Why is a shaven like a writhing pest...

Extortion!

The avaricious fingers of merchants aboundeth!

The Xym requireth one of them there straightjackets, for partaking of the tannin whilst wearing a towering topper.

And where can one get one's grubby mitts on such an incapacitor of insanity?

Well, you'd think with it being ME, log, they'd be all to willing to encase me in said restraintive bondageries and lock me in the padded cell to await Matron with the hot milk and biscuits.

But Nooooooo - they'd rather have me watching Will Farrell instead of in mental apparel¹.

Anyhoo, whilst passing the old biddie's tea shoppe, I popped into the Cock Rolex On² on the offchance. And they hads them! Size XL - (which, as all know, in Cock Rolex On terms is a smidgeon³ above a size zero).

Fifty squids!

Not to mention having to chop it all about, for an over-elaborate cog-based construction to be attached. The cost of Meccano these days!

So off to the the fancy dress shoppe - twenty squids! Outrageous! And narry a buckle or strap amonst it!

So I bought another monocle instead.

There must be somewhere I can find a cheap-ass straightjacket for the steampunking up thereof? If I've paid umpteen of pounds for an outrageous hat, only to be denuded of dozend of demoninations of dollars for a glorified long-sleeved blouse, I won't be happy!

Not to mention finding a teapot onna stick...

Honestly - how hard can it be? I just want a cane with a teapot on the top. But noooo - it's all golden balls, fiddly twiddly bits, horses heads, skeletal fingering and the like. Nothing NORMAL like a teapot. We're British - a nation of tea drinkers! Our national emblem is the teapot*, so why is there such a lack of teapot based trinketry?

I blame them Hairball Tease - like Lamps And Sue's Schlong, or Breakfast Tea.

Breakfast Tea! I had that once, and it tasted nowt like a full-on fry-up, let alone soggy cornflakes. Not a hint of the Sugar Puff, Rice Krispy or Special K. Apart from the milk. Coco Pops may turn the milk a sort of shitty mud color, but Breakfast Tea just turns it a dishwashery grey after all the Furry Lick Quid has de-bubbled it's bubbles through the grease of the (Stephen?) Fry-up.

And I'm not licking a furry quid just to get me mitts on some asylum wear.

Unless it's the Cock Rolex On Pretty's quid.

And by Quid, obviously I mean Quim.

LOL!

¹ ONE OF THEM AMERICAN ALLEGED 'COMEDIANS'. ENOUGH TO DRIVE ANYONE TO THE UNFUNNY FARM. OR SOMETHING.

² CHRONOLOGICAL TODGER ADORNMENTS , MAYHAP?

³ MORE THAN A TAD, BUT LESS THAN AN EENTSY BIT.

* CAN I SAY STEPHEN FRY IS A TEAPOT, OR IS THAT POLITICALLY INCORRECT? AFTER ALL, IF DERREN BROWN CAN CALL HIMSELF A 'MASSIVE GAYER', WHAT'S WRONG WITH ALLUSIONS OF LIMP-WRISTED SPOUTNESS WHILST HAND ON HIP IN GIRLY POSE? IT'S RELIGIOUS HEALTH AND SAFETY INTOLERANCE GONE MAD!

Stop the 'wock, Can't stop the 'wock, You can't stop the 'wock...

Not even Brian Can't.

Gimme a P (please Bob)
Gimme a L
Gimme a A
Gimme a Y
What does that spell?

Ah, you're a brain-donor rioting looting yoof, therefore spelling is beyond your capabilites. See, it really doesn't matter if it's raining or it's fine, just as long as you've got time to R.I.O.T. Unless it's raining, then it's time to stay in with yer mum, drinking malty whorelicks with the 3Ds, a good kindled book, and P.L.A.Y., Play, Play away, play away (station), play (away) station, Playstation, PS3...

After getting past some electrified jelly monster and getting hacked off with Navi the fairy's fecking irritating "Hey! Lissen!", we return to the looking glass.

I took my VORPAL sword in hand, long time musical child stars of the golden age I sought, who'd fecked off back into the mirror and left an innocent blonde haired lad to be chopped up by grandmama (and not Judy Moran, The Godfather Granny of Oz), culminating in Ole Cloven hoof bringing about Ye Apocalypʃe by forcing posho gormsters to watch musicality of film. The Fame remake, or Glee.

Or something.

Anyhew, Back through the water, over the cogs, through the maze... why, this is getting to be a piece of piss!

Ah, here come's the 'wock!

Feck, feck, shitteryarse feck!

There's 4 modes - Easy, Normal, Hard, Nightmare. I'm on Normal, and the fecker's impossible! 

One! Two! And through and I'm fecking burnt to death again!

The Meta is miles off, so you can't get to it before he flies over and breathes burny breath on ya! Whatever direction, he's on top of you, burny burny burny!

It's as bad as when Rick Taylor had to battle off The Corrupted to keep Jennifer Willis on the sacrificial altar safe from the approaching In The Hills, The Cities style giant Corrupted made up out of The Corrupted. But at least you got somewhere.

This - start, up it goes, blast it with the 'wock's eye wand, you burned to deathery.

But no mental phantasmagoria is going to beat me - I'll twat that bar steward if it kills me! Then, I shall gallumph to t'bottom of our stairs and bellow "Calloo, Callay" in chortling joy.

You see if I don't!

What sort of people live about here...

"In ƬЋ∆Ƭ direction," the Ƈat said, waving it's right paw round, "lives a Ħatter, and in ƬЋ∆Ƭ direction," waving the other paw, "lives a Ӎarch Ħare. Ѷisit either you like: they're botɦ ɱдԂ."

"But I don't want to go among ɱдԂ people," ᵰᶅᴉƈᶓ remarked.

"Ѻɦ, you can't ɦelp that," said the Ƈat: "we're all ɱдԂ here. I'm ɱдԂ. You're ɱдԂ."

"How do you know I'm ɱдԂ?" said ᵰᶅᴉƈᶓ.

"Ɣou must be, " said the Ƈat, "or you wouldn't ɦave come here."

Saturday night, I feel the air is getting hot...

Oi, Wiggers! Shut yer face!

The air be very coldsome indeed!

I should be out admiring Alices, but I think I'll stay all snuggly warm inside.

But not, alas, inside a lass in Ann Summers Alice attire.

Warm indoorydoors, with the heat from the numerous appliances on charge toasting the domicile up nicely.

The Terminator winking at me and blowing me kisses, Jurassic Pork on the telly and a vast quantity of cidiferous quaffage with a giant Toberlone from Poundland!

If asking "Who's THAT!!" is sexual harassment, being let loose in a harem honey-trap of copycat Alice Lidls is just asking for trouble. Throw in a few Bellatrixes, Mrs LoveIts and Alictorias* and I'll be sat on and duffed up by the burly doorfolk in no time, before being cast into the night for castration by a cackling coven of costumed cuties, offended by the sexual harassment of some misshaped short fat gothboy daring to find their visual allure appealing.

* female equivalent of Jedward. What a choice - Beastiality with the Jakewolf, or Necrophelia with the Eddievamp. And that sicko Isabella is into both, the dirty slag! And this is aimed at lovelorn, sexually frustrated Chastitty Ring type 13yr old tartlets. Shag a dog, or fuck a corpse. Still, whatever floats yer boat. Said boat apparently floating in embalming fluid, given Bella's preference for intercourpse.