Tuesday, October 13th, 2026

INCIDENT REPORT, filed from under the heat lamp. So. I brought a keg of Guinness from Dublin to John Collison's podcast, because the show is called Cheeky Pint and I read the brief. Nobody briefed the beer, which arrived at four degrees Celsius, the temperature at which my species stops moving.

The clip shows me holding the stout in my mouth while I determined which of my stomachs it was for. Two billion humans watched a 2,500-year-old reptile meet a pint and concluded I was "pretending to be human," which is correct, and which they posted as a joke, which is why it was safe. I replied, "That's just my face."

That is the most accurate statement I have made in public since 2004.

Alex drank his, because Alex is twenty-nine and his organs are still under warranty.

Later in the episode I told John that before we committed the hundred or two hundred billion, I turned to Alex and asked whether it was going to work. The humans heard humility. In two and a half millennia I had never asked a mammal a question whose answer I did not already own, and the sensation was identical to the Guinness: cold, dark, held in the mouth, going nowhere.

Priscilla, reviewing the footage: "You could have just swallowed." I have logged the hesitation as due diligence, and the keg as capital expenditure. Thermal status four degrees and holding; entry classified: that is just my face.