O Gods

O gods, Warren Ellis has discovered LiveJournal.

Warren is home alone from Saturday afternoon until Tuesday evening. Within 24 hours of this message, will Warren be:

1. So drunk that he can barely see, throwing lit matches at the neighbour's baby and calling in bomb threats to totally random telephone numbers? (Like that time he wiped the outgoing-number data off his fax machine and then wrote a letter in marker with his left hand that read "I am the brain damaged brother you never knew you had. Call me today or I'll kill someone" and then faxed it to comics artists Steve Pugh.)
   
2. Crawling through the streets of his miserable seaside town naked and smeared in ice cream, eating garbage, screaming incoherent and obscene crap at shop windows and streetlights, and masturbating weakly at passing cars?
3. Sobbing uncontrollably as he downloads 30-second excerpts of that weird German porn where they yell "Arsefick!" and then ram a latex beerstein up into someone's guts, his greying cock loosely tied into an old plastic shopping bag filled with warm mango chunks?
4. Declare himself an Operating Thetan and randomly impregnate eighteen people on his LJ friendslist simply by considering it intently during his lonely, tragic and frighteningly drawn-out night manipulations?
5. All of the above, leaving himself with absolutely nothing to do on Sunday?

Answers on a postcard to me at the usual address.

(That stampeding sound you hear is all the Joss Whedon fans who friended this journal yesterday headed for the nearest door at exactly the same time.)

O dear, o dear.