Cowboys, they're a bunch of cowboys...

Well, it would certainly be a talking point, I thought to myself. Of course, a new radiator shouldn't be a talking point in a normal house, and I lacked the balls or artistic talent to pull off a radical interior decoration such as this. I shall explain: Last week, I noticed my radiator wasn't heating up of an evening. I tried various repair techniques - mainly poking it with cutlery - but, to no avail. Later that day, it began making strange clunking noises, and a strange, green liquid started to leak out. This liquid, obviously acid in nature, melted through my radiator in a matter of seconds, and took out a large section of floor as well. Now, not only was I cold, but the tramps locked in my basement were able to escape.
 So, early the next day, I phoned a firm of travelling radiator salesman and fitters, whom had come highly recommended by several friends, colleagues and the Duke of Northumberland. They arrived two days later, and surveyed the wall (newly repaired with duct tape), nodded wisely, and told me they had the right radiator in stock, and could fit it the next day. This seemed good, and I agreed - they would come round middayish, and fit the radiator.
 Midday arrived, and so did they, promptly and ready to work. Happily pleased, I popped out to the shop for a few minutes. I returned, 7 hours later, from one of my zany adventures, to find the workmen gone. Expecting some high-quality work, I entered my hallway.
 Well, the radiator works. It does the job it's name describes admirably - leaking gamma radiation all through my house. The mice have mutated to giant sizes, their swelled craniums barely holding in the expanded minds that grant them psychic powers. As for me, I'm fine. Unless you make me angry - you wouldn't like me if I got angry.
 I doubt you like me now...