I actually said this...

"I'd like to have you for dinner this week. To feed, I mean. Not to eat."

I need to clip the cats nails. Not only can I feel them as they walk across me, this morning I could here them shredding the carpet as they ran after the laser pointer. It was six am... and my cats gallop like elephants... do you think my downstairs neighbours hate me?

If only work was this exciting!

Green goo dripped gloppily onto my desk, onto my hands, onto my forehead. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand accidentally tasting the slime. It was salty and bitter with the slight odour of cheese. The texture was worse. It was like eating partially coagulated blood, or the chunks in the bottom of a past due milk carton. My throat heaved. Instinctively I spat the goo onto the office carpet. Ugh. A shiver ran up my back raising the dark hairs that speckle my arms. What the fuck was that? I looked up and saw the mass cling precariously to the ceiling. Another drip was forming. Realising that my mouth was hanging open I shut it with a clack that hurt my jaw just in time to avoid another mouthful.

Searching randomly through websites I found a page that asked: "What do you want to do with your life?" Without thinking I wrote: "Write incessently and have a lot of sex."


Sounds fun, eh?

From the demented mind of Allie

smushed dreams spread like the guts and crumpled wings of a butterfly who played chicken with a frieght train only to realise that it had been a very, very bad idea

Train: 1 Butterfly: 0