I was wet, and dressed as a women. It had not been a good night.
After a few minutes, an elderly man wearing a crown, dressing gown and slippers opened the door.
"Hello. I am a real Princess."
He looked at me somewhat dubiously, but let me in anyway. He told me I could stay the night, and his wife set off to prepare a room for me.
The room was, to be fair, rather nice. It had a quaint, old-world charm to it. The bed, however, left something to be desired. It seemed to be made of twenty mattresses, and then twenty feather beds on top of the mattresses. However, I slept the night there.
In the morning, The King and Queen asked how I slept.
"Oh terribly bad!"I replied, in my best Princess voice. "I have hardly closed my eyes the whole night! Heaven knows what was in the bed. I seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and my whole body is black and blue this morning. It is terrible!"
They seemed delighted. Apparently, the old bitch had hidden a pea under my mattresses when she prepared the room. Feeling it through the bed meant I had the delicate skin of a real Princess. Before I could voice my displeasure, they attempted to force me into marriage with their son.
No-one makes a fool of me with legumes. I killed them all, and burned the mattresses.
Now this is a true story.

I met Doctor Dolittle today. He tells me he is glad that no-one else can talk to animals. We wouldn't like what the bears have to say.
He's probably right. What they do in the woods in bad enough.

Find a penny...

I found a penny and picked it up.
I did not have good luck. In fact, I had a cut on my finger, and caught something from the penny. I'm going to die now, but it's probably for the best.
For the rest of my days, I aim to eradicate rhymes. They are a cancer on our society, corrupting our youth and stealing our jobs.

"Hey! We should get married!"
I looked at her across the table. Truth be told, I wasn't too keen on the idea. I didn't agree with marriage on principle anyway, and I couldn't really imagine spending my life with her.
"That's a big step."
"Yea, maybe it's too soon. Lets do something though. We never seem to do anything. When I first met you, you seemed so full of life. You came into the cafe like you owned the place, ordered a coffee. Remember, I said it looked like rain, and you said 'I don't care, I've got a hat!'
But now, you just sit around looking bored."
"Look..." I examined her name-badge, "Mary-Lou... I'm sorry, I just came in for a coffee. We barely know each other."
"How can you say that! After all we've been through - remember when I brought you that menu? It meant something to you then."
"I'm sorry... This isn't working."
I continued to apologise politely, but I was starting to panic. Fortunately, I could the manager's eye, and he made my coffee to go. I escaped onto the street, glad to be out of that place. I'd wasted 6 minutes of my life on her, and I wouldn't waste another second.
Looking back though, I know she was right.
It looks like rain.

Coal. Image via Wikipedia In my more insane moments, I entertain a paranoid fantasy that Al-Qaeda are out to get me. I know that the notion is insane - I have no intention of joining a Christian-Jewish conspiracy to destroy Islam. Singling me out specially would seem to be a huge waste of resources on their part, I know, but this does not help dispel the worry.
During my last episode, I became convinced that Al-Qaeda operatives were in place outside my house. I barricaded the doors, and promptly built myself a coal shelter to hide in. However, the extensive subterranean work required to build my coal bunker took several months, and severely weakened the structural integrity of my house. By the time I had finished working on the coal bunker, my fear had passed. I filled the bunker with coal, and got on with my life.
My house has now collapsed into the gaping crevasse that previously housed my coal. The men who inspected it say there was no sign of terrorist activities: Instead, they blame me for digging underneath the foundations.
I know better though. I think they're in on the conspiracy. I think everyone is.
Fortunately, I'm feeling a lot less paranoid these days.

I bought the Daily Mail today. Unsurprisingly, it tasted like cow vomit, even with the addition of salt and vinegar.
However, the coupons made for a few minutes amusement. I like to cut them out and glue them to immigrants. I think the Mail would be proud.

Unlike anything else here, this story is a work of fiction. Please, please, please don't go 'round thinking I buy the Daily Mail. Or even the Mail on Sunday. Is it worth whoring your values for £10 off things you don't buy at Tesco? You tell me...

Truth be told, this isn't the best medium to tell you about my superhero team. It should be a comic, or at the least, a badly adapted live-action film. In fact, even a cartoon suitable for 5-10 year olds would be better. However, I lack artistic skills, and my budget won't stretch to hiring professional actors. Anyhow, I'll soldier on as best I can.

Hero: The Trashman
By day, a mild-mannered trashman. By night, a mild-mannered hero dressed as a trashman.
Special Abilities: Can operate a bin lorry. Can list all public holidays that clash with rubbish collection.
Catchphrase: I'm taking out the garbage! And also you. Because you are akin to garbage
(There were worries that the first sentence -the original phrase - was too vague, and would cause confusion)

Hero: The Mime
Dressed in traditional mime garb, this fearless hero silently fights street crime.
Special Abilities: Can summon invisible walls to hinder enemies. Will never give away information. Can seamlessly merge into a crowd
Catchphrase: (He's miming it)

Hero: Thug The Terrifying
During the day, Conrad Brown is a boring accountant. However, every second Thursday night, he is overcome by a rush of testosterone and becomes a neolithic caveman.
Special Abilities: Cannot operate a telephone. Hits things with a club. Fights Dinosaurs, even though they didn't coexist.
Catchphrase: Ugg? Me Cliche...

Originally, Dr Bruce Banner was going to join us. However, we couldn't see what use he would be. When we asked him about his super-powers, he said we wouldn't like him when he's angry. However, the mime signed that we didn't like him anyway, and he left in a strop. I feel sorry for him, but he wouldn't have been much use. Not like the Incredible Hulk, who joined last week. To make him different from Thug, We've dressed Hulk in a suit and taught him Received Pronunciation.

To bath and beyond.

Hazley, I opened my eyes. Too bright. I closed them, and went back to sleep.

After a moment, I became aware of a strange sensation - I couldn't feel most of my body. Opening my eyes again, I forced myself to sit upright. Yes, once again, I was in a bathtub full of ice. I looked down at the fresh stitch-marks on my torso and wondered which of my organs had been taken now.
Damn the Natural History Museum!

The name's Hartman. Hank Hartmon. I'm a cop.
Two weeks ago, my partner was killed by a maniac known only as the Frenchman. He was 3 days away from retirement. I tracked down the guy responsible, but I broke procedure. They let him go, and I've been suspended. So I'm going to have to get justice myself.
I drink too much. Same with smokes. That's why I'm here in this shitty bar, drinking generic beers, and throwing back scotch like my neck's convulsing. But soon, I'll be faced with an important challenge in my quest for justice. I'll be able to stop the drinking straight away. Hell, I won't even shake. Be able to fire a handgun accurately up to half a mile, even though I've got a litre of alcohol in me.

Speaking of a litre of alcohol, I really need to pee. But I'm a Hollywood Cliché, and they don't use the bathroom. Not ever.

I opened the curtains. Noticing at once the lack of sunshine that normally caressed my exposed nipples, I took a look around.
Everything was red. It would appear someone has moved my house to Mars while I slept. It was probably Loki. That old trickster, when will he learn?
There is no oxygen here. This could be a problem.