I am great. In every sense of the word.

She-human has a very strange habit (she has several of those to be precise, but I'm trying to focus here, so shut up), she likes listening to someone reading a book to her. That in itself is NOT odd, as I like doing that myself, when she reads to me. But this someone that she listens to is not around. Those people have recorded their reading on tin, just like the iron butterfly did with the song I liked so much (see one of the previous posts). So, she quietly sits on the couch and listens. She doesn't do anything else and hates it when I interrupt it (yes, I like doing that all the more, of course). When it first happened I thought she was dead and tried to get rid of the body. Big mistake. Won't try that again.

Who better than me?

I should write a book. Seriously.
As I found out, the human I am currently sharing a flat with has quite a substantial number of books (don't make me count them, let's say: a lot). And some of these are about orcs. 'Hang on' you gonna think, and rightly so. How come that humans write books about creatures that
a) do not exist around here (at least to their knowledge, we know better of course) and
b) are not their own species?
How dare they.

I ate it

"WTF, Thrakbog?", you might say. And yes, you're absolutely right. Those were my exact words too. I finally ate the bloody book. I couldn't bear it any longer. Idiot Darcy telling Lizzy that he loved her. And proposing to her. I mean, seriously? The man was clearly delusional. Trust me, he was. I know an awful lot about halluzinating, given that I frequently drink the stuff the brewer concocts. And I guarantee you, Prick Darcy has completely lost his marbles. All of them. The ones in his head and those a bit further down, which I heard described as the family jewels. The man has got no balls!
No longer able to call him Prick Darcy, I ended his and my own misery and ate the bloody book.
Will go out for a catsnack and be a proper orc again. I really should have known. Orcs don't read books.
Although I have to admit that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had some potential for becoming a truly evil overlord. Uhm, overlady. Oh, well. Never mind.
I feel some wanderlust growing inside me. At least I hope it is wanderlust. Otherwise I'd have to reconsider eating books in the future. I normally digest rusty nails and monster-steaks but the written word could prove inedible and hard to swollow.
So wanderlust it is. Where shall I go? Will do some research to find out where I might find a magic portal. But first: cat. Or dog. I'm not picky.

Book Review?

First of all let me assure you that I've never read a single book in my life. Just to make sure that you see I'm not a sissy. I'm an orc, and orcs don't read books. Ever. Having said that I have to admit that there are exceptions. I watched comrade Noden do it occasionally and found it mildly disturbing how he would totally get absorbed by it, completely ignoring his surroundings. Highly dangerous pastime, reading. His eyes would glaze over in a way they should only ever do when looking at my daughter, his wife. So he fancies books. It took me a while to see his qualities as a clever orc underneath all this sissiness.
Now, thanks to a purely arbitrary act of a god I am capable of reading and writing myself. I find that I still don't trust the whole bookish stuff but my human convinced me to give it a go. One of the rooms we currently share (alright, I occupy against her will) is filled with an endless number of books. Could be several dozen or hundreds. Remember, I'm not good with numbers. Human insists that it's just an average number and that there are whole buildings filled with books, called libraries. I've heard of those. Where I come from that's where the wizards go to study. Might have a look at the British Library to find a sorcerer later. For now one room filled with books should suffice. So she suggested I have a look at them and pick one that sounded interesting to me. I didn't even know where to begin so she started to give me short summaries to narrow it down. Why one writes a long book when it could be summarized with a few words totally escapes me. After about half a dozen plots I got tired of it and picked one randomly (alright, it was the thinnest I could find on the shelf). Human began to laugh hysterically which is never a good sign and made me promise to read it to the last page. I agreed maybe a bit rashly, caught by my vanity. She pointed at the book and remarked how fitting this would be then. I read the words on the cover: