I sit at a desk and fondle my castanets.
Shall I dazzle EE with a tale about a mermaid, rescued from an undersea prison by a couple of cartoon oysters?
Or maybe a yarn about a matching pair of Welsh Love Spoons whose handles were lost in the Maelstrom of Llapgooley?
Or what about a sci-fi epic with two warring galaxies united by the twin cords of rhyme and reason?
I look up at EE. I’m the only one here so I’d better make this special. But what would he like? This fat old curmudgeon with the weirdest facial hair on the planet?
It was a dark and stormy ni
No. That’s been done to death.
But not with castanets.
Castanets raged on a dark and st
No. That’s bollocks.
EE’s taken a book out, so I lean over the desk, scanning the blurry title for inspiration — but even Novel Deviations 3 would have been preferable to Taming Your Hamster The Springsteen Way. Who knew?
The hamsters steered their coracles down the riv
Is that what you do with coracles? And which hamsters, anyway?
Pouchy and Mange paddled
No. This is disappearing up it’s own arse.
I look at EE again. What is it with the guy anyway? Sure, he knows his stuff and all that, but look at him! He’s like a taxi driver in an ill-fitting fancy dress costume.
The coffee lady arrives with coffee. And now I get his secret. When he smiles at her, perspiration rises from her face in wisps and hairs burst from her tights with the zip of a vibrator.
Clutching an ample-breasted senorita in his arms, the rugged matador leapt from bull to bull as the enraged herd trampled through Pamplona’s sun-kissed streets