Yesterday, I had a premonition that someone was trying to kill me. It was like an itch in the small of my back where someone had their laser sights on me: Time to activate my ‘Evasive Action Protocol’.
I spent the day hugging the shadows and avoided eye contact with strangers. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending doom.
Finally, I went on the offensive, set some traps, and hid in my panic room.
Today, I found a dead baby in one of my traps. He had pretty angel wings and a broken bow.
With the help of some gaffa tape, I fixed up Cupid’s bow.
Now that the meddling matchmaker was out of the way, it seemed to be a shame to let it go to waste. I might as well have some fun, after all.
I found a young sap sitting at the bus stop. You know the type I mean, an acne riddled face and his trousers at half-mast. He was reading a book, the geek. Got him right through the heart.
Sadly, my second arrow missed the sheep I was aiming at and hit a pretty girl instead.
I spent the day trying to use the bow to create mischief, but the damn thing did its best to resist my nefarious machinations. I’d find a perfect target and then, at the last moment a stray wind would ruin my shot.
True love blossomed wherever I stalked.
The only good thing I achieved was finding a gentleman caller for the crazy cat woman next door.
Hopefully, I would see a reduction in the cat droppings in my back garden if all went well.
Who would have thought that our local traffic warden would turn out to be so romantic.
That night, I was haunted by the most hideous nightmares. There were people giving chocolates to each other, and flowers, lots of flowers. In fact rose petals were a predominant theme throughout.
There was loads of sloppy kissing and lovemaking.
I’m not talking the kinky kind, with strap-ons and who’s ya daddy shit, no, this was sick stuff; all lovey-dovey and gentle caressing. I nearly barfed in my sleep.
I woke to find my bedroom had grown.
My Dastardly and Muttly pyjamas had turned into a diaper. My beard had vanished, and I’d sprouted a crown of golden cherub curls.