The Inventor has form. Remember him? As twisted history would have us believe, The Inventor died before he could give Edward Scissorhands, well, hands.
Of course, the whole scam is blown apart by the merest tickle of logic.
You name your boy Scissorhands, you're not planning for a Rodin or a Da Vinci or a Bonetti. Besides, the hands are first, right? Up there with the head and the offal and the hairline. And who has that many pairs of scissors? A sadist, that's who.
The Inventor has form. He hates hands. He hates their dexterity and litheness. It is why, before he invented Edward, he invented the cursed DLR ticket machine.
His works are available on every platform, his victims, with their gnarled fingers and bruised knuckles look on Edward enviously with his steely digits, unyielding and nerveless.
Ever try to get a receipt out of a DLR ticket machine? The contortion required, the angles necessary, the pain threshold demanded can only be the product of a wicked, vengeful mind. Who would invent a machine whose form is so opposed to its function?
A hand hater, that's who. He hated hands, that there The Inventor. Look on his works and weep.
He did the steel guitar, string parcels, Christmas trees, cats and the Iranian justice system. He died while planning the spoutless kettle (one scoops out the boiling water with one's hands) and the Gossamer™ gloveless gloves for Arctic exploration.
But most of all he did the DLR ticket machine. And he called himself The Inventor. Shame on you, sir. Shame.
I want to say...
- We have a new entry to common parlance, invited over from America. It's the "I want to say" prelude to a guess.
Who was the first James Bond?
"Ooh. I want to say Sean Connery?"
"What's that thing when you raise the intonation at the end of the sentence?
"OK, so I want to say 'high rising terminal'?"
– From November 2011
