There’s a scalpel and a bone saw on the table adjacent to me.
I’m going to open up my skull!
It needs this.
It yearns to be aired out.
It’s been too long.
Don’t squeal as I pick up the shiny scalpel and flip off my scalp. It will hurt you far more than it does me.
Hush…a little blood-letting is part of the process. And a big part of the fun.
Now for the saw.
This is the difficult part of the procedure…slowly…slowly…release the monkey…annnnnnddddd…we’re OFF!
Now…run to the back of the operating room, quick!
The suffragettes are coming to tie you to sofas.
Can you hear the singing of the spring chickens?
Up the tempo they must go and
Down to Marylebone Station with the korma and the guest handkerchief.
Colour are flowing now!
Such profound, marvellous hues of cobalt and scarlet; gingle and jabe!
How am I feeling? You ask.
Like a feather boa is now my spine and I’m feeling fine.
My breathing is less stilted as the quick brown fox denies his existence.
Not to me, to you, to me, to you.
You look worried. Rellllllax!
This is the new line to scotsguard open and I don’t need a capital letter. It’s alllllll fine now.
I can feel the wellies been taken off my soul.
Damn! Gotta go! My brothers ringing.
To idle pip.