Running the Rabbit

Every year, on June 12th, at exactly 5:53PM, a group of thirty or more people assemble in the living room of Marjorie Simpson's West London house. Ever since an accident occurred ten years ago, they have been meeting annually at the same date and time of the tragedy to relive it. I am not allowed to participate, but watch as a bystander. They organize themselves onto predetermined seating, a configuration that has become all too familiar for those who come for this ritual every year. Marjorie sits near the front, suddenly she points, "Oh my God!" she shouts, "We're going to hit it!!". A man emits a shrill cry. Silence for a few seconds. All the participants make a 'brrrmmmrrrrmmmmbrrrmmm' sound. Everyone involved looks pale and terrified. Then they relax and go to pick up their wineglasses, and continue as if nothing occurred.

I approach Marjorie who is laughing and joking with one of the visitors, and demand an explanation; she was reluctant to give one, but changes her mind when I threaten to urinate on her garden gnome. "All the people gathered in my living room were on the same bus as me when the accident occurred." she gulps the rest of her wine down and continues, "We were on our way home after work. Then I spotted a rabbit." Marjorie sniffs, "And I saw it run in front of the bus." A tear runs down her cheek and her voice goes up a couple of octaves, "I tried to warn the driver, but it was too late. The bus went over the rabbit... it made a 'brrrrrmrmmmmmmrrmmbrrmm' noise as its tiny bones got mashed under the tyres." She shudders, her eyes reliving the nightmare as they stare a thousand yards.

I speak to another passenger, Al Johnson Robertson Smith, who was also on the bus that fateful day, "I actually didn't know that we had run over a rabbit. I was reading my newspaper and I heard the tyres go 'brrrrmrrmrmrrr' and thought how odd!" He struggles with his composure, then adds, "Sometimes, I wake up screaming in the middle of the night."

The Man Who Thought He Was A Ghost

It's quite unusual for me to get such a bizarre story, but here it is:

John Roberts, a retired 23 year old street sweeper, believes he is a ghost. Now, you may be forgiven for thinking that John is mentally ill, but nothing could be further from the truth, he suffers from Fromage Frais Syndrome. John is not alone, the condition affects every one in five hundred trillion people and besides mild diarrhea, the most distressing symptom is the delusion of existing only in the spiritual dimension, doomed to walk the earth as an undead entity for all eternity.

John's wife, Mary, told us that he wouldn't talk to us unless we communicated via a Ouija board. She asked us to hold hands in order to 'channel' John into the room, then closed her eyes and called for John, "Can anybody hear me? John? John? Are you there?" It was at this point that a spectral projection, a stinky unshaven fat man in pyjamas, opened the door and shuffled into the room while eating a cheeseburger. Mary called out again, "John, are you there?" She quickly motioned us to the Spirit board and we all placed a finger on the planchette. John sat down in the sofa with a sigh and moved the wooden pointer to the word 'YES'.

Quite frankly, it was a tedious way of communicating with John, and the smell of his cheeseburger was making me quite hungry, but I persevered. I asked John if he missed being alive, he replied that being a ghost had its pros and cons, most of all he misses his wife and being able to make love with her, but he quickly added that the benefit of being a ghost was that he could move objects around and scare people. I asked  for a demonstration of his scare tactics and he picked up a newspaper and started waving it in front of my face; I watched him do this for forty seven minutes and twenty three seconds, then I got up and left without saying goodbye to either John or Mary.

Causing a Stink - When Body Odour Takes Over Your Life

"Sometimes the urge is just too great," says self-professed armpit sniffer, Daniel Smithers, on his addiction to sniffing the sweat from his underarms. This well-dressed 27 year old banker harbours a very dark secret that not even his colleagues are aware of. In his own words, "It all started out as a bit of innocent fun, three years ago, at a friend's birthday party. We had a few drinks, and one thing led to another, and before we knew it there was a small group of us in the bathroom scratching our heads until our fingers were greasy, then we sniffed our fingers. The rush was incredible..." Not long afterwards, Daniel was scratching and sniffing his head more frequently, sometimes he would "sneak away from the office desk to get a quick 'whiff' in the men's room"; he had developed a dependency to his own body odour.

Soon Daniel found himself longing for something stronger. A friend introduced him to a homeless guy, Dave, who allowed Daniel to sniff his armpits. Daniel recalls, "The smell was so intense and intoxicating. It was a heady rush and it blew my brains. I could feel my eyeballs popping out." Dave taught Daniel how to cultivate his own armpit smell for a small sum of money. Daniel stopped taking showers and began to wear very thick clothing even though it was the middle of summer. Fellow office workers noticed his aberrant behaviour, but they never suspected anything, they just assumed that he was a bit "eccentric".

Last summer, Daniel was arrested for armpit sniffing in a restaurant, "I knew my life was spiraling out of control, but at that point I could do nothing about it." Daniel's addiction had taken him to the pinnacle of self-destruction, he was so addicted that he was doing it in public, "I just didn't care anymore, when I needed a hit, I just tore off my clothes and inhaled my armpit odour." I asked him if he would ever consider quitting the habit, he didn't respond, he just looked at me, then removed his shirt and sniffed his armpit.

The Miracle Po Chai Pills

If you've ever had the good fortune of experiencing abdominal pain, bloating or diarrhea, then you may have heard of the traditional Chinese herbal remedy, Po Chai Pills. The medicine is packed in conveniently small vials which contain forty to fifty pinhead sized balls that are swallowed with lukewarm water. Not unlike magic tablets, these tiny brown pills will instantaneously alleviate any uncomfortable symptoms associated with the body's digestive system.

Scientists have recently discovered that Po Chai Pills not only cures digestion related illnesses, but if taken in large enough doses can bring a dead person back to life. They found that the 'deader' the body was, the more Po Chai pills that were required. Only a month ago, doctors brought Li Shiu Kei, the inventor of the pills, back to join the living. We asked Li Shiu Kei what he thought of the breakthrough, he modestly replied, "In fact, when I made them I never expected the pills to work, they were supposed to be like placebo tablets that gave the user a psychological sense of well-being." He also suggested that, "the pills can also be used as a substitute for food." The idea could almost have been lifted straight out of the pages of a 1930's science fiction comic, we finally have the food pill! Except this food pill is not a new invention but has been in usage for well over a century in China!

We asked Li Shiu Kei whether he would develop his product for further medical applications, he answered, "Right now, I'm investigating if the pills can cure diseases - I mean, if they can cure death, then there is a remote likelihood that they might be able to cure cancer!" I then asked if he was likely to consider making the pills in a variety of fun, fresh, flavours to make the taste more accessible and palatable to the younger generation, he stroked his moustache as he pondered the question before solemnly replying, "I rather like the taste as it is. It might not be to everyone's taste, similar to Marmite." Then with no explanation, Li Shiu Kei lifted up his shirt, "Look!" and pointed to just above his sternum, "I have a third nipple!"

Lycra Terrorists Attack Hong Kong MTR

An unprecedented and bold act of terrorism took place on Tuesday's rush hour in Hong Kong's MTR station. While the focus of most Hong Kongers is to get home after a hard day's work, turn on the television and zone out for nine hours with a raw microwave dinner, those passing through a busy section of Hong Kong's labyrinthian underground system were startled by a group of lycra clad militants.

One eyewitness described the terrorists as 'elvish' looking. Several others confirmed that they weren't elves but 'pale imitations of Santa Claus' - the notorious fat man who breaks into homes on Christmas day and seduces the owner's pets.

Nathan Wong, a 32 year old accountant, was on his way home from work when the militants in their bright orange outfits abseiled into plain view and assembled themselves into attack formation. Still trembling from the encounter, Mr. Wong told us, "Immediately people around me started running and screaming, it was utter chaos." Those who were too petrified to escape were then subjected to several minutes of synchronized prancing. Nathan added, "I was shouting at people not to look, but it was too late, they just kept looking and looking..."

One of the victims, Tamil Davies, remembered, "One minute I was walking home, and then I was staring at some guy's lycra encased crotch gremlins jiggling up and down in my face." She claimed to have been 'hypnotically entranced' by the stratagem, "I'm lucky to still be alive." She showed us her fingers - they were crooked.