A summer is approaching when the sun will shine - but its rays will fall only upon cracked, baked, arid soil. You will not hear the birds singing, nor brooks burbling nor the laughter of children. The last thing you will hear: the leathery wings of a diurnal vampire bat the size of a condor as it descends upon you.…

You find this period odd? Apparently you have never passed out after barely surviving a battle with a malfunctioning robo-chef only to come to and discover a katydid the size of your thigh preparing to lay her eggs in your gaping chest wound.

I too have had an Oscar afterparty. I had just cannibalistically dined upon the flesh of a small boy named Oscar whom I had lured into my cave. To celebrate I curled in a ball and wept tears of shame and cursed the men who launched the missiles. There were no models present.

The time will come when you will have to explain to your children how to shield their thoughts from mutated psychic razor-toothed chipmunks.

You jest, but a day will come when hamsters the size of St. Bernards will tear grown men limb from limb.