the thing about mymanian

the thing about Mymanian is that he's a sham -- there's nothing there and nothing to him. You could say more about yesterday's yoghurt than about the spy. What do you say about a spy that hasn't been said two-thousand times? That he's smart, that he's sexy, that he carries a curious little gun? There. Said. Enough.

The thing about Mymanian is that he's not real.

The thing about Mymanian you need to realize is that I'm not sure if he's a reflection of certain aspects of me, or of my outside world, or neither, or both. I'd do further analysis but my job

The thing with Mymanian is that he has a funny name. A name that would be cause for too much useless speculation if I weren't so little read and respected. I'll give you a hint though

Mymanian. Why are you Mymanian?

Mymanian records his conversation with his literary agent with a microphone that has a suction cup. If you lick the rim of the suction cup and press it to the outside of the phone handset -- up there my where you hold it to your ear -- it will stick.

The thing about Mymanian is that you know as much about him as I do. He's a wiley fucker -- always on the sly and taking the unexpected turn. If I drew a bead on him

consider this . . . if only for a second -- does it matter? And really in the scope and shape of time is it worth all this? I know what was said about the butterfly, but I think that's just too dandy an idea to give much consideration. And I wrote

Mymanian, I like the shape of you name, and the way it feels in my mouth and on my tongue.

The thing about Mymanian is that I force him to take nothing seriously. There was this one time

Mymanian! is life just a series of events that reorder and reprioritize as the days move on? Do we eat? Do we do work that pleases others? Do we wish to be pleased? Do we exchange our efforts for our gains?