Look at the size of those fangs. This could only spell, 'SHOE'. Well maybe not shoe... not sure where shoe came from... Maybe, er... "FANGS'. But they're not really fangs are they? No.

    Still WOORRGGGHH! Ay? Ay?

    Yet another undeniable piece of evedence which reveals that my parentage came not from the normal section of the gene pool, right. I mean... does this look like the face of a well adjusted child? Eh? No it doesn't. What this picture does not show however, is that in her right hand swings a bloodied axe. Bloodied from where she had just cut off her left! The REAL story. Yes.

    But you see you think it just stops there, right? Wrong. In the ensuing minutes of terror, she had moved across to the garden shed where, stung up by it's ankles, was an adult oragutang (yes, the endangered sort). Within mere seconds, she lobs off the poor mammal's right hand. 'Right hand...', you ask? Yes. Right hand. She wasn't going to replace her severed left hand with another left one. No, no, no... You see, if you are a tad metally unstable and rejoyce in freakish acts of unneccesary amature limb replacement surgery then you want to do it properly and be... well... really, really weird.

    ...explains a lot, eh? See what I have had to endure all these years of childhood? Let me tell you... you were lucky!

back