Kitchen. I'm in one. There, you've got your setting. What else do you want, blood?

Kevin. If he was really little.

Image via Wikipedia

It's wet outside. Sitting in the kitchen, drinking some tea, I reflected on that. You may think it's boring, but they were my thoughts, and you have no claim over them. If you're so upset, why not fuck off, back to your fascist thought factories, you scum.
 "Anyway, now I've insulted my readers, I can move on at last." I quipped smugly.
 "Yes. That is often the way" Kevin the snail replied.
I wondered, briefly, why he was now living in my house. I wasn't surprised though - whenever I meet any character with certain odd traits, they seem to move into my house. I guess its the same for everyone, yes?
 "Do you have anything profound to say?" I asked Kevin over my refreshing peppermint tea.
 "No." He replied. "I'm feeling a little under the weather, to be honest."
I nodded.

Kevin was right, of course. High above him, the weather continued to do its thing. I was despondent though - between us, we had nothing intelligent to say. And that severely damaged my ability to be pretentious.

The fog machine had gone, so had the whore. It seemed logical to assume one had stolen the other, so I assumed that was what had happened. Max, tired of his role-playing, had resorted to a superficially-similar subject; that of board games. Right now, he was in the basement, modifying his set of Monopoly. I still don't know why he always uses my house for his stupid antics, he's got a perfectly adequate house of his own, even if it lacks in walls and ceilings. But whatever...

 I settled back into my comfortable armchair. Ah, this was relaxing. Max hadn't disturbed me for a while, and I looked like I could drink some tea in peace and watch the news. For dramatic effect, I took a large mouthful of the aforementioned tea. Then, cheeks bulging, I paused as a thought occurred to me. "Modifying the Monopoly" he'd said. And he'd taken a lot of wires and crocodile clips. But no, that wasn't what was worrying me entirely, and the tea just dribbled inefficiently down my chin. Shrugging, I sank back into the chair and once again hamstered my mouth with boiling water. Then, it hit me. Tea sprayed from my mouth, covering the television, embracing and drowning pictures on the wall, dripping like the blood from a cosh, recently used to knock out an elderly man. Dripping like the blood from a cosh recently used to knock out an elderly man like the one Max had dragged into the basement.
 Rushing downstairs, I found a scene of unexplainable horror. Indeed, if I were to explain it, I would say Max had gone back to role-playing. But he was playing the role of GOD! Strapped to a chair in the middle of my basement, the elderly man. A pale moustache the only substantial hair on his head, he struggled to keep his head up and his consciousness conscious. "Urrgh!" He moaned crucially at me. Nearby, Max. Hunched manically over a sewing machine, he created. A suit. Trousers. Nearby, a top hat stood to attention, waiting for the right time. Nearby slightly less near, a dazed dog, a boat, a double-decker bus.
 Waiting, frozen, I saw Max make Mr. Monopoly in front of me. Taking his semi-macabre figures, he wandered over to a giant Monopoly board set up in the corner of my basement. Laughing an insane laugh, he produced giant dice.
 "Want to go first?"

A Theological Tale.

I sat, cross-legged, and watched as the trees around me burned.
"Your garden's on fire." I offered.
"Yes." God replied, "Eden is burning."
He was a lot shorter than you'd imagine. Around the 4-foot mark, I suppose. He cut a dashing figure in his beige suit, black shirt unbuttoned down to his chest. He was sporting a small goatee, and his dark hair was styled stylishly. However, I could see his roots and he was obviously dyeing it.
I cast my glaze across the garden again.
"So... Still annoyed about that "Original Sin' thing?"
"Yes. They were both my children you know. I can't believe people think I'm annoyed about the fruit.
"They really shouldn't have had sex. Allegorical genetics show you're really very inbred."
"Yes," I replied. "That would explain the webbed toes. But you know... It was a long time ago, why not let it go?"
"You forget," God replied. "I'm very old. And old people like to hold on grudges. Even if they don't entirely remember why."
"Yes, they do. And they also like to watch Countdown with a nice cup of tea, don't they? Let's get you inside now."
I led God towards the patio door. One of the staff members met me there.
"Thanks for visiting Mr Jenkins like this. Your little visits are the highlight of his week."
I smiled politely, and looked on as she took God into the TV room. I have no idea who Mr Jenkins is, but I'm glad I could help him. I watched until I was satisfied that God was seated comfortably and nibbling a digestive. Then I went to fetch a fire extinguisher.

Canvasing for votes.

The doorbell rang again. What a bloody nuisance that was turning into. Of course, i could take the door away all together, but tramps might start living in the washing machine again. So, with a sigh and a heavy heart, i went to receive my visitors.

"Good day Sir, and what a lovely one it is!"
I looked at the two men standing on my doorstep. The first - the speaker - was a heavyset, suited skin-headed man who looked about at home in a suit as a tomato in fruit salad. He seemed slightly ill-at-ease with his speech, and as he continued, he tried to subtly check some prompt cards hidden in his left hand.
"British Summer aye, you can't beat them! But you know what would make them better? If there were less brown people about, of course!"
"Nein!" Interrupted the second man, moustache a-bristling, "Warn him about ze Jews"
I looked at the second man. he stood at 5'9", was attempting a comb-over, and looked about 119 years old. There was something familiar about him, but i couldn't place it.
"In a minute," the talked whispered. "We'll ease him in.
" Harry 'Smasher' Sedcolm, your local BNP candidate" he introduced himself, giving an almost toothless smile. He handed me some badly written paraphernalia about how my daughter was 150% more likely to be raped by a Muslim. It didn't explain what this was compaired to however.
I invited them in for tea, but they didn't stay long. The older one stole all of the biscuits, and attempted to annex the living room. He was funny, I hope they call again.

Of course, that was fiction. Suggesting the BNP are in any way a racist party who would support Hitler's anti-semitism is as ridiculous as denying the Holocaust...