If technically you are the owner of this image I can only apologise...

 

I investigate things for reasons of LEGITIMATE SOCIOLOGY.

 

 After the sad, and some would say unnecessary, end to the noble sport of Orangutan Kickboxing after tree-hugging hippie liberals decided that it was “inhumane” to put two of what would easily pass for Oompa Loompas in poor light into a ring and let them kick the crap out of each other until one collapses in an unconscious heap in the cutest way you’ve ever seen, I decided to look into other, perhaps darker, areas of animal entertainment. My theory was that I could, with a bit of luck, crack the dark underside of the criminal world, earn the evil men’s trust, and see some really cool shit along the way. I put a hat on and went a’lookin’.

 Well, actually I got drunk and angry… but screw you, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE LOOKING AT?

 Anyway.

11pm: I had, through a network of informants and a rambling tramp that smelt of Pledge and what I can only assume was the souls of children, discovered that there was pretty much nothing that was entertaining happening. In an attempt to fill a lot of empty space I poked a cat I found with a stick before throwing it at the tramp. There was a brief and untidy scuffle followed by a strange and terrible noise. Something cool had almost certainly happened but by that time I was trying to barter with a prosti… er… explore other leads.

11.05: Now lacking my trousers, wallet, and after being badly cut by a pimp I found myself in a mysterious alleyway that had a faint odour of mackerel about it. Using my investigative skills I hurriedly narrowed my location down to Norway or the alleyway behind the chip shop. Either way, I smiled to myself, I couldn’t “a-fjord” another slip up. I also couldn’t afford the bus home.

11.08: There is a strange and distant thudding of raucous bass. It seems to be coming from nearby and, after bending down and spending a few minutes lying on my front feeling woozy, I notice a tiny door set in the wall. There also seemed to be a rat problem around here…

11.09: Notice rats are standing either side of the doorway and wearing the tiniest, cutest, headsets I’d ever seen. One of them seemed to be muttering into the lapel of its tiny little suit. They proceed to beat me heavily for half an hour before depositing me in the gutter.

12.00am: Unwelcome consciousness returns, which is more than can be said for the use of my left kidney.

12.04am: The remains of the previous tramp float past, in a fit of desperation I hurriedly remove the tramp’s trousers.

12.05am: Deep-seated insecurity is proven justified.

12.06am: Wearing my new trousers and smelling less of urine than usual I return to the tiny door.

12.08am: Pick rat from between treads of shoe and start to believe that possibly this might have some karmic significance later on. Find tiny headset adhering to compass in shoe heel. Can no longer define North accurately.

12.09am: After careful measuring and double-checking I realise that a human being weighing around 180 pounds will not fit through a door that is eight inches high and four wide. Using sofa-logic I turn myself on my side and gain access.

12.10am: FIFTEEN QUID FOR A GODDAMN DRAMBUIE.

12.10:30am: Reluctantly prise out a gold tooth. Owner of tooth objects. I teach him a lesson. He regrets being two inches long and flammable.

12.11am: Notice that I am in a tiny nightclub and that I am also creating a fire-hazard as I crawl like Bruce Willis through an air-duct. Still fuming over price of drink I begin to pay attention. It seems that this place is of a dark and sordid kind I have never witnessed before. All around me are whooping and wailing badgers, squirrels, rabbits, and similar vermin, all frothing at the mouth as they observe the grim, grim, spectacle that is taking place on the stage.

12.12am: Scream “shake it baby” as the infectious spirit of the place, the infectious spirit in my stomach, and the infectious TB of the badgers, takes hold. Suddenly it seems as if the ferret that’s gyrating wildly against the tiny little pole is the peak of eroticism. Shit, something’s looking for somewhere to hibernate. GET THE HELL OFF ME.

12.30am: Wow, they really should invest in some decent security round here. I’m now backstage and cleaning the last of the Tiramisu and Otter parts from underneath my fingernails. It seems that the buggers just don’t see those shovels coming.

12.35am: I hereby begin an interview with a ferret I have, for reasons of anonymity and a strict religious upbringing, named Ms. Tittles St. JEZEBEL FILTHY WHORE:

Myself: Thank you for agreeing to talk to me. Would you mind if I called you Harlot for reasons of laziness?

Harlot: Squeak *twitch whisker*

Myself: Why thank you, I work out. Now, tell me, do you think you’re being exploited by the management here? I can tell you’re a nice country ferret who came to the big city in search of your dream job as an actress, so quite how did you end up here?

Harlot: *blank expression*

Myself: Those bastards. Would you like a drink by the way? GARCON, A DRINK FOR THE LADY… took your bloody time didn’t you. *tape and recollection are muffled at this point due to what I can only assume to be sunspot activity*

Myself: You have a beautiful eye.

Harlot: *blank expression* *sound of territory marking*

Myself: No, I know what I said, I meant that the other one… well… it’s not much is it… admit it.

*sounds of a struggle*

Myself: ADMIT IT DAMN Y…

*continued struggle*

Myself: OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?

*silence*

Myself: DEAR GOD NO…

*muffled sounds*

Myself: Where the hell’s the erase button?

*random clicking*

Myself: Well, thank you for your time Ms. Harlot, I think we can safely say that you were an innocent soul corrupted by evil men out to exploit your sweet, sweet, gorgeous, arse for profit and sick kicks. You have, through their brainwashing, made advances towards me several times during this interview and I, showing my JOURNALISTIC INTEGRITY AND HUMAN DECENCY, have politely turned you down with a rakish grin and a gentlemanly chuckle. Have you any last words before I leave, perhaps a message for those who’ve also been sucked into this sordid business?

Myself: Squeak etc. He never touched me. I hope I don’t trip over a bump in the carpet after I finish this interview with this wonderful man. Squeak. That would be terrible, and also very accidental.

*grunt followed by dull wet thud*

12.29… THAT’S 12.29 (TWELVE TWENTY-NINE) (TWENTY-NINE MINUTES PAST TWELVE):

 I am sitting at home reading a book. I have been here all night. Look… look at the clock… yeah, the second hand’s broken. BUT LOOK AT IT.

12.30 ß Look… SEE…: I donate all my money to orphans. I save some drowning puppies. I bring peace to the Middle East. ALL WITHOUT LEAVING THE HOUSE.

In summary:

 Sometimes people come up with scurrilous rumours, sometimes they’re newspapers, and sometimes they are the police… regardless… they will never take me alive.