Donna was in the kitchen chopping onions.

Donna was in the kitchen chopping onions. On the radio was an item about the cut-back in mistresses Italian men are having to make in the economic downturn. The knife slipped and a

spurt of blood drained from where the woman's finger used to be. Reaching for a towel the woman muttered, "Two down, Eight to Go," as she looked at

an unripe banana. "Good thing it's not ready to eat because I'd have a hard time picking it up anyway!" she thought, as she walked to the coke machine and used her bloody mouth to

breathe in the gas fumes emanating from the coke machine. Someone had confused the machine with the petrol pumps outside. She grabbed the unripe banana she had salvaged and ran

. She and she alone held the magic banana.The salvation of the world was literally in her grasp. Dodging bullets and bombs, she deftly zigzagged across the parking lot. She had to

ending by ending her story with the phrase, "Not where are we, but WHEN are we?" The Blind Times published the story by the Unwanted Ads which is how she managed to get a large

Sum for her acount of thassophobia, which explained why she never sat down to eat even one meal a day. Her mum took her to a psychiatrist, who diagnosed her and prescribed Prozac.

But the prozac only made things worse. She was withering away in desperation. When you see something, something you know no one will believe, the paranoia grows, and grows

until you're sure they'll put you in the Nut Hatch if you dare mention it to a soul. She would have been better off in the Nut Hatch, though, safe and clean. What a conundrum.