Imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color
of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself,
in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts
of Topeka. It's covered with eyes and it sweats
constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes
them sting. It has no mouth, no genitals and can
only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and
infantile desire by changing channels on a universal
remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.

        -- William Gibson