2001-11-06 - 3:55 p.m.

�Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently there must be a beverage.�

Thankfully, I�ve never really been one for bad breath, but the other day I bought some maximum strength mouthwash, just to crank it up a notch in the oral hygiene stakes. It�s great, because besides my mouth feeling cleaner than it ever has, I can also perform party tricks like putting cigarettes out on my tongue for about seven hours afterwards, whilst the �mild anaesthetic� wears off. I once read about a recovering alcoholic who unwittingly got addicted to mouthwash, because there�s usually a form of alcohol in the ingredients. I guess you know you�ve got a problem when you have to force yourself to spit out after the rinse. Or you start having a tumbler with your meals.

But it�s good to have the mouth-napalm on hand. I hate it when you wake up in the morning after about 35 minutes sleep and you can�t remember stopping drinking the night before and your breath is practically visible because the hops are somehow going through a process of internal re-fermenting. You could be hooked up to some kind of distillation unit that ran of the fumes you�re exhaling. I always find this is a great state to be in if you have, say, job interviews. I figure it gives you that whiff of the unconventional, the slightly dangerous, the vaguely unemployable. The last time I registered with an employment agency, I was coming off a night where I remember being on the floor of a hotel room somewhere in central London, but couldn�t work out what I was supposed to be doing there. Anyway, after all the aptitude assessments and a short interview, the consultant leaned over and whispered, �Pablo, you stink of booze.� And he gave me al look that said �I pity you, scrabbling around for a job, smelling like the inside of a bottle of Remy Martin.� I knew it had just been bad timing, so I didn�t feel ashamed, at least not until he showed my typing test and it looked like something spewed out by the Enigma Code Machine in World War II.

�Today I saw a red and yellow sunset and thought: How insignificant I am! Of course, I thought that yesterday too, and it rained.�

EVERYTHING�S FINE! An enduring amount of freedom that�s almost 97% fat free�

So I guess the fact that we haven�t apprehended OBL surprises the square root of, um, just about no-one, and now the boys in the war cabinet have said that catching Bin Laden isn�t a prime objective as it would not mean the collapse of the Al Qaida network. Because we all know that leaving in place an easily identifiable hate-figure means that governments can always rely on public support for subsequent excessive military action. How ya� doin� there Saddam?

Or, if you will:

Osama lovin�, havin� a blast. Osama lovin� happened so fast.

I found a fundamentalist cause, crazy for me � I met a ruthless terrorist, cute as can be

Osama�s days, spent in his caves, lookin� out for those cluster bombs

Tell me more, tell me more, why isn�t killing him a goal?

Tell me more, tell me more, because I�m high in the polls, ah ha, ah ha

He got friendly with President Bush and - He got friendly when they hated the Russians

He was sweet, repelled the red army � He was sweet, who�d have thought he�d go barmy?

Gave him funds, to buy some big guns, but uh-oh those suicide bombs

Tell me more, tell me more, how much dough did you spend?

Tell me more, the CIA, said we could be his friend, ah ha, ah ha

It turned colder, that�s where it ends � keeps Dubya in power whilst the arms traders vend

Scare the public, and keep them all down � by speculatin� what he�s doin� now

Osama dreams, ripped at the seams�but oh, those Osama�.ni-ights�.

Tell me more, tell me more��.

Or something. Sorry. I got carried away.

,i>�What if everything is an illusion and nothing exists? In that case, I definitely overpaid for my carpet��

Today�s bespectacled worrier