I studied the piano at Dursley for 17 years. One delightfully moist morning,
I decided to take a trip down to my Aunt Paranoya's in the Upper County.
Now Aunt Paranoya had two addictions, these being canned spam and red eared
waxbills. She always carried a can of spam wherever she went. For those of
you who have never before encountered Spam (you should be ashamed) it is
a fluffly pinkish souffle style mix of a pork and ham tinned into a can.
I never really understood my Aunt for this. Why did she think it necessary
to always carry this putrid stuff with her? So as I approached her house
on this delightful morning, I decided I would ask the dreaded question.

I approached the door like a chihuahua in heat.. Eagerly anticipating a long-awaited
answer. This was serious. Even on her wedding day to Mr. Slonge, Aunt Paranoya
was pictured with this infamous can of Spam. Our whole family had tried to
pry the foul thing off her, said it wouldn't look great in the picture, but
she clung to the thing like a horse's genitalia. This would be the day of
glory... This would be the day I would contribute to my family's history.
The day people would shower me with dove shampoo and count me worthy to eat
porkpies from their original containers! This would be the day...

I knocked on the door. I knocked again. I knocked AGAIN and finally a response
although it was not Aunt Paranoya's usual grimacing stare. No it was the
stare of a Slonge. A Mr. Slonge who appeared to be semi nude. I leapt back
in horror! I had heard rumours about Mr. Slonge's addiction to spreading
blackberry jam on his naked body and I certainly did not want to become a
part of this mad fetish. "Dursley. How are you?" he playfully asked as he
stroked the doorbell. My gaze moved to his hand. This pudgy ball of fat,
stroking the doorbell. It was seriously disturbing. "It's a nice doorbell.
Isn't it?" he smirked. "I had it put in the other day. It's just our Paranoya
is getting a little hard of hearing these days. Do come in while I masturb..
I mean check on the chicken liver soup."

Like one in danger, cautious, I stepped inside the door. Mr. Slonge looked
quite reasonable (apart from a rather enormous glob or what appeared to be
blackberry jam smeared on his lower left leg.)
"Is Aunt Paranoya around? I have something I need to ask her." I quizzed
him.

"Our oul Paranoya is out of town at the moment. She's trying to take care
of that bloody can of spam. Not to worry. I'm still here. Would you care
for a cup of dried milk?" he smiled the smile of a molester.

"Listen Mr. Slonge. I don't have long. I just came to enquire about my Aunt's
well... addiction if that's what you call it... to that can of spam. As a
close and concerned family member I think I have the right to know." I stood
up straight and strong-willed.

"I'm afraid that is none of your business... But ah what the heck. I'll tell
you anyway. Paranoya was bullied as a child. Her father would say to her
'sticks and stones will brake your bones but a can aspam is glam.' He said
this every day for thirteen years and that is why your aunt Paranoya is addicted
to carrying spam."

"I feel so bad..." I replied. "I never understood."

"Ah don't worry about it. She won't even let go of the goddamn thing when
we're trying to act out our sexual fantasies. There's no cure. We've been
to every therapist, doctor, vet in the country. Now how about that dried
milk?" he chuckled.

"No thanks Uncle Slonge. I must be on my way. I have found out what I need
to know. Goodbye for now."

And with that... I headed off to the nearest supermarket to buy 10 full cans
of spam.

I studied the piano at dursley college for 17 years. One slumptious day,
while I was pickin a rather gooey scab, sipping vina borda and fondly gazing
at Oprah, there was a sharp knock upon the door. I opened the door to reveal
a pig shaped man. He introduced himself as Micky Garristein. He started to
rant on about sound engineering equipment and this became tedious... I grabbed
him sharply by his pituitary gland and demanded that he recite his 2 times
tables in multiples of three! Although he could not do this as someone had
switched him on "silent mode." So he left in a strop with my dog fagface.

Later on that day, my granfather's clock arrived. It was too tall for the
shelf so it had to go on the floor. There was yet another knock on the door!
Couldn't a transvestite get any peace around here? This time it was Catalina
Ma Sklinuss... the town's gossip! I frantically checked my diary... She was
scheduled for a seafood lunch in me gaff on this glorious magic tuesday!
Oh no... The only problem was I did not have any seafood and the only other
thing she ate was clocks! And with my grandfathers clock being sprawled so
openly across the floor!!! I could not let her in... she would destroy my
granfather's only prized possession. Even though he had been dead 56 years,
I could feel him glaring up at me from hell.

Suddenly, the knocking became more persistant and enraged. I would have to
answer. Like a mouse sucking on a fruit pastille, I approached the door.
BANG! BANG! BANG!! I was petrified... Her voice shrieked like an alien in
labour... "Miss Dursley, Miss Dursley!!! Are you there? I've brought some
crab claws and squid eggs!! Lunch is scheduled for today. Remember? I even
had my armpits waxed for the occasion! LET ME IN!!!!!!!!!!!"

There was no turning back. I opened the door. God this woman was ugly! Have
you ever seen a cow after it's been shot in the head, molested, butchered
up, mashed, sent to mc donalds, eaten in a happy meal and then thrown up
after too many gin and tonics? Well this is exactly what this woman resembled.
She had the shoulders of an american rugby player, the head of a minced up
cow and the legs of David Hasslehoff all mixed up.... to be continued.....