by Matt Blythe | View Posts
As a child, unhappy that I was forced to live in a cardboard box next to the washing machine, I ran away to live with the wolves. Unfortunately, they told me to piss off. Apparently, they don’t like ginger people either. And the fact that I had managed to find the only talking wolves in the South-East of England hadn’t escaped me, even at that age.
So I decided to join the Circus. As you know, there are fewer Circuses than there used to be. And they move about a lot… so I was in my mid-twenties by the time I found one. They told me that I was too tall to be a dwarf that is fired out of a cannon, and to be a bearded lady I needed to be a lady. And have a beard. They suggested that I find a more mainstream line of employment. And to never come back… ever.
So for a while I flip-flopped between Tesco and Asda. Both of whom told me that they would not give me a job until I got a proper pair of shoes.
I struggled with a drug addiction for a while, but never really got the hang of it (I don’t like needles) so gave up trying before long. I’m now working on an alcohol addiction, which is coming along quite nicely.
Which brings me neatly to the present day. I am a mfmmmbl year-old hermit, living in a cave on the coast of east Kent, and consider myself a very lucky man. You’d be surprised how few caves have running water and a broadband connection.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction (well most of it), created for humorous entertainment. If you didn’t find it funny, you just weren’t trying hard enough. Read it again. But this time chuckle occasionally, laugh out loud at the end of every second sentence, and at the end of the third paragraph turn to whoever else is in the house and tell them ‘this is hilarious, you’ve gotta read it’. If no-one else is in the house you could either phone a friend, call round to a neighbour or accost a random passer by to achieve a similar effect.