The once was a pooping unicorn who had the

The once was a pooping unicorn who had the worst B.O. everyone on the earth died

And then the world blew up.

He killed everyone. Then he killed himself.

That's how you're going to end your book? Seriously? If I were you I would

go to the library and tear the last 3 pages of every mystery. Then I would put a ransom note offering the reader the ending. My plan is fool-proof.

Three pounds for the final pages, then two pounds fifty extra if they want me to stitch them back into the book. I snuck into the library late at night and made sure not to trigger

the alarm, my sewing kit satchel in tow. Stealthy, I was, tiptoeing silently through the dark library, searching. Damn! The blasted book apparently wasn't shelved properly!

It was laying on a poorly lit table, opened at a chapter I hadn't noticed before. As I walked slowly towards it, I felt the dark envelope me, grow thicker. I read the

account, by the light of a guttering candle, of my untimely demise and reincarnation as a sea monkey and felt resigned but happy at my aquatic fate.