Niamh was sitting in a bookshop in Islington

Niamh was sitting in a bookshop in Islington waiting for her son to choose something when she saw the celebrity, Newt Long slip a copy of 'Why Men Marry Bitches' under his jacket!

then that brown-noser, a Man Called It entered the salon. He had grown up, and had a child of his own, called What. A Child Called What, the sequel. Newt and Niamh Long introduced

themselves to the Man Called It, and they hit it off just swell, despite the Man Called It's obvious and unwavering stare at Niamh's body throughout the afternoon. Newt was jealous

of Bill Clinton. He was fat, loud and popular. Newt was fat, loud and hated. But they had to work together to find the Door Of Elation to make it back home. They were in the Kingdo

m of Misdirection (aka the Senate) on their hands and knees feeling for notches in the floor. Colin Powell, having just testified, approached them smiling. He held out an Ambien,

and the floor searching stopped. The senate stared up at Colin Powell, wondering why they had spent so long searching when a kid had the Ambien all along. It was

excruciatingly beautiful, the culmination of all human endeavour that had come before, until Colin Powell started shaking, trembling, bursting forth from his carapace, revealing

How he dreaded seeing another war start in the same region. The president would not listen to him, unfortunately. This was three years after his last attempt to convince the morons

that you can't trigger nuclear bombs by yelling "BOOM!" The moron president couldn't understand that, and certainly not this. All he could do now was muse.