Come Over Here Boy, Have A Cigar.

He knows. He knows I'm looking for him. Last night I heard that distinctive tune and in the morning I awoke, assuming it was all a dream, only to find this on my bedside table.

What does it mean? Is he warning me off or gaoding me on? Toying with me perhaps as if to say I can get you anytime I want but you'll never find me. He is an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, inserted up the arse of uncertainty and pulled into the trousers of implausability. BUM-BUM-BUM.