readherring's Journal

Booksellers without Borders
12 July 1901
Read was born as Redriguez P. Herring to a small family of cartoon fish living in the magical faerie kingdom of Flugh. Flugh was a happy little land, where the streets were lined with gumdrops and chicken franks, bank statements came printed on giant lemon drops, and the local Jai-Alai team hardly ever lost. It was, in fact, the lamest faerie kingdom ever. (Ref: "Annual survey of the worst magical faerie kingdoms", The Economist 1972 Aug 129(7):17-21.)

But ReadHerring didn't stay there long. At the age of three, his family moved to the desert wastelands of suburban Philadelphia, where his father tried to resume his tropical fruit farming business. He failed, but not for the reasons that you might think. In any case, the failure had little effect on young Read, who was enjoying the most normal childhood a cartoon fish could expect in a public school system. He played little league, collected baseball cards, had big, cartoony anvils dropped on his head, and so on. It was all amazingly boring.

At the tender age of 19, Read struck out to explore the world. He started his quest in the far off lands of West Philadelphia, and in the five years of his tumultuous oddesy, had managed to move about 11 blocks north of where he started. But since then he's become a fish of the world, visiting places near and far and then near again.

After a comical calamity involving a dumbwaiter, some shoepeg corn, and author William Gibson, Readherring transformed into a pure machine element - existing and living solely in cyberspace, and occasionally manifesting himself as a LiveJournal thread. To entertain himself, Readherring now likes to pretend he's a cranky mechanical engineer living in Germantown, MD.

Disclaimer: The views expressed here do not reflect the views of my employer, or myself. If you have followed a link to this page, please be advised that I am not who you think I am. The livejournal readherring is a completely fictional account of a made up character. All comments are made up of random words strung together by VA hospital patients with severe neuroses. Anyone reading these comments is not actually reading any meaningful content. Your computer screen is currently displaying an optical illusion that only makes you think that you are reading. In fact, there is no computer in front of you. There's just the cold, dead screen of an unplugged television, shoved in the corner of your forgotten VA hospital ward room. Dinner tonight will be peas, mashed potatos and Jell-o.