What Face Do You Pull When You Epilate?

It has been a year since I commenced my newly blogged-up lifestyle, so to celebrate I shall tell you a little story of blood and fear.

It was a dark and stormy night. Just that afternoon
Hairy Frotter (not his real name, but an online pseudonym he had taken to using) had looked up into the sky and sighed moodily to his pet weasel Ronald, "A storm is coming!"

"Not that old chestnut" wheezed the weasel, as he nibbled on a chestnut, before releasing his magical droppings in the corner of Hairy's bedroom with a self-satisfied oink. The hairy hairs on the back of Hairy's neck began to bristle with lustful disdain as robotic breakdancer Hermi-1-G burst though the door in a flush of eyebrows, bleeding from both ends. "Whussup?" she wiggled.

"Whussup with you, more like?" squirmed Ronald. "Oh this?" said Hermi, wiping the blood from her fingers onto her evergreen forest of eyebrows, "I've been doing my witchly duties by
giving my blood away to the needy, but I also have the most amazing piles!" And with that she took up a stationary buffalo stance, the only discernible movement coming from above her eyes.

"Lovely" said Hairy, as his spider-sense began to tingle, "Oh no! My spider-sense has begun to tingle!"

"Oh cocking hell" exclaimed Ronald, "Here we go again."

"Yes we do" screamed Hairy, excitedly. "It can only mean one thing. Gigantor has risen again to suckle at the earth's teat!"

"Bugger" said Ronald.


Currently listening: Our Love To Admire by Interpol