07:30... A Dog, Bicycle, Radio or Picnic tried to set a bomb.

YOU, yes YOU, can kill someone from a distance with this EXCITING NEW PRODUCT!!!!!
The BOMB is simply constructed from a bottle with a party popper detonator attached. Sounds like any other bomb...
but NO!!!!!
*This* bomb has Extra Features!!!!! A Concealed Detonator under the bottlepart will Foil those Clever People who think they are smart enough to defuse the BOMB.
Laid on your victim's door at 7.30 am, it is GUARANTEED your victim will be dead by lecture time, or your MONEY BACK!!!!!
All this can be YOURS from Dog, Bicycle, Radio or Picnic Enterprises!!!!!

Ee was aWoken at 7:30am on the dit by a loud BANG! outside my Door. Definitely a cracker banger or cap (ee should no). Decidding thit gitting ip wis a bid eedea ee stayed ins bed. Maybe the bomber killed himsilf, accidintly, ee dinny.
In-E-way, eee wis also unformed buy me neighbor that a BOMB was by me door, with a 2.5 m blist radius. Opening door from more than 2.5m mit stringen ensured my safety.
To my bomber: Beee quiet and don't kill urself (again).

I later received this.

Abit litter, ifter boring licture, ee return 2 analyse bomb that hath tried to kill me this moning. EE fiend metal-cap-detonator thing inderneath bottle, but hath failed to work because bluen-tacken hast squished and stuck zee two bitz together along thee edge. Eye very carefilly hold togeter and remove item, then slowly open it und defuse zee device. I am very lucky, thank you blue-tak!
To my bomber: Next time use less blue-tak.

Owing to several complaints to a Dog, Bicycle, Radio or Picnic, the BOMB was withdrawn from the market this morning. The first complaint was from a user of said item who nearly killed themself when setting the BOMB up. They dropped the secret detonator by accident, and had they not jumped back in time, it would have blown them up when it hit the floor and set itself off.
The second complaint was received indirectly from an intended victim of the BOMB. The adhesive substance fastening the detonator to the bottom of the BOMB spread too far, rendering it ineffective when picked up.

A Dog, Bicycle, Radio or Picnic made this statement:
"DO NOT DESPAIR!!!!! The NEW, IMPROVED BOMB will be available for use shortly, and the first ones are expected to hit the cops within the week."

10:00... Zlorf killed corrupt police officer Neil Morrison.

I stabbed Neil Morrison in the back as punishment for the heinous crime of being corrupted without giving me a share of the profits.

Gleefully did the knave reside,
In the Mill Lane rooms they hide,
waiting to pounce on prey corrupted
for their fiendish joyous glory
bestowed on them with details gory.

As we did recover from boredom due
after a lecture of calculus new,
myself and Benoit F. Vicedo-smythe were struck
with a bout of unmanfully self-wrought bad luck.

For twixt the chalked alleys and cobwebb'd heights
an foe lay with us in his sights.
He danced a merry dance of glee,
and mercilessly deposed of us officers three.
As with myself and the follious Dr. Benoit
lurked a third, John Shaft in Africa.
Now on sale at Borders on DVD
Hurry, its only 12 pounds and 99 p.

His thrusting dagger pocket departed
and odiously thrust into flesh good-hearted,
spleens dismember and appendices debowel;
an egregious look upon his jowl,
while the fallen comrades lay bleeding and lost
he announced:
"You were wanted. But you're not now."

And Oh! such a cruel way to learn
that momentarily we were the subject of yearn,
and cruelly relieved of this thankless task
so ruthless killer could in glory bask.

As his last breath did resound,
a glimpse we caught of the maimer's frown;
and recognition was bestow'dst upon us,
that we had been slain by none but Zlorf, who had the power most rare,
to treacherously remove unwanted fare
from the holy creed of the Guild;
three more fresh graves must now be fill'd.

PC Bri Bubble was a bit late.

Once upon an bean, there twas an invincible cavalier named Sir Sven O'Bjornchester Samuel J. McHolzhauer Yirteen-blimps-ahoy! Wilson. He was known across the land as the bravest knight ever to wield a carrot.

One day, he woke up, and ate a hearty breakfast. The next day, he ate two breakfasts of only slightly above average size.

Three weeks later, he ate a cumbersome brunch of unneccessarily many contents, and spent the afternoon feeling ill, and chundering into an bucket. He then ate an wholesome dinner, and went to bed without first removing his breakfasting knife from his secret Pouche, cunningly bestashed behind his left Shoe.

As he noisily slept, the knife cut a small hollow into his golden skin; by serendipitious tedium, a wicked witch chose that very morn to bestow her heinous hex uponst our Lord. The warted mistress of tomfoolery came down from Denmark and placed a pinch of magical BBQ sauce upon his brow. When the gallant warrior arose, he promptly ate a hearty breakfast, and then munched his way through a baked stool. I don't know why he did this.

After he had washed down the stool remnants with an goblet of freshly mead, he got out of bed, and partook in the digestion of some Chicken McNuggets. He then showered, and returned to his chamber to feast upon a bag of onion rings, with garlic bread and chives. Once he had eaten his fill, his buxom and matronly chambermaid was permitted to dress his Highness in readiness for the day's slaughtering. However, Sir Bjorn was most surprised, nay, surprised even, to observe the chambermaid shrieking in disgust and horror, and streaking off into the noon-day sun.

Our Master was perplexed, and twas not 'til he spied his reflectious McApparition in the mirrorious mirror. Yes, he had of course been mysteriously turned into a walking carrot. Fortunately for all of the true faith, his Excellency found that by spreading his orange flesh with Tabasco sauce, he became himself once more. Thank goodness!

Somewhat perturbed, but not behampered by the mornings events, he ate a hearty plate of waffles with syrup, and embarked on his first conquest. The first port of call for the day was the unfinished distended sphincter that is the maths department. Our Lord was of course able to pass by unnoticed, as he was cunningly disguised as a mere mortal. The corpses of Saint John Benoit Vicedo Shaft (special limited African edition) was still twitching in the throes of rigor mortis, and it was not long before his Barberousness spied this. He swiftly drew his Luger, and fired three elongated strands of searing rubber, one into each of the three bodies. However, he struck the body of John Shaft only once, and with his last motion, Shaft was able to claim the magnanimous glory of relating to His Eminence that he had come but too late, and had he not stopped to eat several hearty breakfasts, he may have been successful once more.

Disappointed, His Majesty strode back t'wards his Kingdom, and rued the day he first tasted waffles.

As he left Babylon to walk back to Africa, the sun set for John B. Enoitvicedo with a shaft hitting him in the back. However someone had zlorfed him before I did, which meant I wouldn't get any biscuits for that kill.

PC Bri Bubble killed Jonathan Gee.

Already fearing hunger, I wandered through Bridge Street, when I saw some girls going into the house of Big Daddy G. They let me in, but asked who I was looking for. I replied that I was looking for my friend Jonny Gee. As they seemed to guess my intentions, I rather quickly ran to the criminal's door, found it open and shot him. Mere seconds later the girls called his phone to warn him, but it was too late, Big Daddy G's life had indeed been too dangerous. He has been killed and their lives will now have no meaning. Maybe I should have stayed to comfort them, but the attraction of the promised bounty was a too great and in my mind I could already taste the paradise.

PC Bri Bubble killed Lampson Fan.

Patrick Bateman killed Kate Andrews.

In my previous posts it may have appeared that I was a deranged psychopathic killer. This is not completely the case now, following several counselling sessions with my psychiatrist. He says my problem stemmed from a lack of companionship, so he recommended that I get a dog to keep me company. I bought Penelope from an elderly lady who couldn't afford to feed her anymore, and we were getting on like a house on fire! Anyway, today I took Penelope for a walk, and we ended up in Kings. I realised that one of my targets was in the Keynes building, so I thought I'd stop by and let her know that I was a reformed character and that I wouldn't kill her. I knocked on the door of Kate Andrews, she being my target, and when she saw my doggie through her spyhole, she couldn't help but open the door. Kate was just telling me what a coincidence it was that my dog was called Penelope, and her pseudonym was Penelope, when my dog leapt up and started taking huge chunks out of Kate's left arm. She screamed in agony, but Penelope wouldn't let go, having attached itself like a limpet to her arm. Finally Penelope the dog tore Kate's entire arm off at the shoulder in an enormous effort. The amount of blood was incredible. My dog ran off with the arm, whilst poor Kate collapsed, dying through loss of blood. She passed away shortly after, and I will send a bouquet of flowers to her funeral. As for Penelope, she had stripped the arm of all flesh, and had decided to start digging a hole for her bone in the middle of Kings Front Court; the Porters were not amused......

As I lay on my bed, I heard a knock. I went to the door and asked who it was. A husky, foreign voice mumbled

"Well you can't come in."
"I can choose anuzza name eef you vant."
"Move where I can see you."

A hand appeared over my spyhole and I heard a patter of feet away from my door. God knows how long his arm was. I went back to my reading.

A few moments later, however, I was roused by another knock, this time in very good rhythm. As I neared the door, I heard a different voice.

"Come on, open the door, I've dressed up specially."

I peered through my spyhole to see someone wearing a rather fetching blond beard and bowler hat.

"Good," I said, "but not good enough."

Once more I resumed my reading. After only a few moments more I heard a third knock. I looked through my spyhole and this time saw only a small dog in the corridor. I am missing my dog at the moment (even though she has gone crackers recently and been eating large sections of the house), so I opened the door to give it a stroke (I mean a pat, I'm not ugly enough to give it a STROKE stroke). As soon as I opened the door, I realised my mistake. The dog was attached to the long-armed chap from before. There was a sniper to my left and another to my right. I sensed the end. The dog leapt, and, with its mighty, mechanical jaws, it mauled me to death.

So it's terribly sad, but I had a nice chat with them afterwards AND I got to name the dog after myself. So if you meet a dog in the street called Penelope, don't trust it for a minute.

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