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You sprang forth fully formed like a Botticelli Venus – only she never had anyone lean out of the sea shell afterwards and yell “Go fuck yourself then, you frigid bitch”, and drive off.   You would have called a taxi because it was all a bit too slasher horror film out there in the parkland alone (S for Scream in the dvd collection at home), but the nice boy offered to walk you up to the bus stop, and so maybe this was the hot young guy you’re destined to survive the night with (H for House on Haunted Hill).   Plus it was a chance to talk through the litany of recent dream dates that turned into disasters ( N for Nightmare on Elm Street) when the sex stuff goes horribly wrong (F for Friday the 13th).   One time your brother even had to come to the resue (H again, for Halloween), and you’ve called your mum in tears before (C for Carrie) – can you help it if you’re fussy?   And too busy to get serious?   And maybe talking too much?

Seeing as you’re out in the dark with some random dude you don’t even know, in a place no-one can hear you scream?

A for Alien, by the way.   And that last part – that you could have helped.

The horror movie ‘rules’ got it wrong, you see.   Like monsters and killers care about your vestal purity.


You’re all gonna die anyway.





  1. one day somebody is gonna know and make a cross over your sign buster.

  2. Now I have to get my own car, public transportation is just not safe anymore.

    • I’m older than public transport. Really think it’s _ever_ been safe…?

      • There wasn’t a blog before….

      • I’m clearly a social service then…

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