Suspect Beef

Royalties arrived in my inbox and a few clicks later were in my bank and I spent them immediately on a bag of bags of small things to put in my mouth. Thanks for that. A lot of the small things were spicy and/or or or hot. I've got this invisible swamp donkey using the front of my head as its arsehole, which, amongst other things, has caused some tremendous nasal disquiet. The spicy hot small things help to simplify the nostrils and promote a brief feeling of faciocranial justice. The hairs that would usually be creeping out of the conk-holes in order to form, if left un-destroyed, I can only assume, tusks, have relocated to the ear-holes where, against a black background, they resemble forked lightning. I sit in a booth in the weekend clamour outside Pret A Manger and auction off the chance to remove them. This week a guy did it with a roundhouse kick in them shoes that have blades that sching-glint-whoosh out from the toe-end when you tap the heel on the floor. He ate the hairs both at once and sprinted off to another appointment. The four hundred quids he outbid dozens with were donated to victims of poor judgement.