Friends, and I have many, often ask me, 'my dear fellow, how on earth do you rally those vitriolic thoughts of yours into the cogent masterpieces of anti-science invective we know and love?' They really do. And invariably, I will tug ruminatively on my pipe, and respond with the answer that vituperation, wit and coruscation are three happy neighbours in one of the many higher centres of my brain, and it would be folly for me to try and impede their joyous communion in the written word.
With equal regularity, friends, for I am blessed with many, will urge me to explain in greater detail the birthing route that delivers what I think of as my 'conscience' to the printed page. If you're not 'pro'science then of course you must be 'con'science! Sometimes my own brilliance leaves me short of breath, I stand with eyes akimbo, and drink deep from the well of scientific ignorance.
Where was I? Oh yes, responding to the pleadings of my friends, what absolute dears, I recently had a consultation with a neurosurgeon - an attempt to fathom the mysterious origins of my glittering erudition. I was told that whilst scientists do not fully understand the processing of abstract thought into written or spoken word, it was clear in my own case that when I see something, a region of my brain called the tectum makes the first translation into reasoned response. From there, gravity (if you believe in such invisible forces!) pulls the developing notion to exit my body from something called the rectum.
I still haven't the faintest idea what he was talking about, but my friends, and what on earth would I do without them, seemed absolutely delighted with the diagnosis.