by Stephen Johnson
Bow to me, fool, for I am the King of Facts. My general knowledge is second to none. There is nobody in existence who knows more facts than I.
Oh, you may laugh at me, and whisper behind my back. And empty my bin over my front garden. But you are nothing to me, for I know all and you know little. I am the Earl of Trivia.
You can sit in front of your television and think you are clever when you know the answers to Strike It Rich. That is nothing compared to the information I have at my command. I could destroy the opposition on any quiz show there is. I scoff at the $64,000 question, and spit on the Mastermind chair. I would take the million pounds from that cretin Tarrant without needing to phone a friend or ask the audience.
Why have I never appeared on television then, you ask? That is the sort of ignorance you revel in. My knowledge is a pure thing, a white shining crystal of beauty. To use it for entertainment of profit would be to rub filth into it, to blacken it to it's very core. And the television people think my physical problems may scare off their viewers.
You may think you are successful, with your big house and your fast car and your pretty wife. I have none of these things. But did you know that the capital of the Congo is Brazzaville? Of course you did not. You know nothing of what is truly important.
Do you enjoy your money? Do you enjoy having nice things to eat and clean clothes to wear? Do you sleep at night without the voices waking you? You know the answers to those questions. But what was Kingsley Amis' mother's maiden name? You do not know. And I shall not reveal it. The power is mine, you see. The power is MINE. I am the Master of Truth.
So begone. Do not waste my time with your inferior knowledge and matching shoes. Go and struggle over your crosswords like the idiot you are. Be off with you.
And no, I do not know the way to the train station.