The Sandwich: #154

The Sandwich


I have been in this empty theatre for several hours now, and I need a widdle. I am hiding in a room full of old props and stuff, behind a big cardboard cut-out of a Christmas penguin. I don't really want to emerge into the open, because of all the theatre ghosts that don't exist, but I really have to move soon otherwise there will be a urinary incident of considerable magnitude, and I might fuse the electrics.

Getting to the toilet was dead easy. Hey, here's a tip for you. When you go to the theatre - which I'm sure you do a lot - and they blow the whistle for half time, everybody rushes out to do a widdle, and there is a big long queue. By the time you've finished and made yourself decent, the second half has already started, and you will have missed a very good joke, or an important clue about who done the murder, or whatever it is. Well, my idea is that if you wait until the show is over and everyone has gone home, there will be no queue and you can use the lavvy whenever you want, and make as much noise as you want. There you go, that was a good life hack, wasn't it?

I have another life hack. I thought of it a couple of weeks ago when I was trying to get some pickled onions out of the special pickled onion cupboard high up in my kitchen. I nearly fell off the chair I was standing on and it was scary, and then I thought that if I kept all of my things on the floor, then I wouldn't have a problem like that again. So that is what I do now, I keep of my things on the floor, where they are a trip hazard but very easy to reach.

Anyway, it was after my successful toilet trip that I heard an eerie wailing noise. I stopped and listened. Was it me that made the noise? Because I have been known to make eerie wailing noises before, you know. But then the noise happened again, and this time I knew it wasn't me because my mouth was shut. Oh crumbs.



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Choose from the best clowns in the business
Prof Jim Spanners explains chaos theory
Maisy Donnington tells us how to sit on a chair.
Darrens are dying out in Essex.
Two Bongs from a Gong and Three quick ding-dongs in the night
The thing about antimatter is
A Mediterranean Paradise


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