A car alarm went off, in the street. "Who's

A car alarm went off, in the street. "Who's idiot's car is it this time?", thought Matt. "They should come up with a better system. Who really hears these anymore?"

That was because Devon was handsome and well-endowed. Claudette attempted to mediate her superficiality by claiming that Matt was always trying to "solve" her problems instead of

patronizing her with little, snide explanations. Claudette felt the glow in her cheeks as Devon came a little closer and she had to rush out of the room muttering something about

being late for her juggling class. Devon watched as Claudette's skirt swirled around her long legs as she sped through the door. "Another missed chance for an evening of

hanky panky and spin the bottle" he thought while absentmindedly juggling some molotov cocktails. He accidentally dropped one and flames spread across the hardwood floor so Devon

cursed because the floors had just been re-finished and now they were all scuffed up and charred. Grabbing a bottle of Windex, Devon

suddenly realised that this meant it had hands. Of course, it wasn't unheard of for Northern English counties to become suddenly anthropomorphic, but down South it was just not on.

Frankly, one didn't want Cornwall to be anything remotely capable of eroticism, although that would have to be decided in a by-election. According to the Guardian,

50% of polled males favored Sunday orgies in the park, while the other 50% suffered from erectile malfunction and therefore remained un-poled. It was a puzzling polling paradox.