Restroom in peace, Jeremy.

Toilets.

We all like to use them, to dispose of our effluence that would otherwise mount up around our ears, don't we?

Or do we?

For Jeremy Pinecone, one simple trip to the lavatory almost wound up being a trip...to HELL.

Jeremy Pinecone (age 23, but that is of little to no relevance to the following tale) had been enjoying a nice night out with friends. They had drank beers together, watched a stripper, punched out a couple of headlights and gone for a curry at their local French-Indian restaurant, The Taj Mange-All.

Ravished after a hard night's leering and shouting, the friends ordered a plentiful spread of food, and gorged upon it hungrily.

For Jeremy Pinecone, the twelfth plate of Korma du Poulet was to prove too much for his digestive system to handle, and so he left the table and headed to the restaurant's toilets.

The toilet was located at the back of the establishment, down a rather dark and dismal corridor that bore none of the tasteful decor of the restaurant itself. Nevertheless, Jeremy locked himself in the dank restroom, and prepared to evacuate his bowels.

The bowel motion was fast and furious, the explosive mixture of curries and lagers causing poor Jeremy Pinecone's colon to almost combust under the strain.

But that was the least of Jeremy's problems.

Having successfully performed his task, leaving his hindquarters splattered with feces, Jeremy reached for the toilet roll to clean himself up.

He paused, frozen in terror.

There was no toilet roll.

An empty, cardboard tube hung on the holder, silently mocking him.

Jeremy panicked. What would he do? He was pretty certain it was a rather sizable social faux-pas to return to dinner reeking of excrement.

Luckily for Jeremy Pinecone, a passing ghost appeared in the toilet, so Jeremy simply used the apparition to wipe his anus clean of all the crap.

A close call for Jeremy Pinecone, then, readers. But still, you have to agree, that was some spooky shit.

Sleep well, readers.

- The Book-Keeper.

Cake of TERROR

Cakes.

We all like a nice cake, now and again, don't we?

Don't we?

Of course we do. But like anything, only in moderation. Too much cake, and you would become a hideous, fat freak.

Take young Timothy Rinds. An ordinary boy, perhaps. He had his own hair, two legs, a nose. But he was also the kind of boy who just didn't know when to stop, dear reader.

Timothy Rinds loved cake. Barely a moment passed when he wasn't gorging on some Battenburg, or forcing a tart into his gaping gob.

He just loved to eat cake. But little did Timothy Rinds know where his cake-lust was leading him.

"Oh, Timothy," his mother despaired, as young Timothy Rinds shovelled some chocolate cake into his mouth. "You know, sometimes I think you eat so much cake, that one of these days you'll turn into one."

Timothy laughed, and continued eating.

Of course, he did go on to turn into a cake, with frosting and everything. You probably saw that coming, didn't you?

But it's still horrible. I mean, he turned into a freakin' cake! Imagine that! He was all cake-y!

TERRIFYING.

Sleep well, readers...if you CAN.

Hahahahahahahaha!

- The Book-Keeper.