What is this? National Bash the Bishop Week or something? Having only just got over the sight of Scarydog and his night manipulations, I popped into a newsagents in Caversham on the way to work for a pint of milk. In this darkened corner of Hades, I found the proprietor thumbing through a copy of Big Ones International - the magazine for lovers of inflatable mammary glands - with more than a passing interest. In the finest tradition of the journalist's craft, I made my excuses and left.
Then I went back and paid for the milk.
Yesterday, Scaryduckling and I spent some time recreating the infamous Nohands Kitten picture in the comfort of our own home, using only a stuffed fluffy cat, the hall window and a confused Scary Cat. Result: Stupidity.
One Bad Spud
Time to choose tomorrow's Scary story. Golf (may contain traces of arses), Eighteen-ish (teenage drunkeness), Roof (brazen nudity) or any number between one and thirty-two corresponding to an unwritten tale of mirth and woe (which may contain nudity, drunkeness, arses, explosions, or any combination of all four.) Choose-o!