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Morag looked at the Black Barge. It was a barge as designed by HR Giger, as though a short-sighted facehugger had forced itself upon Boaty McBoatface and this was what had burst forth.
“I have never understood the point of sending recently killed plants to someone as a sign of affection. I have never understood the point of flowers as a gift at all.” “They are colourful and decorative, Mrs Grey. They are attractive.” “That’s because they are trying to draw attention to the plant’s organs of reproduction. They are the vegetable equivalent of a push-up bra.” “Or a vajazzle.” “Indeed.”
I do not know how many people there are on the planet so how can I care if there are seven billion and one people or seven billion and two? We are overpopulated as it is and I am sure the quality of life of every living thing on earth would rise somewhat if three or four billion people just quietly died and freed up some space and resources. I have no interest in saving lives.
“Similarly, I have no especial love for my species. Psychologically and physiologically, we’re horribly flawed and we only hold our dominant position because of one or two quirks in our evolution.
And a northerner too and emotions hadn’t been introduced to the north until 1996.
“So, all existence is futile and meaningless and the only truth to be gained is through creating artificial confrontation and then sharing our pain with others?” “That’s pretty much every reality TV show.” “Even the baking off one?”
