'snot fair!
How come paranormal porker Ray Stanz gets sucked off by a succubus in a fire station, yet in a the secluded Reepham Chapel there's no banshee blowjobbers a-reaching for me belt?
You'd think these spectral sirens would we well up for it, after incorpreally inhabiting a musty old church, where the only action is watching Reverend P.Doe giving the altar by a bit of Alternative cummunion. "Eat this, for it is my body."
Not to mention being turned on by the marathon amphibious sex-sessions. Froggies and Toadies all in the midst of bump and grind - and there's nothing more intriguing than the sound of graveside grinding frogs.
Although, more often than not, it turns out to be the snoring of heifers, being awoken by torchlight shone into their dozing eyes.
And you don't want to wake a snoring heifer... unless you've still got your beer goggles on, that is!
And how come, when trekking through shrubbery paths and fields, does it take twice as long to return by the same path? You start off at point A, and trek for ages through foresty glades, over furlongs of fields, and eventually arrive at point B. This takes a certain amount of time.
Now, when returning from point B to A, although you take an identical route... you get back in half the time!
And that's with taking the route slower, so you can scan the glades with EMF in case some unbelievable behemoth from the spirit level tears through the fabric of reality and splats it's ectoplasmic residue all over yer face.
Unless, of course, on the way there, we passed through some Haunted Hedgerows*, where time elongates and we were actually walking The Paths Of The Dead without realising it!
Ah, that explains the Poltergeist Puma I encountered on the way back!
* ALTHOUGH, ON THE WAY BACK, ONE PERSON PISSED THROUGH THE HAUNTED HEDGES. FOXES SUBJECTED TO MIDNIGHT GOLDEN SHOWER MILKSHAKES. IT'S ALSO INADVISABLE TO ASK LADIES IF THEY'RE COMING, WHEN THEY'RE SQUATTING IN THE BUSHES WITH DROPPED PANTALOONS. WELL, IT IS IF I'M PRESENT...
