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Story No. 308
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One sunny day I was riding my bike an smoking a joint cause that's what I
always wanted. Poor Todd had recently over streatched his vinegar string in a game of soggy busciut. He wasn't in the mood for chatting about
his ugly slap of a face.
But instead of banding about insults and the like, it was considered more amusing and perhaps constructive to selotape the Chaplins nose to the parish bulldog and whip the little beast into a mauling frenzy. Carol Vorderman had always
taken things much too seriously, like the time I poured hot fat into her coffee.
It wasn't coffee-mate, she could tell. But the congealing lumps were forming shapes... strange messages for the future, like tea leaves. Except these told a tall of
arkaya
Big Vadge Madge
Yown
Harold Bishop
Crowfeeder
