A grave mistake…

5 10 2008

A grave mistake...

Matron’s a fanatical murderer.  Last week, for example, just to keep up with her insatiable bloodlust, she managed to work her way through an entire agency’s worth of secretary temps.  I needed some creative thinking to persuade the agency to send some more after the 37th failed to hand in her timesheet.  I don’t think my story of there being a giant secretary magnet hovering over the country plucking secretarys from the streets (and that they were at their safest at the institution where we have a strict no giant magnet flight zone in force), was totally convincing.  The promise to Boris of a night with Brad Pitt was a useful bribe that kept the rouse going longer than ordinarrily possible, though.

Still…with murder comes body disposal. 

Luckily for Matron I’m adept with shovels, acid, hungry pigs, DNA alteration and hacking into Police networks to modify their so called “evidence”.  It took me a while to get good at this stuff, so some of my early attempts, circa November 1938, were somewhat shambolic.  Take this for example.  I left a huge clue to all the authorities that I’d buried the fruits of Matron’s foolish behaviour.  At least, that’s what I think I buried there.  It’s been a while.

So I decided to take a peek.  There’s no harm in peeking right?

At first it was all pretty normal.  I excavated through the usual bones, teeth, spoons and amulets of ancient and ungodly power.  Then I found something really intriguing.  It had an eery mysterious glow and it smelt of wasps.  The light danced across its surface and it was dispensing weak lemon drink into a small cup that never seemed to overflow or run dry.  Then it began singing a melody of such enchanting beauty that I was powerless but to lick it furiously. 

A few hours later I was aware that my tongue had swollen to the size of my left foot – which was just as well as my left foot appeared to have gone.  As had my right elbow, though strangely my right hand was right where it should be.

It was ace.

But when I lost awareness of my eyebrows I knew I was sinking into trouble.  But I couldn’t stop licking.  The melody was washing over me in waves of surrealness that compelled me to lick.  I could feel my life ebbing away from me.

 

A pain.

 

A stinging pain at the back of my head.

 

Then nothing.

 

Nothing at all.

 

 

I awoke in my cell.  Matron was there.  And so was all of my body.  In fact, my body had been augmented by a large shovel shaped bump on the back of my head.  Matron explained.  I should never had tried to regain my foolishness by unearthing what I had stowed years before.  Matron, it would seem, had taken appropriate action to free me from my folly and save my life.

But damn.

I had found an eternal source of weak lemon drink and it was cruelly taken from me. 

 

I guess my quest continues…





Not without its problems…

23 09 2008

More, more and a bit more. It's only wafer thin...

With 1,337,000 tins of Spork failing to sell, I was left with a predicament.  I could feed them to the snails, eat them myself, or use them as weaponry in my ongoing battle with the guy that smells of Marzipan in room 9.1b. 

As tempting as it is to put one over on the little guy with a surprise Spork related attack, he’s too easy to maim with far less valuable artillery.  Now the snails… they’re tempting.  You might think snails wouldn’t go for a meaty product like Spork, but the snails here are feisty and have been known to take down a cow if they get looked at a bit funny.  This one time, when Matron was hosting cow camp, 13 cows were slimed to death when the annual “Do your best Zoolander impression” contest turned ugly.  So anyway, whilst the snails could be fine recipients for my Spork, I didn’t really fancy encouraging their meat lust.  So that left me with just one option… I’d just have to eat them all myself.

Tin one went well.  I marvelled at the exquisite flavour.  My last minute decision to omit the Marmite was possibly my finest, though I did begin to question my sanity over the inclusion instead of the maggots.  No wait.  I definitely didn’t put any maggots in.  I remember now.  That is after all why I sing my maggot song everyday, reminding me not to put maggots in my food.  Hmmm.  Most odd.  Oh well.  Just more meat I guess. 

Tin two was less pleasing.  I was getting a real wriggly sensation in my stomach.

Tin three and my head was getting all spinny.

Tin four, someone was at the door.

It was Matron.

She didn’t look happy.  She took one look at my pile of tins and the maggot encrusted Spork around my mouth and she ordered me to head straight for room 102. 

I was to stop my stupid ways.  I was to embrace the way of the chocolate.  I was to lick it, lather it and digest it.  I was to consume vast quantities for her pleasure.

And so it began again.

I may never get to deplete my Spork mountain.

One day… one day.  So help me Gosh, one day.