Either my mate Paul is a pod person from the planet Mars, or he's one of them beings that interferes with magnetic impulse.
And I don't mean lady deodorant!
I was in the city, no problems. Meet up with Paul... BUT once Paul has gone, suddenly, every shop I enter or leave sets off the instore alarums!
Was I hypnotised into a comatose state in the Chapelfield KFC and subjecter to Alien Implantation via rectal probe amidst the connisseurs of cajun poultry treats? Or mayhap his extraterrestrial presense triggered off one of them homing beacons that some space beastie has previously placed about my person?
Who knows! It's certainly a bit of a pickle!!
Unless, of course, I have become a psychic kleptomaniac, and my mental powers are pulling the residual energy of shopfront merchandise into some form of ectoplasmic manifestation that takes an invisible (and yet identical) spiritual form that fools the security system into thinking a real product has been pilfered!
I know shops need to clamp down on shoplifters in these credit crunch times, but surely policing the afterlife in case of a poultrygoose thieving the manitou of a Girls O'Lard CD (with exclusive bonus DVD extras) is taking things to extremes!
I mean, how does the burly bouncer stop an appartion from taking the spiritual essence of a console game? Is he armed with the now legendary Trap? Does he & his fellow doorblokes go into the CFG urinals and play at "crossing the streams"? Does he whip out a dog collar and recite an exorcism at the thieving spectral snaffler of goods?
And anyhoo, spooks don't fear Jail, as they're already in chains, a-rattlin' and a-moanin'. Like Bob Marley and Bob Scratchitt taunting Ebeneezer Goode with the ghost of compilations past (NOW! #1 Reissue!), the ghost of birthday presents, and the ghost of Virgins yet to cum (as they went Zavvi and died an 'orrible death).
And if it's a reanimated Richard Branson seeking to haunt me because I preferred to shop in HMV, he can jolly well get stuffed! Which is another name for Taxidermy...
A-ha! Taxi- as in mode of transport! -dermy as in dermatological, as in skin! IE using my skin like a taxi to carry out his nefarious five finger discount spree against those evil high street retailers wot put him out of business!
And he ain't even deaded yet! Astral Projection taken to extremes! UNLESS he's also taken to the implantation of alien anal tracker devices, in which case, it's more Arsehole Possession, than astral projection!
Good job he forgot about the alarms, otherwise we'd never know...
