Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

Ill Wind

Your ruler is sick again.

I bet I caught it off that snotty slag-bucket Britney Spears: she spent the whole time we were at that car boot sale wiping her nose on her sleeve, yet insisted on giving me an excited little hug every time she saw a pierrot doll. And I came away with my arms stuffed with the freaky little toys, so you can imagine the level of unhygienic, unwanted proximity from pop’s second-most desperate performer.

Shudder.

Anyway, this means that the morning has whizzed by thanks to my wheels being greased by Beechams once more, and I take Wednesdays off from ruling you all anyway. Unfortunately, you’ve got Christina Hamilton today, who’s been dying to get her mules under the throne-room table ever since I invited her over for one swift sherry one afternoon, and didn’t leave til the following morning. She’s brooked no hint, no. Not even when I’d thrown her coat at her and started hoovering around her chair at 3am. Honestly, some people do not know when they’re not wanted.

With any luck, she’ll accidentally wander into the Special Projects room, where we’ve been working on the ultimate predator – for my protection, of course. It’s a well-known fact we’ve been using herbivores to guard against any rebellious plant-life in the universe. And we omnivores can more or less slay and eat all the rest, yet for a personal guard we want something a little more deadly. So we’ve created the Aznavore. They’re small. They’re deadly. They’re French. Need I say more.

I’m going for a lie down.

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