... So apparently Robinson Crusoe found a dog on his island. News to me. Huh.

Anyway, I'm a little bit disappointed in the narrative thus far; there've been little nuggets of profundity here and there throughout but they've been separated by at least twenty pages each of long, boring descriptions of his parrot, what objects he's dragged from the ship, and how he's organizing him goddamn corn field. Dunno if authors were being paid by the word yet in 1719, but if not then Defoe's got no friggen excuse. Oi.

On the upside, he's not as much of a jerk as he appeared to be at first, so at least I'm not getting "Catcher-in-the-Rye" syndrome from the thing. I'm just really... really.. bored. Oh well. Paradise Lost, where are you?