A collection that still haunts me.
I fell to my knees and cried out to the sky, "Why!? Why hath thou divine fury been taken out on me?". I did not know whether it t'were God, Allah or Optimus Prime I was crying to, only that I was. It may very well have been that I confused a flock of birds that day, causing them to fly into a building or somesuch, I do not know.

Of course, I should start at the beginning. In my youth I had begun collecting finely pressed discs, some of which I had not seen anywhere else in the world. They were beautiful, and I was to enjoy many hours of quiet, solemn contemplation in their company, often spending days or even weeks at a time with them. I cannot quite recall how I started collecting them, but aiding me was a young dutch boy by the name of Van Buiten. He would often run up to me, his eyes gleaming with hope, silent in his reverential awe of me, holding in his grubby mitts another one of these gleaming circles. I rewarded him with a tulip, as this reminded him of his homeland, which he pined for.

My collection soon grew immense, I soon bought two near identical skyscrapers in New York in order to house it. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed in the more glamourous social circles, and I soon found myself the toast of London town. However, my collection soon took a backseat to my drunken debauchery, it was not an uncommon sight to see me licking moon sugar (which grants the user the ability to moonwalk) off of the virginal thighs of the Prime Minister in the House of Commons. Indeed, tales of my sexual prowess were so widespread that a bounty was placed on my glans.

Unfortunatley it was at this point that my mother stepped in. To call her short would be an understatement, however this belies her sharp and furious intellect and the fact that she was a skilled and trained terrorist (back in the days before their name had taken the negative connotations they have today). She had seen what had become of her son, and intended to step in in order to clear the family name.

I was sleeping in my grand, four-poster bed with many beautiful ladies one spring eveningtide when she stormed in, bringing Van Buiten handcuffed and blindfolded with her.
"Son!" she roared, "you shall no longer lead such a hedonistic and decadent lifestyle!"
"Really? I replied, the moon sugar still pounding through my veins, "why should I want to do that?"
"It's not a case of wanting to do it, rather, I am forcing you." she retorted, "You see, if you do not come with me right now young man, I shall behead this dutch boy and then televise it."
I was incredulous. "You wouldn't dare." I said, but my voice faltered. She had done this many times before, often at parties, and once for the queen. She was certainly not someone who would joke about this lightly.
"Really?" she smirked, and with a swift chop, she performed the cranioectomy. Van Buiten was dead, and his dutch blood had stained my impressive marble floor. I was devastated. I moonwalked over to his still twitching corpse. Though the boy was monsterously ugly, I still harboured a soft spot for him and my mother knew this. It was at his point I shouted at the sky, which I described at the start of this story. I soon recovered from my loss however, as I realised I wouldn't have to buy any more stupid tulips.
"Very well, you have made your point," I grimaced, "What would you have me do?"
"You are to take up the study of phrenology at St. Lucifer's college in Oxford posthaste, I have already secured a seat for you in the class. And by the way, I have destroyed the twin towers in which your collection resides, so that it may never lead you down this path again. Some of my men flew some aeroplanes into them this morning. I just hope that this shall teach you a lesson about what is to be done in life." And with that she left.

My collection was gone. Years of work by one small dutch boy was wasted. I would never set my eyes on the gleaming visage of them, sitting perfectly stacked and ordered. I was devastated (again). Once more I screamed at the sky, as described at the beginning of this tale. It was at this point the beautiful ladies left too, and I screamed at the sky once more (again, in identical fashion to that described in the inroduction).

It is now, a few years later, that I can appreciate the wisdom of her words. I was on a dark path to Sodom and Gammorah. I am now a respected phrenologist having been tutored under Dr. Alain Titchmarsh (who is the French twin brother of televisual gardener Alan Titchmarsh). I only regret that I lost my small dutch boy and my collection of pirated PC games.
( Lightguy hail satan, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:16, 7 replies)

*click*
for oddness.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:23, closed)

very strange, yet compelling
topped off by a sig saying "Bill Oddie fucked an otter"

everything about this is win
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:34, closed)

Another click for oddness
Lots of it, too...

why phrenology?
( uberdeity Wondered why Owen Lars knew of the term "hell" on, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:34, closed)

this is beautiful
and made me weep tears of wee.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:37, closed)

I've always wanted to study
retro-phrenology
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:48, closed)

click
want moon sugar
(happyjoy last changed sig on, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 14:55, closed)

Hmmm,
Have you been reading Harry Hill perchance???
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Mon 18 Aug 2008, 14:02, closed)