One day it will be up there with clichéd dialogues started with the phrase “bloody awful weather, how’s the wife?”. Fuckers. People in general, that is. If we didn’t procreate it’d be a pretty short-lived species. We’ve not even reached the record of the trilobites (3).
