, , , , , ,

Read the Instructions

Bastards! Smug, sanctimonious, self-satisfied creepettes! (We told you so; EdZilla et al. Still, the Salade Nicoise was very good) [Especially since you screwed up the langoustine so spectacularly. Ermintrude] I thought the bloody things (he means the delicious langoustine. EdZ) were meant to be cooked from frozen! (Guess who forgot to read the instructions? EdZ) (Yes; several of his exes have all said that. Valkerie) Bugger off! Ingrates! (Oh no; we wouldn’t have missed it for the world. EdZ) In fact they required to be defrosted before cooking. Of course, The Coven bandy it about all over the place as further confirmation of just what an utter twat I am. (The truth always hurts. EdZ)

Late Cancellation

Mercifully, Valkerie had to cry off. Apparently around this time of year one of her mates, ‘Brunhilda‘, blows in, and they spend the entire weekend trashing Edinburgh, or whichever centre of civilisation has drawn the short straw. I still don’t know where they bury the bodies. Anyway. The feast was A N Other huge success, despite the tiny matter of the languishing langoustine. The turkey went down a treat. Even unto the mashed tatties, which were actually very good. (You patronising bastard! EdZ) For a woman. [This could be the longest suicide note in history. Ermintrude] Just keep taking the monkey glands kids. (Have you ever noticed how brave he is when he’s on the computer? EdZ) [Then blames the Male Chauvinist Pig rubbish on ‘operator error’. Ermintrude.] Forget it, Sisters!

A Meeting of Maenads

I never said they shouldn’t have the vote! Well, maybe one or two – gazillion! (Just keep it up. EdZ) [Funny, that’s just what his last girlfriend said, too.] Silence! I merely pass on to my avid and discerning readership (or at least their nursing staff. EdZ) what Bronco came out with during Din Dins. Being a BML – Big Mad Lezzie – (She’s gonna kill you! EdZ) [Please. There’s a queue. Ermintrude] the wee thing is looking for a soul mate; albeit one with big hooters and Doc Martens. So she’s only gone and signed up to some mad web-s(h)ite to find Mz Right. (Whereas you just cruise night classes. EdZ) Quiet! But it gets better; or worserer depending on one’s view of Femina FeatherBrainica. This one matches up victims by applying a formula based on a combination of your post-code, date of birth, and inside leg measurement. Bizarre or what? (Whereas you match up your victims with a combination of gin and tonics and furtive gropes. EdZ) They are not ‘furtive gropes’! Apparently she’s got lined up with a sergeant down south, whose hobbies are embroidery and mud-wrestling. Presumably the next instalment will be entitled ‘Bronco meets the Snog Monster.’

Mac, my long-suffering publisher, has been advised by The Coven to get me to sign as many copies of my books as possible; since they’re bound to go up in value after my untimely death. Eh? But I feel fine. (Heh, heh, heh. The Coven) Penis envy probably.