This book is probably not for you. Dedicated to the social historian of the 23rd century, it makes heavy demands on the contemporary reader: there is no real narrative, the plot is surreal, and if you still remember the difference between sodomy and procreation, you are, at any rate, of the wrong generation. There should have been material here for a great literary satire, but a persistent mixture of impiety, defiance and inherent malice, have prevented me from writing it. Instead, I have created a memorandum peopled largely by individuals of no redeeming ability. Everyone will understand...