I am writing today's bloggy goodness a day early as, for the first time in eighteen years, moderately large, sweaty old bloke Scary Duck is playing squash. I may not survive, or vital parts of my body may not function correctly for the forseeable future. However, I have enough stuff lined up for the site to function for the next two months without anybody noticing. Rather like this poor chap.
Anyway. Vote-o Thursday. I've been a busy boy this week, what with my demise hanging over me like a big hangy thing, so there are seven Scary stories to choose from, all scoring highy and the mirth-and-woe-o-meter:
Top shelf - mirth, woe
Inflatables - mirth
An inspector calls - woe
Surfing - woe squared
Blarney - mirth, woe
Paul - great mirth
Americans - mirth, woe with extra mirth
Because some of the new stories are shorter than usual (there's a blessed relief), I'll be rather more selective in the words or phrases you may nominate. Chickening out, moi? Choose-o!
Rik wins the copy of Flesh Gordon for his tale of bar-room scat woe. Get in touch with your address, Rik. If you dare. The full text of his story is on my other other blog at Anyone got a Carrot?
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