In the kitchen, where I usually do the 'running man' dance move, naked, with a tin of baked beans in each hand for exactly 32 minutes, I felt that something was wrong. I walked over to my hollowed-out watermelon called Dave and rolled it across the floor so it might attract to what ever dangerous scenario I was sensing. Dave the hollowed-out watermelon stopped at the foot of my decaying uncle Barry who was still attached to the windmill blades of my oversized, novelty Abraham Lincoln statue that I stole from a Crazy Golf course. In decaying uncle Barry's hand, there was a note reading "I've never been that good at Sports. The only time I heard about Tennis was when I saw somebody trying to mime the word 'homosexual' in a game of Charades.' This meant only one thing, to live inside a broken Meat Grinder - which I did. There I became the ruler of all of the pulsating pustules of minced meat that resided within the confines of my new kingdom, who bowed down to my divine, Cheesy Finger. I also became I Squillionaire when I invented a pair of lemon-scented Panty Girdles. With this money, I invested in a prosthetic head and changed my name to Mavis Pumpernickel. Due to my new identity, I was able to escape the overwhelming realities of the Meat Grinder and live a new life in Helsinki, where I now appear in low-budget elbow fetish porn films and bend spoons whilst frying cheesecakes for Islamic Necrophiliacs. The best part is, decaying uncle Barry has some new friends.
I like kites.