I am a spider writer. If I try to write my body goes in to a kind of writhing spasm. Every part of me fights against the task in hand, perverting and distorting my intentions, making a mockery of a sham!

But this is not the end of the world; I’m excellent at almost everything else. But, hmm, if only I was excellent at writing by hand. If I had that then I’d have everything. But I suppose that’s just not the way it works. A man must suffer by being perfect in every other way, and it’s probably the only fair way to make me equal to everyone else.

So, I am rubbish: My numbers look like letters and my letters look like…well–not like they belong in words. For that reason I avoid writing sentences longer than four words as often as I can. But it doesn’t matter how good I get at distracting people from watching me write, eventually they have to read (or try to read what I have written) and my world comes crashing down in one big heap–

I hate people who write well! It’s just not human to write well! People who write well are like people who do anything well, only worse. Because writing is tedious, isn’t it? It’s not like singing or dancing. It shouldn’t need to be impressive. And that’s why the good-writers do it, of course. Their one single aim is to rid the world of spider writers like myself and populate it with the Aryan race of good writers–

Thankfully we’ll always have doctors. Doctors, what a blessing! Their useless, illegible, incomprehensibly awful writing makes me look like an expert in Calligraphy. So, if you’re incapable of making an R not like a P then always pretend to look like a doctor, and if you can’t do that there are always spare jobs for vets going. The result will be respect, what every poor writer is after!