The
Haunted House – a frightening tale.
I once paid a lot of money to spend a night in a haunted house.
It was 100% guaranteed that the spectre of Lady Chamberpot, who was murdered in 1653, wanders the house.
Was I worried? Was I frightened? Death has followed me all through life. As it does for most people as one thing, we – a planet in turmoil, with 76 million people migrating, chaos, biblical proportions of mass self-genocide – have one thing in common.
Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust. All the human race will either go up through a crematorium oven or eaten by worms to create some fertile soil for daises to push up from. (Or die in a nuclear war😊)
So – there I was awaiting the arrival of Lady Chamberpot – the cause of 278 heart attacks and shit filled pants ever since it was converted into a horror house in 2018.
I once paid a lot of money to spend a night in a haunted house.
It was 100% guaranteed that the spectre of Lady Chamberpot, who was murdered in 1653, wanders the house.
Was I worried? Was I frightened? Death has followed me all through life. As it does for most people as one thing, we – a planet in turmoil, with 76 million people migrating, chaos, biblical proportions of mass self-genocide – have one thing in common.
Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust. All the human race will either go up through a crematorium oven or eaten by worms to create some fertile soil for daises to push up from. (Or die in a nuclear war😊)
So – there I was awaiting the arrival of Lady Chamberpot – the cause of 278 heart attacks and shit filled pants ever since it was converted into a horror house in 2018.
Sure enough, at the stroke of midnight – the apparition appeared. Looked
quite shaggable, her dress would get a fortune on Ebay.
The ghost wailed and moaned – not surprising as I had
a finger up her bum and fondling its rather plumb breasts.
Something was a foot here. Or rather fishy as I fondled her rather hairy kipper.
‘ ut mihi accipe a me’
Something was a foot here. Or rather fishy as I fondled her rather hairy kipper.
‘ ut mihi accipe a me’
Which
is Latin for ‘take me, take me.’ She howled. Well, she had been dead a while
and hardly able to speak street rap dialogue.
What can I do? What shall I do? She wants it.
What can I do? What shall I do? She wants it.
‘Take
you where? What do you want from me?’ I excitedly asked as my middle leg poked
snot out of a nostril.
This
was now the nitty gritty – strew bobs hey. I was hitting on a ghost that smelt suspiciously
of cheap perfume you bought in a Duty Free. As if ghosts take flight?
The
ghost removed her dress, and stood naked before me. I have never seen such
perfection.
A
skin of alabaster, breasts to make a man want to suckle them for ever, hips
designed to produce offspring. Perfect legs, her feet clad in cheap copies of
Prada high heel shoes.
And
then – and then she spoke…
‘Take me to Mc Donald’s, I am fucking starving. I want a Big Mac with fries and if you do – I give you my cell phone number.’
I was shocked and replied – ‘What? Dressed like that!’
The End.
‘Take me to Mc Donald’s, I am fucking starving. I want a Big Mac with fries and if you do – I give you my cell phone number.’
I was shocked and replied – ‘What? Dressed like that!’
The End.
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