The 'Why Haven't You Bought My Book Yet?' Thursday Vote-o

The 'Why Haven't You Bought My Book Yet?' Thursday Vote-o

You don't think I'm pushing this book business too far, by any chance? So far as to *gulp* join MySpace? I'm not, you say? Excellent! Then we shall continue with the Thursday vote-o.

I appear to have picked up a few new readers this week, so the explanation is this: every Friday I publish a new completely and utterly true Tale of Mirth and Woe, which being not only true, is also guaranteed to contain at least 170 micro-Grouchos of mirth and the European Union standard 15 mega-Thatchers of woe.

Your task, on this glorious day, is to vote on the available stories in my "Spicy Brains" section, and the most popular story is published. Unless, of course, I decide to teach you all a lesson on the flawed nature of democracy and publish the one I like the most, but life's a bastard like that.

Do not allow the vote-o quote-os sway your decision. They are, as nobody ever realises, mere decoration, and this week provid'd by myne goode friende ye not'd diaryst Samuel Pepys.

* Venice: We disembark'd at this foule-smelliyng citye, and Newton and I wast'd no time in availynge ourselves of a comely pair of sailors, who I feare have split me arse to tytte. Mrs Pepys spent a charmynge day at the glass factories. She tells me she is fair exhaust'd at the amount of blowynge she has experiencd'd today! 'Ye trycke is to suck & work the end' she says. It is gratifyinge to see her take intereste in suche a demandynge craft.

* Still Ill: Upbetimes, but soon return'd to my bed as my Johnson is swollen to the size of a donkey's member, & I am greatly fever'd. That will most certainly teach me for spending my last groat on Poxy Pauline, ye Shoreditch Slatterne.

* Milky Milky: Up betimes & to Newton's rooms, where heis carrynge out his latest experimente in ye name of scientic discovery re the properties of cows. Catcynge him unawares, I fynde him on his backe, engorg'd member in hand, closely studynge a number of woodcuts of udders. I fear his studies are not bas'd on the best of intentions, and he may have piss'd his grant from ye Royal Society up ye wall. As usual.

* The Drugs Do Work: To the Royal Society to enquire over the sanity of myne former friend and bovine pervert Newton, only to meet an acquaint'nce in Captain Nicholls. He has return'd from ye Indies with his latest discoverie, which he has nam'd 'Skunke', & hopes will rival tobacco in popular usage. I am offe myne face as I wryte this, if onlye ye face-eatynge goblins will leave me in peace.

* A Terrible Cult: After smokynge ye last of Nicholl's 'Skunke', myne goode friende Newton and I did feast greatly on her hairye mynge, but I loste ye toss and h'd to settle for sloppye secondes. Our interrogation of the deadfulle harlot over, we hand'd her over to ye watch & we warm'd our bones as she burn'd at ye stake.

Vote! Vote me up!