Looking back it’s been a weird, wired December.

It stared on the first when a large box arrived with a note inside.

1st December

Dear Mr. Cooper,

I have long admired your work and have recently come into a large sum of money. I do not need this money as I am already a man
of considerable means.

I have therefore decided to re-pay those people who over the years have brought me satisfaction in some way and I am glad to say
you are one of those people.

From now until the 24th December you will receive each week a parcel, in this parcel will be various items, in addition to the par-
cel you will receive a boy, should you choose you can use the items on the boy. All of the boys have signed agreement papers to
take part and you can, if you wish, keep each boy until the next arrives, however you are not permitted to keep two boys at the
same time.

The contents of this box contain the following.

1. An electric carving knife

2. A set of kitchen knives

3. Wooden steak mallet

4. A kettle

5. A funnel

6. A small saucepan

7. Olive Oil

8. Bleach

9. A large box of matches

10. A set of restraints.

As you will see all of these items would normally belong in a standard kitchen, therefore anything you wish to do with this boy
should take place in your kitchen.

I hope you enjoy this gift as much as I have enjoyed your work over the years. You will receive a new parcel and boy on the 8th De-
cember.

I do not wish to be identified, so for now I will sign myself a fan and well wisher.

Enjoy.

14.00 Doorbell rings and standing there is a dark longhaired boy approximately 18 years old. Well built. Six foot. Blue eyes. He
introduces himself as Gert, he seems polite.

15.00 Gert seems to be taking some kind of control, after some conversation he makes it clear he wishes to start my present, gets
up from the sitting room sofa and walks through to the kitchen. I follow him

16.00 Spend an hour tying Gert to a high backed kitchen chair. He is stood, bent, naked over the top of it, ass raised in the air, arms
and legs tied to the wooden legs.

16..00 to 20.00 Spend four hours working my hands and tongue into Gert’s ass which is clean and musty, tight, my tongue starts to
ache.

20.00 to 24.00 Fuck Gert.

24.00 Bed, leave Gert tied to chair in kitchen.
2nd December

10.00 Wake, Gert awake, still tied to chair.

11.00 to 14.00 spend time answering blog queries in sitting room, Gert shouts out a couple of times that he needs some attention.
Ignore him.

14.00 Walk through to kitchen, it seems my presence, moving around the flat and doing other things has aroused Gert, he is hard
and appears to have already come.

Make breakfast. Gert declines.

15.00 to 18.00 Slap Gert’s ass for a while, insert fingers into him, then fist, accommodating boy indeed.

18.00 to 23.30 Attend French Cultural Ministry preview of Kier Cooke Sandvik at the Louvre.

23.30 to 01.45 Push wooden steak mallet into Gert’s ass repeatedly.

01.45 to 2.00 Tired, untie Gert from chair, his legs collapse, he falls heavily to floor and stays there.
Bed.
3rd December

11.00 Wake late, refreshed

11.00 to 15.00 Blog enquiries

15.00 to 18.00 Gert on floor in kitchen where I had left him. Place on kitchen table on his back, tie arms and legs to table legs.
Spend three hours flicking matches onto his body, black burn marks start to appear after an hour where matches seem to land in the
same place, interesting.

18.00 to 24.00 Dress and attend premiere of Kiddiepunk’s movie. Decline offer from Michael Fassbender to have supper with him,
I have Gert after all.
24.00 to 3.00 Three hours pushing my thumb into Gert’s red scorch marks. He comes twice, thick almost grey in colour, odd.
4th December

11.00 to 12.00 Rush through blog thing, distracted.

12.00 to 18.00 Take kitchen knives and open up red burns by placing tip of knife and flicking my wrist callously along the length
of the burns. There are thirty one small tears to Gert’s body, he comes three times. I press his come into the wounds.

18.00 to 23.15 Cocktails and dinner with Oscar B, we discuss his Disney commission to open a de Sade theme ride.

23.15 to 03.25 Tighten restraints so that each of Gert’s ribs are clearly exposed. Push knife into chest, deep until I feel the tip of the
blade hit bone, trace along bone, long wounds to chest. Tip bleach into wounds, have to stop, loud screams from Gert after which
he mutters ‘more’ Gag applied to Gert’s mouth, continue until tired…sleep.
5th December

12.00 Wake late

12.30 to 12.45 Do that blog thing I do.

12.45 to 18.00 Place kettle nozzle against Gert’s balls and boil, watch steam burn balls, kettle switches off, I watch, every ten min-
utes switch kettle on, after two hours blisters appear, continue, after two more hours skin starts to peel away, Gerty comes three
times.

18.00 to 23.10 Meet Michele Obama at US Embassy function ,nice lady, although she looks as if she dresses at Primark.

23.10 Bed, exhausted. Try to ignore Gert’s pleading.

6th December

12.00 Wake late again. Gert pleads for attention.

12.30 to 15.00 Blog, Gert continually calls for me, ignore him.

15.00 to 19.00 Boil Olive Oil in saucepan, apply hot oil to knife wounds, then re-tie Gert over back of chair. Rim for two hours,
exquisite taste, place funnel in ass and pour heated oil inside, remove funnel, look, red, apply more oil, fist for an hour. Warm oil
feels good against my wrist.

19.00 to 23.00 Dinner with Kiddiepunk who has in tow Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, who are desperate to appear in next Kid-
diepunk movie, we chat before telling them both to ‘fuck off’.

23.00 to 02.00 Fuck Gert like an animal, pulling his hair, handfuls fall out and litter the floor.
7th December

10.00 Woken by Gert calling out

10.15 to 14.30 Blog, not too many enquiries but just bored of Gert. He’s starting to whine and make demands

14.30 to 18.15 Re-tie Gert to kitchen table on his back. Take electric kitchen knife and cut along where shoulder and arms meet,
deep wounds, Gert’s arms now more flexible.

18.15 to 22.40 Mistakenly attend Serbian Embassy do on sex trafficking, apparently they want to stop it.

22.40 to 03.00 Unleash my fury of attending Serbian thing on Gert’s ass, hour of rimming then fisting then fuck him hard as I slice
deep into his buttocks with electric carving knife.
03.00 Bed.
8th December

10.00 Woken by knocking on door, parcel delivery. Gert has gone. I open the box. Two notes

First note:

Dear Mr. Cooper,

I hope you enjoyed your first week.

I wonder if you would be so kind to complete this form and return to me at PO BOX given.

Questions:

1. Please rate 1 to 5 how you found the boys

Attentiveness

Looks

Ability to undertake tasks required by you.

Cuteness

Stamina/Ability to withstand pain

Looks compared to Vincent Kartheiser

Inside the other a power drill and a box with about twenty five drill bits an extension cord and that’s it.

11.00 to 11.04 The doorbell rings. Open the door to find an almost exact replica of Leonardo DiCaprio around the time he made
Total Eclipse. Medium build, tight body with floppy blonde hair, pushed back somehow around the temple areas.

I open the door and he steps aside, no sooner is the door shut than he starts to get out of his clothes, he lingers as he pulls his tee
over his head, arms above his head, chest exposed, somehow makes him seem vulnerable, he is vulnerable, he pulls the tee off ,
kicks off his dirty white sneakers, no socks and undoes the buttons on his jeans, slow, very slow, he wants to put on a show, shrugs
‘em down his legs, naked now, no shorts, a lengthy hard on bounces up, slapping his stomach. Cute, nice. I punch him hard in the
face, his nose collapses and he falls unconscious to the floor. I drag him into the bedroom and throw him on the bed.

11.04 to 14.00 Do the blog, some great comments and responses to yesterday. Nice people, every one them gifted and talented.
Bless.

14.00 to 17.00 Spend a pleasant three hours just fooling around with my present. Great ass, very responsive, it basically pulled my
tongue off when I went inside there, I had to slap his ass around a little to free it again, nice touch I thought. Ending up coming
over his teen idol hair/forehead, watched as my come ran into his eyes.

17.00 to 17.10 Wrote some more of my new novel. Ten pages in a year, not bad. Returned to the boy.

17.10 to 19.30 Another couple of hours exploring the boy’s asshole, four fingers appears to be his limit at the moment, we will see
by the end of week what progress he can make.

19.30 to 23.45 Spent the evening trying to catch the frogs from the nearby canal. Misa visits soon and it would never do to have a
plague of frogs running everywhere.

23.45 to 02.45 Boy on his back as I fuck him long and slow for an hour or so and then increase the pace in the last hour. As I fuck
him I watch his face, the deeper I go into him, it’s odd, but it seems to change, older, darker somehow.
9th December

07.23 to 11.45 Damn the frogs I caught last night have escaped from the box, so me and the boy have to hunt round the flat trying
to find them all. I mistakenly put one in my mouth thinking it was a croissant. Same shape and all.

11.45 to 15.00 Do blog thing, it takes forever because I think I keep hearing frogs and I have to go investigate each time. Despite
sound no new frogs found.

15.00 to 18.30 God this boy has such a beautiful ass, tight, round, small, spend an hour or so working four fingers inside of him, he
has the most delicious moan, then fuck him senseless, it got a little out of hand, at one point I think I pushed a frog into his mouth,
there was a croaking/choking sound for a while, then he came and passed out.

18.30 to 23.45 Dinner tonight at the ‘No Pork Here, We’re All Lesbians’ bistro on Rue Tragique. Nice time was eventually spoilt
by Kiddiepunk’s new fire eating friend who set fire to the place. We beat a hasty retreat.

23.45 to 03.35 Long session with boys ass, ended with him sitting on my cock and riding me hard as I twisted his tits with one
hand and pulled his balls with the other. Session was spoilt when as I left for the bedroom to take a leak I stood on a frog, which
squished underfoot and caused me to slide along the marble floor eventually impaling myself on the towel rack in the bathroom.
10th December

07.00 to bedtime,

I wake up and go through to the lounge where the kid is still passed out. He pretty much looks like DiCaprio in Titanic now, so that's
what I do all day, play Titanic, he's whoever, I don't know and I don't fancy being Kate Winslet too much so I decide to be the ice-
berg. This is kinda how it pans out but it gets a little sketchy and vague in my head after a while.

First off hunt through Yury's shit for hairdressing scissors, find a kit thing with loads, excellent. Visualise the movie... Wow, that's
right there were loads of icebergs, go through to bathroom and hunt through medicine cabinet, find bandages and plasters. Stick a
pair of scissors to each finger on my right hand with plasters and then bind tight with bandage. Hummm, not sure about Titanic, this
is like Titanic gets capsized by Edward Scissorhands.

Walk back through to lounge, haul kid onto his feet and prop him up against a bookcase, he slides down...fuck... Run down to the
Recollets’ office, woman there seems a little alarmed with my hand thing and keeps looking at it as I ask if she has a handy hammer
and nails I can borrow. I think because of the hand thing she coughs ‘em up. Back to flat, haul kid back up, raise his arm up to a
shelf and nail his hand to the bookshelf, same with the other one ...Man, in a certain light and angle he really does look like Kate
Winslet. I think for two seconds, and that’s like one and half seconds too long, about downloading that Celine Dion track, fuck, my
head, where is it at…?

Vomit at the thought… Celine Dion… fuck... that’s perverse.

The bile is running now so I unleash an attack on the kid, the knives run through the skin on his back, long slices, then push blades
into his sides, I guess at some point a lung is punctured because he starts to make a wheezing noise and as I am hacking into an
arm... I start to sing… fucking Celine Dion…

So the kid’s hit an iceberg and he's starting to go under, I rip his hands off the bookcase and lug him through to the bathroom, throw
him into the bath and turn the cold tap on and yup, shit you really do start to turn blue from cold after a while. Continue to hack with
my hand icebergs and then get the shower hose and push it into the kids mouth, turn on cold water… man... this fucker’s sinking
fast.
Abandon hope….mayday….mayday….abandon hope.…mayday....mayday
11th December

05.00 to 11.00 Wake to a searing back pain. Stand for a couple of hours with my feet crossed, some idiot once told me it would
alleviate the pain, it didn’t, put my trust in heavy duty painkillers. Check on the boy, he has changed. He now looks like Leonardo
DiCaprio from The Beach, older, still able to hide the receding hairline, but defiantly older now… Weird, must be the painkillers.

11.00 to 15.45 Blog, which took awhile, lots of annoying comments to answer, then put together tomorrow’s page on ‘The History
of Republican funding in the arts‘… Didn’t take too long. Blog and nod, blog and nod, nod and blog, blog and nod, nod, nod, nod,
blog, what? I think Gisèle Vienne phoned to tell me she had passed her helicopter pilot’s test.

15.55 to 17.30 Damn back has taken actual sex off the day’s plan, so I took out the power drill and extension lead, tied the boy to
the bed and lay beside him, we kissed for an hour or so then I bore some holes into his groin area. Five in all, pushed my fingers
inside the drilled holes, warm, interesting. I think I may have sprained my wrist, there’s a definite pain there.

The boy now looks like DiCaprio from The Aviator, very odd.

17.35 to 23.50 Dress, which takes forever due to back pain, then dinner with Jonathan Capdevielle. I wasn’t much up to conversa-
tion because of the pain and the effects of the painkillers. At 22.30 I realised actually Jonathan was not there, I had been having
dinner with his damn puppets all along.

23.50 to nod
12th December

10.00 to 12.00 Blog

12.00 to 16.00 Bore some holes into the boy who now looks like DiCaprio from The Departed. He seems old and very boring now,
there is no attraction here anymore. Boring holes take concentration and a close up view so I forget for a while that the boys face
has aged so much.

16.00 to 20.00 Write a sentence for my new novel.

20.00 to 23.00 Have dinner with Gore Vidal, he smells of moth balls and cabbage, revolting. He has nothing of any interest to say
and spends half his time mincing about back and forth to the toilets, where I suspect he is scrawling lewd comments about gladia-
tors called Julian on the walls and then, embarrassingly, he pinches the young waiter’s bum. Glad to get away.
23.00 to 23.20 Checked on the boy, he now appears to be DiCaprio in Revolutionary Road. I can’t wait to get ride of him, if I
wanted to have sex with an old man I would have pulled Gore earlier, he‘s an easy, if slack lay after all.
13th December

10.00 to 23.50 Avoid the boy all day, he is aging, he now appears to be DiCaprio in a film yet to be made. Maddening.
14th December

The blood flows in thin trickles from nipples drilled, open wounds in which my fingers push, warm, I feel the heart beat through
them. I take a larger bit and attach to the drill, place against earlier drilled holes and push hard, the bone smokes under the drill’s
rotations, I place my nose close to it and inhale, scorched bone, a hole to the small of the back renders the boy’s legs spastic, they
twitch and jerk involuntarily. Finally a drill hole to the lower neck, pushing into spinal column.

Death.

15th December

Take the long walk in a pleasant Paris sunshine, to the Paris DHL office with box with dead boy inside. Address label to Misa, he’s
a fan after all. Place frog inside box as a joke. Go home. Blog.
16th December

10.00 The next box arrives, inside is only a note. It says;

‘Anything. You can use anything you like on this one, whatever’s to hand. Enjoy‘.

11.00 Door bell rings, standing there is a Thai boy, small delicate features, very slim and small. Not really my taste but what can I
do, I invite him in, he immediately gets to work making me a sandwich… Odd.

12.00 to 13.30 Hmmmmm… Boy does not speak either English or French but makes a damn good sandwich. He keeps trying to
wrap himself around me as I write my blog. Punch him hard. He cowers in the corner

13.30 to 15.00 Write blog, Goddamn it what is it with these people, it’s all Céline this and Goytisolo that and Guyotat, I mean do
the fuckers never just snuggle down to a good Dan Brown? I mean the Da Vinci code’s awesome after all.

15.00 to 17.55 OK the boy may be to my taste after all or at least his ass. Hands and feet tied to bed his skinny little frame barely
makes it, he’s restrained tight. Maybe it’s the different food he eats but his ass tastes of beef, roast beef, rare. It’s been so long
since I last ate roast beef. Spend a very pleasant afternoon eating him out and remembering thick gravy, roast potatoes and slices of
thick, thick, rare roast beef. So tasty is he I am late getting ready for the French Cultural Minister’s do at the Centre Pompidou to-
night.

17.55 to 20,00 Dress, well, I can barely put one thing on before I have to have a taste of that ass and roast beef. Damn…

20.00 to 20.45 Metro to ‘Pompous Centre‘. Longer than it should have taken, I kept getting distracted by mobile burger vans on the
way… Resist temptation. By the end of the evening I am drawling harder than Reagan when he used to meet Thatcher.

20.45 to 23.30 Dreary evening networking and having my hand shaken by various people all who appeared to be eating roast
beef… Roast beef this, roast beef canopies, roast beef baguettes, roast beef fries, roast beef crisps…

23.30 to 00.00 French Cultural Minister offers me a lift home in his limo, I’m a sucker for limos so I agree. Anyway when we pull
up outside my place he says he ‘needs to take a leak bad’ so I can’t really refuse to let him pop up. I show him the bathroom and
the next thing I know he’s in my sitting room, naked, harder than algebra, damn he’s spotted the Thai boy.

00.00 to 4.50 Listen as minister grunts and groans his way through the damn Kama Sutra and then some moves all of his own. Try
to work on my novel, but the idea of writing about cannibalism when I have such a delicious boy’s ass in the other room proves an
impossibility. Put on headphones and listen to ‘Guided by Voices’ and crack open the new Dan Brown novel.
04.50 - 05.00 Take a peek into my bedroom, as great as the Dan Brown is I need my sleep. There’s the French Cultural Minister
passed out on the floor, his withered dick looks like corrugated cardboard and the boy has been strung up from the ceiling, he has the
words ‘sex trade’ scrawled on his chest and on his back a crude geographical map of central Asia and Europe marked with red dotted
lines leading to my flat. Guess I will have to sort this mess out in the morning.
17th December

09.00 to 09.30 Waken by a huge nose, people slamming about in the hallway. Open bedroom door and there’s the French Cultural
Minister directing approximately 40 odd people into my sitting room, it appears he has decided to set up his HQ in my flat.

09.30 to 12.00 Watch in horror as PCs, desks, telexes, phones, industrial sized photocopiers are all installed in my sitting room.

12.00 to 16.00 Try to write blog at one of the many desks that have been installed. French Cultural Minister keeps running in and
out of the bedroom.

16.00 to 18.00 More people arrive at my flat this time for a press conference on the new ‘120 Days of Sodom’ ballet being spon-
sored by the French Cultural Ministry performed by the Bangkok Boys’ Orphanage.

While press conference is on I sneak into my bedroom…damn that roast beef sure is good.

18.00 to 20.00 Listen…depressed…forlorn….as French Cultural Minister works the boy over again and again and again and
again…….My life and certainly this apartment are no longer my own.

20..00 to 23.30 Spend evening at Kiddiepunk’s flat…..Trip over his damn plaster caste leg several times. He has no food as he still
can’t get out much, the fire eater calls around, I tell them about the boy and his delicious roast beef ass… We decide to go to my
flat to see.

23.30 to 03.30 So hungry are we and so in need of roast beef was I, that what follows is only a rough estimate of what happened, it
should not be seen as any kind of confession…

Me, Kiddiepunk and his fire eater friend enter my bedroom. Boy tied from ceiling appears to have lost his mind totally. Kid-
diepunk hobbles to my kitchen in search of something to eat. There is nothing… All the damn secretarial staff have eaten me out of
house and home.

Kiddiepunk’s fire eater friend pulls some shit from his bag. Next fucking thing I know there’s a ten foot wall of flame being shot
out of his mouth across my room, scorching the boy’s body, running along the ribs. Death occurs approximately ten minutes later.
Eleven minutes later we are all tucking into a get roast beef rib meal… Hunger abated I wave a cheery goodnight to kiddie punk
and his fire eater friend.

Sleep
18th December

09.30 - 10.00 Turn on TV news. French Cultural Minister has died of a heart attack apparently. The flat is ominously quiet Peek
head out of bedroom door, no one.

10.00 to 12.00 Prepare and post blog on 50 great roast beef recipes

12.00 to 16.00 Carve up boy in convenient oven sized portions.

16.00 to 05.00 Cook and Bake away…..

Roast Legs

Roast Thighs

Roast Arms

Roast Neck

Roast Head

All covered or smothered should I say in a secret Cali… Manson Family Death Ranch sauce…
Mmmmmmm…
19th December

09.00 to 23.30 Eat. Then Bed.

20th December

09.00 to 23.00 Eat. Then Bed

21st December

09.00 to 23.00 Hmmmmmmmmmmmm. Eat then bed

Notice I am putting on some weight and then some, I resemble a native from Idaho….must see if I can take out my pants a little.
22nd December

09.30 to 15.45 Eat

15.45 to 23.50 Depression.

All meat stripped from bones… Chewed, gnarled, then sucked… It’s all gone. Just a pile of bones remains… I sit alone… De-
pressed… Fat………………
23rd December

11.00 - 11.01 And bless, there’s my next gift: a total disco dolly, totally off his fucking trolly. He stands in my doorway, 20 inch
waist, hips, and a tank top so tight a two year would struggle to get into it. Pre-foetal Gap I am reckoning. He teeters on platform
sneakers, lurches towards me then back again. As I look at him standing there he twirls his arms in the air and his legs shake as if an
enormous jolt of acid has just been shot through him. His eyes flutter and he simpers:
‘Hi Babe,
I’m your new baby boy,
You Daddy?’
I punch him hard. He falls to the ground. I wedge him in the doorway and slam the door several times on his head, as he drifts into
unconsciousness I say:
‘Hey baby, I’m ya new NIGHTMARE.’
He passes out. Drag boy into flat and wait for him to regain consciousness.

11.01-13.00 Initially try to ignore pangs of hunger swelling from my stomach. After a while I think I start to hallucinate roast beef
and all assortments of dark meats, sausages, pâtés and soups, blood running from the steaming cuts… My stomach groans and grum-
bles at the thought of the meat…moist, succulent, soft, I imagine my teeth against flesh, tearing it apart and as it rips, the flow of
blood onto my tongue, down my throat as I swallow both meat and blood. I am constantly distracted by the blood flow from the
boy’s head, a result of my slamming the door into him. I place my tongue against his head and lick, tasting the dark red blood. I lift
my head and look at him. He is cute, very blond, his hair almost pure white, shoulder length, a toned body, slack jaw and spaced
eyes. He drifts in and out of consciousness although the periods of lucidity are becoming longer so I guess he is coming too. I make
my way past all of the desks and PCs that now lay empty, unoccupied over to the stereo, ‘Guided By Voices’ fills the room… I go
into the kitchen to check what food is in the house. I look at all the wine and wonder which would be the perfect accompaniment to
human flesh.

13.00-15.00 Whilst in the kitchen, I hear first the music stop and then thundering around the apartment Kylie Minogue’s ‘Can’t get
you out of my head’. ‘La, La,La,La,La,La,Lalala….La,La,La,Lalalalala…………..’ Walk back into the sitting room where the disco
boy has piled five desks on top of each other and is stood atop them dancing and grinding his waif-like body, arms flung over his
head as if on a podium. ‘Hey Babe’ he says… ‘Come on dance with meeeeeeeeeeeee.’ As he attempts to spin, his platform trainers
get caught in some PC cables and he topples to the floor. I pick up a PC monitor from one of the desks and stand over him and then
with no force I just let it fall onto his face. It gains its own horrid momentum as it falls towards him, it hits his face and then falls to
the floor, his nose now spread across his face, over one eye a new gash, just above the eyebrow… The flow of new blood from a
fresh wound. He once again loses consciousness.

15.00 to 19.50 Nearly five hours of exquisite heaven follow……….

The boy, unconscious, naked, now lying on his front, his ass raised under some cushions, I kneel and worship his ass, pushing my
tongue inside him, tasting his being, the muskiness, after a while the taste dissipates. I frantically hunt the flat for Yury’s hair
straighteners… Plug them in. Push them inside the boy’s ass until there is a smell of burnt flesh, remove, push tongue inside, warm,
some flesh has burnt away from the inside of his ass. As I push my tongue inside harder some flakes of flesh fall away onto my
tongue, I swallow….

19.50-22.00 Rifle through the kitchen drawers… ’Where is it... Damn it… Yes.’ I pull the crème brûlée torch from the back of the
drawer, push the ignition button and a fierce blue flame shoots from it’s end. Back in the sitting room, I turn the disco bunny over
onto his back, as he rolls he murmurs:
‘Hit me baby, one more time.’
Too fucking right I think. I spread his legs apart and reignite the crème brûlée torch, guiding it between his legs, directing the flame
to the soft meat of his groin. My stomach acids growl in protest at the delicious sweet meat smell. Initially the skin reddens, burns
and then separates under the heat, I take a fork and prize out the sweetest of meats. My appetite satisfied I sleep the deepest, deepest
of sleeps, ever.
24th December

All day,

I have to leave as we, that’s me, Gisèle, Jonathan and the falconer guy, are heading off to Brest again to rehearse for our new theatre
piece. No half hour walk in the sodding cold rain and a smooth TGV this time, ah no, it’s Gisele at the controls of her brand new
spanking helicopter, first solo flight. I know I can’t leave the boy here so I parcel him up in a big cardboard box that’s been lying
around awhile and duct tape it shut, I am pretty sure he’s not regaining consciousness anytime soon so… While waiting at the heli-
port bump into Jean Luc Godard, he shows me the story boards for his next movie, a Marxist/Maoist analysis of the ’role of the
gummy bear in post modern Bosnia.’ Hmmmmm. He chomps on a big fat cigar and is accompanied by the most curvaceous, glamor-
ous female researcher I have ever seen. When I say ‘Hi’ to her she slips me a business card which has her name and contact details
with the tag line: ‘Nothing left undone or unseen. Madame Fifi’s researches the places others wouldn’t dare go anywhere near in
their right mind’.

All assembled, I decide to sit at the back as there is only one seat with a gap for the box next to it. In front of me sits Jonathan who
has decided to take the puppets out of their boxes and they are now strapped into the seats next to him. One of the puppets is saying
how much he enjoyed our meal the other evening, I tell Jonathan to cut it out and he just turns and says ‘what’. I say ‘doing that pup-
pet thing‘, he looks blank, then the puppet winks at me. I feel an erection stirring as I stare down the puppet, I hope the puppet didn’t
notice. Damn I think it may have done as it’s now licking its lips and blowing me kisses… Fuck it… In the front of the helicopter,
Gisèle and the falconer. Take off’s pretty smooth, straight up and heading out over Paris Gisèle decides to relive Jonathan and her
Britney concert moments and puts on a mixtape. As ’Hit me baby one more time’ starts up the heavily sedated and, I thought, coma-
tose disco bunny in the box bursts out of the top of the box and starts waving his arms over his head, this startles the falconer who
drops his box of birds on the floor, suddenly the cockpit is full of owls, hawks and bloody vultures. The puppets all slip their seat
belts off and start grind dancing with the disco bunny, running their hands over his tight tank top and bare midriff, another puppet
simulates buggery, the puppet who winked at me earlier climbs over his seat and puts his arms round me and slips an E into my
mouth with his tongue… I shout to the puppet to grab the damn disco bunny and help me hold him down, the puppet is surprisingly
strong and together we manage to pin him, as he is pinned the vultures land on his chest and start to peck at his eyes, the E kicks in
and I have an overwhelming desire to kiss the boys eyes so I bend down and suck the eyeball right out of the kids eye socket. It
lands in my mouth like the most perfect poached egg, warm and soft to the touch, I throw back my head and swallow it whole.
Gisèle, Jonathan, the damn puppets and the falconer are now all dancing around, waving their arms in the air, in fact Gisèle has
somehow found a day-glow light stick from somewhere and is whirling it around her head. The helicopter’s in a total drive and just
as Britney sings out: ‘ah baby, baby,’ a puppet lights up an emergency distress flare and the cockpit is illuminated with bright orange
light and smoke, this re-energises the now one-eyed disco bunny to new heights of disco madness and he gyrates and grinds against
the vulture that is now in the process of removing his other eye… madness……………

……………………………….........

We hit the ground hard… The puppet throws himself across me as we hit the ground and somehow I am thrown clear… I get up onto
my feet fast and run, after fifty yards the helicopter bursts into flames. I look around… No survivors… Heavy rain. In a forest some-
where…

Walk back to Paris in the rain… No one stops to offer me a lift……………………….

I bet I’ll get a cold now.

Happy Fucking Christmas …man!