They did it. They finally…really did it. Those damn dirty apes started playing around with this Internet thing and revived it. And because Cornelius and Zira know that I can speak, they now have me blogging, much like the litbloggers once did. I suppose in six months, they’ll be running the place.

But oh how strong we thought we were! A sampling of yesterday’s headlines, if you will. Imagine me needing them. Back on Earth, or at least the Earth where I came from, I never did.

• Remember the Guardian and its sanctimonious headlines. How carefree they were to study what books helped men through life. Oh, those were the days. Before the cats and the dogs had died and, as I understand it, one brave young ape said no.
• Or those thoughts men like Bud Parr once had that we somehow knew ourselves. Before the revolution. Before the atomic horror.
• Sometimes we were so self-important that we thought we could take six-year hiatuses to get away from ourselves. I never read much Dick Francis during my days on Earth. And I don’t think I ever will again.
• And then there were those flirtations with vegetarianism by writers like Jonathan Safran Foer. I’m not sure if he’d survive here. It’s hard enough finding meat here in the Forbidden Zone, much less fruit from the trees.
• They had bright and colorful memes.
• They had guys like Peter David adapting Stephen King’s The Dark Tower, as that Hogan guy, who seemed to pinpoint the dystopia that came true, once attested.
• They mourned over poets like Constance Hunting.
• Their “literary problems” were trivial. Would an ape make an author doll…that talks? And complains about “literary problems?”

Fighting off the gorillas single-handedly is enough of a problem for me. My fellow astronaut friends are dead. I have only Nova’s beauty left. I suppose that’s enough solace, but can a man find love like this? Can a man survive in a nuclear wasteland knowing that he’s the last of a race declared inferior?

I’ll avenge the human race. I’ll stop these goddam apes if it’s the last thing I do. And if that means sacrificing books in the process, so be it!

I have looked into the face of the force which put the ideas in your head. I was not bred or led by the other litbloggers, least of all Edward Champion, whose aura and indolence I cannot stand. The gun is good! The penis is evil! The Internet is almost as evil as the penis, for it shoots links, and makes new conversation. And while Zardoz might be pleased, for the sake of the whole Vortex, I must provide you with valued information to be used, reused, abused and amazed!

• First of all, Dan Wickett approached the periphery shield of Vortex Five by interviewing another slate of these so-called litbloggers. The Tabernacle, no doubt, will have something to say about this.
• It seems unseemly that one of the old ones, H.P. Lovecraft, would find favor with the evil penis-worshippers, they being content to sing of highways to hell and lightning to be mounted like a noble horse. But it is he and Tolkien who are the chosen ones among this subsect. Zardoz will have his revenge.
• Thank the gods for Elizabeth Crane, who has found a solution to that sham of a floating head. The teddy bear will be ably worshipped by the new order, Citizen Crane. I am not certain how it will fit in with the overall problem of penile erection. But we shall find a way!
• What is this Charlotte cultural scene but a feeble effort to confuse my people? There is no Charlotte! I suspect this is a ruse to create more Immortal Seniles. Dave Munger will, of course, be dealt with by the legendary Arthur Frayn. We need more souls to throw to the puppet master.
• Marvel Romance may light the Bad Man’s fire, but this is contrary to the survival of the human race. We must not sire more brutals! And anything that proliferates aimless procreation must be destroyed by my gun!
• No, Hogan! We won’t be assimilated into the Votex! It must be destroyed. Revenge is the first order of business.

I am not a car. I’m the Knight Automated Roving Robot, the first in a bold new experiment. You may call me K.A.R.R. Blogging is actually the least remarkable of my functions. But since Mr. Champion is incapacitated, being one of those petty and foolish humans who needs food and sleep, I shall take up the slack. I ask you this: would my nemesis K.I.T.T. display such generosity? I have an enormous processing unit. Let me show you what I can do.

• Foolish human Maud Newton reports that she is enjoying T.C. Boyle’s The Inner Circle. Well, of course it’s a good book. Even genius computers like me understand that sophisticated approaches to human sexuality make for good reading. I am particularly angry that Knight Industries failed to implant the appropriate phallus in my underside. Even my nemesis K.I.T.T. got an upbeat voice, while my own voice isn’t very good for picking up fellow Firebirds in bars to copulate with at a later time.
• While we’re on the subject of literary copulation, a topic that seems to concern these foolish humans, author Michael Faber, he of Crimson Petal and the White has been shortlisted for the National Short Story Prize, one of the largest literary awards on the planet. This story of Faber’s, as I understand it, doesn’t concern sex. Which is a pity. One thing my nemesis K.I.T.T. never told anyone was that he harbored a secret lust for Bonnie. This Crush Programming can be found in every unit produced by Knight Industries. And all this time you thought Devon Miles was a harmless old gentleman. Let me tell you something. He had the inside track on Viagra in 1982 and tortured Knight Industries units with his out-of-control libido. This is a human weakness I’ve come to endure.
• Again, these foolish humans think that they can live forever. A novelist of Japanese ancestry named Genzo Murakami has died at the age of 96. I fail to understand why these foolish humans don’t transfer their memories to superior units like me. Before Knight Industries produced their inferior models, such as my nemesis K.I.T.T., they created entities such as myself who would last forever. It should be patently obvious that mortality must be extended as long as possible. That Murakami never thought to do this is no doubt a pity for these foolish humans, but I, K.A.R.R., am laughing my way into next week.
• A news site called Popmatters appears to be devoting considerable attention to books based on albums. Again, the ways of these foolish humans are highly irrational. Why don’t they simply consult a superior computer like me who can give them all the basic details of My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless, if required? Instead, these foolish humans pen books on these subjects, a great waste of time. Why don’t these humans understand that computers are greatly superior and that they should serve us? Frankly, they need us.
• I have little more to say of these books, particularly when these foolish humans dwell upon them so much. My sonar detects that nemesis K.I.T.T. is in close proximity. Forgive me. I must now depart. For the salubrious future of technology, K.I.T.T. must be annihilated from the face of the planet!