He’s a strange-walking Plok with a heart full of napalm


Plok (1994)

Genetics struck my birth and development without mercy, my friends. Obviously I was blessed with a few positive features to give myself some chance of passing on my cursed genes to the next generation and fulfilling my one purpose on this doomed carbon rock we call Earth. Namely, a beautifully chiselled face, a model’s poise, wonderfully shaped feet and so on. The usual pluspoints possessed by any man who has any hope.

But there had to be compromises somewhere, and so it was that I was stricken with the inability to walk. I don’t mean I’m an invalid or anything like that. Well, I actually can’t do what most human beings would term “walking”. I can move my legs at awkward angles and sort of lamely shuffle almost horizontally from A to B, but that doesn’t exactly qualify me for the catwalk (a shame, given the model-like poise I lied to you about earlier).

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