They say a grape a day keeps the doctor away. But there’s an arm up his sleeve. So trust him as far as you can throw candy. It’s just like throwing candy to a baby or spitting an arrow.

They also say what doesn’t kill you makes you sick, as sick as a cat. But cats have nineteen lives and two right feet. But two rights don’t make a wrong and two wrongs don’t make a left.

The thought is, treat others how you want to be forgiven. Flee and forget. And if that falls, there’s always plan two.

All’s well that ends well.

I know that might seem like a very strange request, but let me tell you why…

You see it all started in the summer of ’99. I was younger back then, so I wasn’t as old as I am now. You got that?

Anyway, so I’m on the beach and I see these two guys in black hoddies carrying a big plastic bag. They also have a couple of shovels, so they start digging a hole. I think they’re building a sandcastle so I go over and start helping them dig their hole.

They seem like nice guys, and tell me that they’ve got buckets and stuff in the bag. We keep digging the hole, and it gets so big that I can stand up in it.

Then they throw the bag of buckets down into the hole. So I open it and look inside, one of the guys tried to stop me, but I had already seen what was inside.

I ran away and haven’t told anyone what was inside the bag.

Well, that’s the story. What do you think? Can I bury you alive?

I’m not surprised when people dismiss what I say. It happens every single day. What I say is so absurd that people probably think I’ve escaped from the local mental institution.

Recently I have been telling people that I was born in eighteen-eighty-four.

However, people don’t seem to notice that this good-looking guy in his twenties is apparently 130 years old. Surely they aren’t grasping the importance of what I just said.

It could mean any number of things that are very important!

I may have met The Doctor, who transported me in time forward to this date. Maybe I’m a vampire that wants to suck your blood. I could have immortality. I might have the best anti-ageing cream ever. I could be Superman, or have a watch that adds years to my life.

On a side note, please don’t tell them I’ve escaped.

You would’ve have thought ordering a milkshake would be simple, but I am sad to report that it is not, as I found out on the weekend.

I was at this fancy cafe place on the weekend and I ordered a simple chocolate milkshake. A pretty simple request I thought. The menu did say various milkshakes.

But then the waiter asks “What would you like in your milkshake sir?”

What? Does he not know what’s in a chocolate milkshake? So I give him a quizzical look.

He does the same.

Obviously he doesn’t know what to put in a milkshake. The only problem is neither do I. So what do I do? I panic! I start blurting out random items that sound seemingly like ingredients.

“Horse radish, a hint of mint, a pinch of salt, some ground chilli, and some tree chilli, a dash of lemon juice, a sprinkle of sparkling water and a garnish of garlic.”

Don’t ever ask me what to put in a milkshake! I don’t know!

But I must say that this one wasn’t bad.

You might think a call from a telemarketer is the worst thing that could happen. But I see it as an opportunity, an opportunity to mess with their minds.

The job of a telemarketer is to call you at inappropriate times and talk in an Indian accent. And this normally makes most people despise them. But I play a game with them. I try to get them to hang up first.

A few years ago that was easy. I would just wait while they talked, they have a lot to say, but they don’t always ask the right questions. You see I need to be over 18 for them to sell me anything. So I would wait and listen, and after 15 minutes (sometimes more) they would ask if I was over 18. I would say no, and they would hang-up. Too easy.

But now that I’m older I can’t use that trick anymore. So I made a new one.

Recently I have had three or four calls from telemarketers trying to sell me funeral insurance. And that gave me an idea. If they’re trying to sell me funeral insurance, they’re telling me I’m going to die!

So I ask, “Am I going to die?” And they hang-up.

Hi miniature human. What are you doing here? You’re just lying there, in the middle of the living room. I came here for lunch, are we going to eat you?

You don’t talk much do you? I like your smile, it makes you look very cute. But because you have short hair I think you’re a boy, which means you probably don’t like being called cute.

You smell a bit. It’s probably your manly body odour. But I must say that it smells vaguely like something else. It’s also getting rather strong. I hope you don’t smell like this all the time.

Sorry. Don’t cry. Look, you don’t smell that bad. Please stop crying. I didn’t mean it, you smell very manly. Don’t get depressed. There are these things called showers and baths. We can get you smelling like a man in no time. Please stop crying.

“Thanks for watching her for a minute. Does she need a change?”

I’m sure it’s not just me. Surely other people want an epic scar on their face.

But the thing is, although I want an epic scar on my face… I don’t really want the pain that would be involved in making that epic scar.

There is another way. I could spend ages putting on layers of make-up to create my epic scar. Only one problem, I don’t know how to apply make-up.

So I was wondering if a plastic surgeon could safely create my epic scar in a controlled, pain-free environment. It’s really not that different to normal plastic surgery.

And all I would have to do is create an epic story for my epic scar.

So, I see this chainsaw. And have you ever looked at a chainsaw and thought, I wonder if that could chop my legs off? Well I do.

This chainsaw, it was just lying there next to a tree. So I go over and pick it up. It was heavier than I expected, just like the lightsaber I picked up last week. It was a green chainsaw, just like the lightsaber.

Anyway, so I had the chainsaw in my hands and chopped my legs off, just like I did with the lightsaber last week.

Pretty soon some people started gathering around me to help. Someone called an ambulance and waited for it to arrive. And while she was waiting a guy picked up one of my legs and started hitting me with it. So I picked up my other leg and started hitting him. He ran away.

Then the ambulance bought me here to the hospital. I brought my legs too, you can glue ’em back on, just like last week.

My head hurts, and I don’t know why.

I don’t think it’s what I ate, because I didn’t eat a sore head. I have only eaten human head once, maybe twice, or more. And they were not sore ones.

Maybe it’s because my head is hot. I hear that heads hurt when they’re on fire. But mine isn’t ablaze. It’s just hot, like usual. And I haven’t lit it on fire for a while.

It must hurt because it’s missing something. Two eyes, a jawbone, skin, a brai… But I haven’t removed anything from a head recently, at least not my head. So it must all be there.

So why does it hurt? Also, why is there an axe sticking out of my head?

Well, your honour. I was on my way to the shops. It was a Tuesday. I was feeling a slight bit down, my stomach was a bit sore. I had eaten some dodgy cheese for lunch.

“While I’m sure this is important could you please get to the attack.”

Sorry your honour, but it’s important.

When I got to the shops it I saw the victim straight away. I smiled. At the time the victim was beautiful. Stylish, colourful, clean, a bit unpredictable, but completely lovely.

After admiring the victim, I went into the shops and bought a red whiteboard marker for the presentation I was giving the next day.

I got to the check out and bought my marker. And then as I headed back home I took a second look at my whiteboard marker. It wasn’t a whiteboard marker! It was just a normal mar….

“Please just get to the attack.”

So I’m looking at my marker when out of nowhere this kid throws the victim at me! The victim hits my hand, knocking the marker out. And the marker falls on the victim! The victim had no hope, my marker left the victim with a giant red gash. I’m so, so, sorry. Your football was brilliant.