The Serialised Diaries of Attila Z. Spasm: 05 Nov 2007

Woke early in a tepid pool of my own filth. The build-up of sharp matter around my "bits and pieces" seems to have led to a group of minor perforations in the rubber knickers. They still need work, evidently. Note to self: purchase another cycle repair kit. Also soap.

Broke the fast frugally on a suspicious white substance lurking in the beard. It provided little resistance, hence I can suspect that it may have died in the night. Out of booze... Bleach it transpires is no real alternative to gin. Will write a letter to Mother warning her of as much. Uncle Zebediah can bloody well find out for himself.

Today's research: Ballistics.

Located one dead tramp. Stripped and dressed in the classic blue leotard and nappy (disposable, I refuse to be responsible for another fracas in the launderette). Bandaged face and hands, his, not mine.

Test one: The effects of using a cadaver as a ballistic missile.

Dropped cadaver off top story of multi-story car park on to passing old lady. Missed. She was quicker than she looked - also probably deaf as the God-awful squelch and minor spattering seemed to pass her by somewhat. Noise definitely made: Traffic warden vomiting freely. Had to be sedated.

Test two: The effects of using a cadaver as a ballistic missile - revisited.

Candidate targets scarce, tramp starting to give off potent whiff (Note: The aroma of rotting tramp brings about unforseen bouts of diarro dhiarrh .. the shits.) Decamped to bridge. SUCCESS!!

Result: A decaying tramp, when dressed in a leotard and nappy and flung from a bridge generates enough downward force upon impact to dislodge a child of schooling age from a canoe.

Corollary: Retrieving the nappy and leotard is tricky - particularly given increased police presence. There goes another flaming leotard.

Lunched on the packed sandwiches of a small child being resuscitated on the bank of river by over-reacting teacher/social worker. Spam. No wonder the nation's youth can't see their collective feet without the "mirror on a stick" approach.

Passed a most pleasant afternoon haranguing single mothers from a bush outside ASDA, before heading home to fashion a replica human thigh from lime flavoured jelly. Intention to fling a clutch of nestling sparrows into it tomorrow, and then interview them post-event. Still musing on flinging device, proposals include a sling fashioned from cat gut (cat will not be impressed, however), or the blunderbuss, if I can get it working without spending yet another fortnight in intensive care. Maybe I could ask them about the "Sharp Matter" (see first paragraph) while I'm there.

Custard for dinner this evening, I think, provided the eel I have been drowning in it has finally given up the ghost.


Attila out.