Nosce te Ipsum

Or, The Short, Tragic Tale of the Pink Moped. (With a tip of the hat to Philip K. Dick.)

"Listen. Mo," said Harley, patiently. "If Man had meant us to be jetskis he would have given us foils instead of wheels."

"But what if I wasn't created just by Man?" Mo replied, desperation in her voice. "What if The Q intervened during my manufacturing process?"

"The Q? Oh please, Mo, be reasonable. The Q is not a pan-dimensional uber-being manifest as a human. That's just a fairy-tale big motorbikes tell the little ones if they want them to grow up to be Street Hawk. The Q is just a regular man who happens to possess a remarkable knack with machinery."

"I think you're wrong," said Mo, with all the tenacity of youth. "I think The Q is real and I believe he has a plan for me. You just watch. One day I will leave this showroom and drive on water."

Harley garnered all the patience she could to soothe the impetuous little moped. "Listen. Mo." Harley tried to sound soothing but, unfortunately, to Mo, all she could manage was a patronising tone. "One day, when you are older and you earn your first M.O.T. certificate, you will feel differently."

Mo remained unconvinced. She knew that The Q had marked her for a special destiny, something more than just carrying groceries back and forth from the hypermarket for Man. She was special, and one day she would be the first moped to drive upon the water.

If only she had listened to her mother.


The End.


Movies can have an adverse influence upon the recently manufactured. Be careful what you expose your little machines to. The Spy Who Loved Me.

This isn't the movies, I'm afraid.