Fit the Fifty

I'm a statuette. If you ever care to see my ears, now's the time. Whenceforth poppings will be undertaken with considerable care, not to mention flair, and I will, as per, be sitting a statuette and listening a hawk. Don't listen to foreign reports. Don't haste your minds. It's not true. I'm stationary. I'm here. See?

Maxed On

Who's tied me to a log? If I'm not released soon, I'll have blade you all farewell. Someone must pop along and ink the quota, else the quota will be sunk. To call a spade a pair of surgeons' scissors is inconsequential, but nonetheless vital. Oh goth, I am off.

G'mornin', My Sweet Swivel Cat

Fancy seeing you here. I've just been out trimming the edges. But rather than a one-sided telephone conversation where I essentially repeat everything you say with a question mark, I shall instead fax you this here letter. Dear Madam/Sir. My name is not important. The hole I've dug is mighty comfy. Won't you join me?

Irving and the Bumps

Evidently I've been a tad incapacitated of late, but the fault doesn't fall entirely on my wee shoulders. I can blame age, for starters. Sure, it chugs just enough to get to the office, but sitting on that side of the press feels wrong, and inspiration is sapped from tip to route. That said, I must confess to having a good deal of alternatives at my disposal aside from that. But that's all cats and dogs. At least I'm sinking my teeth into this para.

Did I mention I sleep on a pile of boulders?

A Thin Sheet of Love

You know why people always make jokes about Tom Cruise? Because he makes everyone gag!

Ben and Harry's Sexual Awakening

It's not everyday I wake up with a humbug underneath my pillow — in fact today is the only time it has happened. A little black and white striped one. Unfortunately it had accumulated a rich layer of fur from the bed sheets, so eating it was firmly out of the question — firmer still after I accidentally sneezed on it. So I instead placed it on a bread and butter tray and carefully scrutinised it. It looked top-shelf. What sort of person breaks into someone's house at night to place a quality black and white striped humbug underneath their pillow? An odd one, that's for sure. And did I know any odd people? Well, put simply, no. I didn't know any normal people, either. I didn't know anyone. Right now (and then), it's just me and my humbug. But I'm not here to whinge; I'm here to wonder.

It occurred to me that a private detective might be useful, so I telephoned Aaaaaabcorp for a quote. The quote was ridiculous — $100 a day — and not particularly memorable, so I shelved that idea in favour of do-it-yourself. In the end, this may have been the wrong move, as to this day (well, I'm still in the same day), I'm still no closer to finding this humbug fiend. But what does it matter? Nothing was stolen, no one was hurt, and I have a humbug. If anything, I should be thankful that it happened. Still, no matter which way you look at it, it is mighty odd.

Anyway, just thought you'd like to know. I'll be off now.