Last time we saw a foetus and heard the thumpathumpathumpa. They said, “Congratulations!” They gave us a blurry black and white photograph. We couldn’t make head or tail of it, but we displayed it proudly. The first picture of our baby!
This time the midwife didn’t print us a photograph. Perhaps she should have. We saw the vacant foetal sack; the withered embryonic stem. Our second child was there. It hadn’t gone anywhere. It just stopped growing.
Later our baby was born in a gush of clots and chunks and bits. How careless of us! We lost it down the toilet.
“This time, decide to lose weight for the last time,” the sign said. I went in to see what it was all about.
Rows of collapsible chairs were laid out in front of a stage. On the stage a selection of dumbbells and barbells. I took a seat.
An elderly lady walked on the stage, welcomed us, and said, “We have a really special treat arranged for you. Hope you’ll enjoy watching!”
Pulleys and thick cables lowered a large concrete block, suspending it just above the woman’s head.
The audience inhaled as one. Then silence. Except the cable creaking.
Five people were injured when a man, wearing a mask fashioned from the front page of News of the World’s last edition, started hacking phones with a machete.
All five people were carrying their phones at the time.
The attacker focused his assault on the mobile phones, allowing victims to flee the scene when they dropped their phones.
During the attack the machete-wielding man shouted, “I’ll show you what phone-hacking really is, you idiots! This is hacking! That other crap is cracking! Cracking you ignorant morons!”
The injured were treated for deep cuts to the head, hands, trouser pockets, and handbags.
It is late. I am tired.
Snails and frogs talk about Marmite as I wait for inspiration, eyelids heavy.
They really do. I can’t make anything up right now, so don’t assume I made that up.
These days, Marmite gives me indigestion. Its yeasty bite is cruel.
The apathy is strong at this time. Somehow I am determined not to miss this deadline.
This pointless deadline.
But if I can still meet it, it is a small achievement. A small goal met.
Do lots of small goals make a large goal?
I want to think so.
I don’t think so.
Susie Baker shook her head in disgust.
Five steak pies were missing. She had just put them on the shelf, but all that remained were crisp brown flakes.
The previous time it happened she caught a glimpse of their little black caps, eye-patches, and tiny cutlasses. They carried a small wooden chest, pastry poking out the side, as they rushed around the corner out of sight.
No-one believed her story.
Just then a mince pie was pushed to the floor, revealing a Pie-Rat. It hissed, cutlass-incisor bared. Susie backed away as the other Pie-Rats rushed in and claimed the fallen pie.
Crowbar splinters wood. A puff of dust sparkles in the murky beams of sunlight flowing into the musty warehouse.
Mario takes something from the crate and shows it to his captive.
“Whatcha doing with my shipment, Seymour?”
Seymour fidgets against his restraints.
“I never seen that before.”
“Oh yeah? I heard your water-cooler had no cups, and your manager was getting real thirsty.
“People had to use coffee mugs, but not everybody had one. Fighting over mugs. Mugs getting broken. Heard it was real bad.”
“You best pay up or…”
Mario slowly crumples the plastic cup in his hand.
Jones peers through the reactor view-port.
Yip. Snarl. Scratch.
They would not go in themselves. The high-pressure hose was the only way.
The clingy damp-dog smell still permeates the room, despite the reactor being sealed.
Jones checks the system controls, and opens the inlet valve to the FPR. Air blasts into the chamber. The poodles levitate and bob.
Too little air — no pleasing canine aesthetic. Too much air and the FPR suffers poodle loss.
Loose fur wafts from the canines and builds up at the gas outlet. The outlet is blocked and pressure is building.
Jones should have used freshly-groomed poodles.
Ready for Discard
Prospectors and explorers embark on expeditions to the known sources of rich human resource deposits. These deposits are concentrated in the best schools and universities.
Once the prime resources are identified, resource exploitation commences.
This usually starts with the Bursary or Scholarship method of extraction, thus securing the resource for further processing.
Once a resource is secured, it is beneficiated to generate profits for the corporation. The resource is worked relentlessly for 40 years until all value is extracted, leaving only a hollow husk.
The final step is waste disposal, where the depleted human resource is discarded.
Look at Kiká, hopping about. That’s the end of his career. The top footballers just don’t last very long these days. I suppose he can’t keep playing with his leg transformed into a dissipating mist of dirt and red spray.
The Mystery Landmine Rule. The Sniper Rule. New regulations introduced to try to spice up the sport a little. It’s a wonder they still bother with the ball. Nostalgia perhaps?
The rule changes were controversial, but everyone agreed on this positive outcome: When you see a player rolling around clutching at his leg, he has a good reason for it.
Not any more. No planning approval for you!
The findings of our Environmental Impact Assessment into the Damned Souls Containment Facility Project do not support the project for the following reasons:
- High temperatures required by the facility to optimally punish the damned cannot be contained safely for the duration of the life of the facility — i.e. eternity
- Risk of the facility experiencing an integrity-breach during its life is high
- Consequences of that event are catastrophic
- Demonspawn and Hellfire loose in the Realm of Man cannot be mitigated against
Alternatives to the damned soul and sin problems must be found. We recommend further research into the more sustainable soul-recycling method.