Keep Your Chin
Up
by Stephen Philip Druce
I went into my
local telephone box recently.
Now I've been
in some filthy phone boxes in my time, but this
one surpassed all others in the filthy league.
It was a
league of filth in a league of its own filth. A
filthy league that exceeded all filthy leagues of
phone box filthy league filth. It was filthy.
There was the
usual aroma of stale urine in there, a discarded
half eaten meat pie, a blow up doll hanging from
the telephone receiver, a rat swimming in gravy
and snot, and there was a dead man's chin lef
lying on top of the telephone directory.
I called the
police and the officer asked me if I could give
him any information about the chin.
I told him I
wasn't a qualified severed chin examiner, not an
avid follower of severed chins, not employed by
the severed chin industry, not a stalwart member
of the severed chin society - in the round, just
not a severed chin kind of bloke.
He asked me
what my main concern was regarding the chin.
I told him my
main concern was the fact that the chin was there.
The sheer fact that there was a chin in a filthy
phone box in a filthy league of its own filth. A
filthy league that transcended all filthy leagues
of phone box filthy league filth.
"Is the
chin hairier than yours?" asked the officer.
I told him it
was and he said - "well you're lucky you're
chin wasn't severed, but it sounds like you've
had a close shave".
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