From thinking, I have come to the conclusion that there is a conspiracy behind the apparent normality of the universe. For example, you would think it fairly normal that everyday you see the same people and they see you. But perhaps they don’t see you everyday, instead they watch you. Maybe you are guilty and as you read this you are pushing the button beside your computer to alert the men in dark glasses to come and drag me away from publicising this conspiracy any further.

This thought was triggered by a conversation I had with a former small purple goat. During this conversation my mind casually wondered back to the previous day, when I had to cope with the trauma of a wobbly exam desk. Due to an involuntary spasm of my leg, I kicked my exam desk, causing all of my writing implements to be scattered in the near, and not so near vicinity. I was disgusted with the invidulator who made little or no attempt to help locate these items and when she did bend down to pick up a pen, the creaking sounds from her arthritic joints were most distracting for all the other examination candidates in the exam hall at that same period of time.

I agree with you, I am being mean about the invidulator who cannot help being elderly, but it is only because I am bitter and twisted about the fact my pencil-eraser was never found. I stayed behind after the exam to search for it but I searched in vain – the little lump of rubber, wrapped in card was never found. The point is, where did this rubber go? I have a couple of theories.

The first is that in the hall of my school, there is a blackhole which leads to a parallel universe. There, my eraser lives in a Snoopy and Woodstock slipper and leaves the Greenday album "Dookie" on continuous play. The second theory is that the invidulator pocketed the eraser to take back to the feminists-in-conjunction-with-alien-life-forms (charity no. 40518) head quarters for testing. I will leave you to decide which theory is more likely. The only guidance I can issue is always be on your guard and keep eating Smarties, for only they know the answer.

By Schizophrenic Pyromaniac