Welcome back to the home of the oxymoron. Evil genius. He asked the newspaper to print his obituary early so he'd enjoy it. That's like hiding at your own funeral. Yeah, it's a big, great gig. I'm Russell Kane. Join me to weigh in on whether the biggest players in history are more evil or genius. Becoming that rich, I'd say that at some level of genius. It also helps that it's a long time ago, right?

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When someone who has the apparent vanity to refer to themselves as a philosopher

approaches you and tells you that he'd like you to embark

with him on a phenomenological investigation, you'd be forgiven for thinking that you've entered

a second-rate episode of Doctor Who.

Although I have no phone box to whisk you a way in, I hope you'll nevertheless lend me your

imagination for a few moments.

Indeed, at the moment, I need to borrow your imaginations because mine is occupied in that well-known public speaking technique of imagining you all naked, and a fine-looking bunch of people you are too.

However, today you get to turn the tables on me, since in our investigation, I'd like you to imagine me, in the shower, naked.

Yet, before our investigation gets too racy, I've actually just

finished my shower and having fatefully forgotten to bring a towel with me, I embark on a swift

naked dash to the bedroom where clothing awaits me. Yet, to my horror, mid-sprint, I'm caught in the

hallway by a pair of penetrating eyes.

My sprint has been rumbled, yet it's not that I turn red with embarrassment.

It's not even that I scream out in shock and cover my modesty with some conveniently shaped bric-a-brac,

as if this was a Hugh Grant film.

...