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, 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 is some level of genius. It also helps

it. It's a long time ago, right? It's like the podcast version of telling your kids the ice cream

van plays music when it's out of ice cream. Listen to evil genius on BBC Sounds.

Hello, thrill seekers. If you know us on free thinking, then you'll know that one of our

missions is to push the pleasures of modernism,

like the man who waits outside school with funny cigarettes.

In the past, we've done shows on several of the Mahusive books that sometimes people know about,

but are too scared to open, like Marcel Proust's in Search of Lost Time,

and Robert Mooseill's,

The Man Without Qualities. Well, on this programme, we're going to supply you with something

pure cut from the highest of high modernist texts, and I've got three people here buzzing with

it, and one of them is now going to give us a bit, just a taste. Do it, Ms. McBride. Big Master Finnegan of the

stuttering hand, Freeman's Maurer, lived in the broadest way immarginable, in his rush-lit

too far back for mesvages before Joshua and judges had given us numbers, or Helveticus

committed Euteronomy. One yeasty day he sternly struck his tete in a tub for to watch the future of his fates. But ere he swiftly stuck it out again, by the might of Moses the very water was eviparated, and all the Gennises had met their exodus, so that ought to show you what a penchant-duty chap he was. And during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edifices in toper's thorp piled

bilung, supra-bildung, upon the banks for the livers by the Soang-Soe. Yad a little Fiffy Annie, hugged the little crater, with her hair in hands, tuck up your part in her. oft while babulous, mither ahead, with goodly trowl in grasp and ivor-oiled overalls, which he habitually

fancied. Like Harun Childeric Egerberth, he would colligulate by multiplicables the altitude and

multitude, until he seesaw by neat light of the liquor where twinned was born, his round-head

staple of other days to rise in undress masonry upstanded joy granted

a wall worth of a skier scarescape

of most eyeful hoythened towerly

originating from next to nothing

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