"He sprayed me with Lynx…" a small purple goat replied when I asked her why she smelled like a guy, "after I sprayed him with perfume." What psychology was behind this apparently random bombardment of chemicals? I now recall a German lesson in year nine in which, incidentally, I sat next to the same small purple goat. I seem to remember a particular incident involving me, the small purple goat, myself and another girl (who shall remain nameless) when the distance between the contents of a body spray can and a certain boy became a negative integer and, by means of diffusion, he smelled like a girl for the rest of the day.

Whilst boiling up noodles for my lunch yesterday, I hit on a solution to this mind-boggling problem: This girl was involved in a feminists-in-conjunction-with-alien-life-forms (charity no. 40518) plot to morph all mankind (as opposed to womankind) into warped beings coming between feminists and alien-life-forms; a terrifying, hostile creature wearing dungarees and a checked shirt with fiery red eyes and frosty fresh-mint breath.

"What shall we do?" I hear you cry. Well, my suggestion to you would be to never spray anyone (apart from yourself) with anything so we can work out, by a process of elimination who is involved in this evil plot and then utterly crush them using a small collection of items from my desk: three rubber bands, an empty battery and a few vicious safety pins. With these objects and Tim’s wit, we should be just fine.

By Schizophrenic Pyromaniac