The usual travesty of democracy
Once again, Thursday comes round, and I ask you, dear reader, what story you fancy for the Friday Scary Story. Then I pick the one I want and flee toward the weekend flipping you all a v-sign. Tough love, that’s what it is. Vote, then, for this week’s fine selection of Bird Flu-riddled excellence, one of which contains copious vomit and references to HP Lovecraft, while another is absolutely nothing to do with its rather misleading title.
As usual, the excerpts bear no relation to the actual stories. Not that you’re listening. I might as well be exposing myself in public for all you lot care. And I am. Look outside.
* Donkey - “He once bummed a man so hard, dogs appeared, which he then bummed. It was, he recalled, the moment when things started getting out of hand.”
* The Breakfast Club – “It was during his explanation of the Duckworth-Lewis method that he suddenly realised where he’d seen his mother-in-law before. Readers Wives, January 1987, Julie from Somerset.”
* The Eyes have it – “It was as the last wrappings fell away from his birthday present, he knew he shouldn’t have bought granny the 12-inch Monster Kong Intruder last Christmas”
* Pole-Dancing – “Dear Jim’ll Fix It, Could you Fix It for me to stroke the inner thigh of Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe while Princess Anne is forced to watch? Yours, Bobby Rubbish.” And there, on his doormat, was a letter from the BBC.