Here’s something I randomly bumped into while reading an old Usenet thread during my lunch break (I do that sometimes, it’s sad but occasionally hilarious).
In this post from almost exactly eleven years ago, I guess all you really need to know is that one of the newsgroup denizens (a wise and revered elder, whose beard we young whippersnappers never failed to tweak at any opportunity) is telling an anecdote about a nasty hot-chilli experience, and Mrs. Hatboy and I were commenting on it.
It starts in an additionally amazing and hilariously ironic way, considering US foreign policy and the Perpetual War.
And that, my friends, was the moment the universe decided that my first published book would be a book about my arse, and the horrible things that came out of it before the end.
Funny old world.