J Peterman was in his element. I had no idea

J Peterman was in his element. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I agreed to accompany him on his "business" trip to Bangkok. It was 10 am. I sipped the Singha foam

fuzzy bunny slippers over his cold, dead ears, wrote a haiku about wererabbits on the bathroom mirror in lipstick, shredded all the complimentary tea-bags then quietly slipped

inside a coat bag in the cupboard and waited. A cleaning lady got a nasty shock when she found him hanging there lifeless the next day. She found the haiku about wererabbits and

a small bag of coins. She looked around before pocketing the coins. She was an excellent janitor but an even better thief. In fact, she had stolen about 25 grand that week.

That's how she became my mama.

Sometimes people don't believe it, but I don't really care one iota. Also, you know that whole story about storks delivering babies to doorsteps? Well, that's a complete lie.

The children sat there with their eyes wide, unsure what to say. Tommy spoke up. "Well then, where DO babies come from?" I was expecting this question, of course, and explain that

when a mummy and a daddy love each other they do a special cuddle which... scrap that - if you want to have a baby, plant a gooseberry bush & you will find a baby under it. The chi

valrous knight rode in on his horse at that moment, declaring it as fallacy. He followed with a delightfully educational powerpoint presentation setting the record straight.