cracked open the hound carcass to find gears still whirring, cogs still chewing, rods and cones and pistons all busy sliding and spinning and pumping even though the beast itself had perished. There were also papers, thousands of them, crumpled and crammed in amongst the machinery. I took a tweezers and gingerly extracted a few pages from between the mechanism and unfolded them, smoothing them out carefully. They were still slightly damp and covered with strings of letters and numbers bleeding into illegibility. Which was hardly surprising; what threw us were the dirty pictures scribbled in the margins, drawings of animals having sex with mathematical equations, plants being sodomized by formulas, geometric figures copulating with chemical compounds. Meanwhile the machinery was starting to wheeze and grind and a stream of foul air began to be exuded from its innermost engines. The dog jerked to its feet and lifted its head, snapping its jaws in the air. We all jumped back but it was just an automatic motor function and it soon lay back down, innards whirring softly as a thick, clear liquid started to trickle from its rectum, causing us to rush round looking for a roll of paper towels which unfortunately no one had had the foresight to bring along. I got some on my only pair of really expensive shoes. I knew I shouldn’t have worn them but I had a party to go to afterward and didn’t want to change, needless to say they were completely ruined.