Scarface Syndrome

This is an appeal. Now I usually don’t use my powers for good, but I’m turning over a new cannabis leaf. There’s lots of problems in the world; war, famine, AIDs, cancer, Jade Goody (although by the time you read this she may no longer be a problem). But there is one problem that the media shy away from. It’s a problem that many people shy away from. But don’t feel guilty, because it’s not your fault. This problem (which you may have guessed from the title) is Scarface Syndrome!

What is Scarface Syndrome?
Scarface Syndrome is condition found in a certain type of person. It attacks many, although most of them are usually male, but it does not discriminate; white, black, tall, small, fat or thin. It forms when a person begins to sell illegal drugs. This person then actually believes they are a drug lord, when in fact all they are is a petty weed dealer. It usually takes form after a person has sold some weed to a couple of people, once they make a profit they think they’re cool, the cycle repeats until a point in which the person gets a little big headed and acts as a go-between. A go-between is someone that often buys drugs from a dealer then sells them on to you. By this I mean, the go-between buys 5 pills, and then sells them to you. They don’t actually deal the drug, in reality, because they don’t stock it, but in their minds they think of themselves as Class A dealers, then the ego inflates a lot more.

What are the Symptoms?

· Loud Mouth
People suffering from Scarface Syndrome often like to brag and boast to anyone that will (or won’t) listen to them about how they sell drugs or are able to get you drugs.

· Undeserved Ego
This is how the syndrome gets it’s name, basically people think they are Tony Montana (from the popular 1983 film Scarface). When in actual fact they’re more like Hannah Montana (from the shit Disney TV Show by the same name).

· Constant Letdowns
Although suffers claim to be able to get you (the drug addict) whatever drug you desire, they often let you down because they’re not the drug lord’s they think they are, they’re simply go-betweens – and not very good ones at that.

How will my donation help prevent this terrible condition?
Firstly we will set up a clinic for suffers of Scarface Syndrome and kit it out with all the necessary shit that it will need; plasma TV, PS3s, Xbox 360s, Sky TV, some MACs, some PCs, the fast internet connection, Porn, Lap dancers and so on. This is bound to cure anyone suffering from Scarface Syndrome. Secondly, we would sent up a Drug Dealers Alliance, which would monitor drug dealers and give them the Official DDA stamp of approval, so all the weed smoking, pill popping, coke snorting junkies out there now that they are not dealing with a sufferer of Scarface Syndrome. We need to stamp out drug sales that involve people with Scarface Syndrome, until they have been cured by out clinic.

So thank you for reading, please make a donation today. And remember, you’re not a drug lord until you have your face in a mountain of coke!

May Contain Nuts!

Once upon a not that long ago, there was a 21 year old boy by the name of Jack. Jack had the world at his feet. His life was perfect. He had a great, steady job that made him a nice amount of money and he had a beautiful girlfriend by the name of Jill. Jack was entirely devoted to Jill. They were high school sweethearts and had been together for about six years. They’d first met while going to fetch a pale of water from the top of a hill. Jack had a nasty accident and Jill saved him for certain death. Since then they become kindred sprits, or so Jack thought.

Every relationship comes to an end at some point, and while Jack was thinking that his relationship would end when one of them died; from old age of course, no murdering each other, he was wrong.

It was a cold Tuesday afternoon in February when Jill broke the news to Jack. As they sat down to eat dinner at a cafe. “I think we should see other people,” she muttered after a long sip on her warm coffee. Jack was shocked by the news. His eyes instantly welled up as if he’d just been kicked in the balls, in fact, this pain was worse than getting kicked in the balls, this pain was worse than smothering your balls with dog food then letting a pack of rabid wolves feast on them. This pain was heartache. It greets many a man by the a few words from the female they idolise so much. Instant pain, instant feelings of failure, instant thoughts of suicide – the usual response to this happening. And it’s exactly what happened to Jack. He struggled to find the right words. In his mind he attempted to convince himself that if he said the right thing she’d stay. So he pushed out a sentence threw his blubbering lips, “Me love you, don’t do this. Me! You! LOVE!! PLEASE!!!” This caused an old couple to stare at Jack and Jill as Jack sobbed, tears running down his cheeks and collecting nicely into a puddle on his plate. Jill stood up, “I’m sorry Jack, I really love you. Well no, I really loved you. But I want more; I’m too young to be tied down to one man. I want to enjoy life a little.” It seemed that financial stability, handsome good looks and repetitive sexual pleasure weren’t enough for Jill anymore. As Jill started to make her way out of the cafe, Jack dropped to her feet holding on to her as a child holds on to their mother at their first day of school, not bearing to let go because of the fear of being alone. “Come on Jack, it’s not that bad.” She said, only prompting Jack to re-evaluate what the fuck they’d spent the last six years together for. As Jack’s grip around Jill’s legs loosened she briskly strolled out of the cafe and on to her new life without Jack. As Jack lay on the cafe floor crying like a new born baby, as the entire population of the cafe looked on.

The next few days of Jack’s life were spent sitting on his sofa, self-loathing, drinking anything alcoholic and texting or ringing Jill until she finally blocked his number. His friends had told him that over time he’d feel better, but Jack was thinking more along the lines of a bullet threw the temple would make him feel better. Much fucking better. While Jill was out enjoying her new found freedom by going to raves and sleeping with the first guy that bought her a bottle on Smirnoff Ice.

After a week, Jack was supposed to return to work. He’d managed to convince his boss that he needed a week off for personal reasons. Jack didn’t return to work, so he was fired. After loosing his job, Jack decided to move out of his flat and back in with his mum, seeing as he could no longer pay his rent. After about two weeks his mum got tired of the lifeless cycle Jack was living in and decided to get in touch with her brother, who just so happened to have a holiday home in the highlands of Scotland. Tired of Jack’s constant misery she planned a little get away for him.

Although Jack wanted to stay at home eating cold beans from the can with a tea spoon, his mum forced him into the car and drove him to his uncle’s house in Scotland. The idea was that Jack could get away from it all and get himself back together. His uncle had even set up a blind date for him with a pretty young girl from the next village. She just happened to be a friend of the family.

Jack got dropped off at his uncle’s holiday home and resumed the same position he did at his own house; sat on the sofa watching daytime TV drinking Jack Daniels straight from the bottle. It was a Thursday when Jack arrived. His random blind date was going to be on Saturday. Jack’s uncle had promised Jack’s date a great night in with Jack, they’d watch films and Jack would cook a meal for her.

By the time Saturday morning rolled around Jack was in such an alcoholic state he could barely move. He was wearing the same clothes he arrived in and he had the slight stench of piss about him. That’s when Jack reached the end of all the alcohol in the house and had an epiphany. That the drink wasn’t helping him get over Jill, he needed to try something else. He contemplated the matter a little, trying to decide if he should get on with his life or start self-harming. As he walked into the kitchen to get a knife to cut himself, he stubbed his toe on the door frame and let off a girlish squeal. Jack had felt some much emotional pain recently; he’d forgotten that physical pain still hurt too. So in the end he reconsidered slitting his wrists, maybe it was time he got his life back on track.

It was almost 2.00pm; Jack’s date was expected to arrive at 6.30pm so he had plenty of time to sort himself out. First thing he did was take a nice long shower. After he got out he felt like a new man, the water had washed away the self-loathing and misery to some degree. The shower acted as a cleansing process for Jack.

After his shower, Jack got dressed into some clean clothes and he did his hair. He was looking the best he’d looked for weeks at this point. And as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he knew it.

It was 4.45pm by the time Jack started to rummage around for some food to cook. But sadly there wasn’t much choice. He had been told by his mum that he needed to go shopping; she’d even left him some money to spend on food. All Jack could rustle up was some frozen vegetables and a couple of oven chips from the freezer. Everything else was out of date or had already been eaten the previous days by Jack.

Jack had a plan though, he searched high and low for the Yellow Pages and started to look up local takeaways, once he’d found one he copied the number down. He pulled out his phone only to find he had no reception. This was a major problem in his uncle’s holiday house. There was no house phone either, Jack’s uncle only spent around four weeks a year up here so he never saw the point of having a phone line put in. Jack contemplated going into the village to buy some food but without a car or a bike, it would take him about 40 minutes to walk there and another 40 minutes to walk back. By which time he’d be behind schedule.

This is where Jack had a brainwave. He remembered that when he was younger and he used to come to his uncle’s holiday house, his uncle and granddad used to shoot squirrels on the back garden with a pellet gun. Jack darted to the back garden, found the pellet gun and waited.

Jack was just about to spark up another cigarette when he saw two squirrels in the distance, he started to shoot; Rambo style hitting anything that moved. He ran up to find that he’d shot them both; one was dead and the other alive but was in pain. Jack decided to do the humane thing and mashed the life out of the one in pain with half a brick. He walked victoriously back into the house with his kills inside a plastic bag, blood dripping from the small holes in the bottom.

Once inside the kitchen Jack had to skin the squirrels. This was harder than he expected. He tried to grate the fur off first with a cheese grater, which went terribly. In the end he opted for the bread knife. By the time all the skin and fur was removed Jack was left with only a little bit of meat and organs, he wasn’t sure which he could cook and what he should trough away. He picked threw the massacre and began dropping the parts of the squirrels that he thought looked tasty into the frying pan.

Jack had a quick tidy up in the kitchen, mainly cleaning up blood and squirrel brain-matter off the side, and then he went to change his t-shirt, which was also stained crimson. Once Jack returned to the kitchen it was 6.00pm, his date would be arriving soon, but everything was going well; the oven chips were in the oven, the squirrel was frying nicely and the vegetables were waiting to go on the hob. Jack caught a reflection of himself in the kitchen window and gave himself a self-gratifying smirk.

At a few minutes before 6.30pm there was a knock at the door. Jack quickly went to open it, as the door swung open there stood a pretty girl, with long brunette hair caught in the wind was waving across her delicate face. Her cheeks were red from her having to ride her bike up to the house. Her eyes were green like the first leaves of spring. As Jack stood in awe of her, he wouldn’t have even been able to tell you Jill’s name at this moment in time.

After an awkward couple of seconds of silence, in which Jack was just memorised by this girl’s beauty, she introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Louise”. Jack snapped himself back to reality, “I’m Jack, it’s a pleasure to meet you, please come in.” Louise locked her bike to the fence and entered the house. “Something smells good, what you cooking?” Louise asked. Jack struggled trying to come up with a lie, he didn’t want to tell her that he was cooking squirrel, “Erm... it’s an old family recipe.” They made there way into the dinning room, where Jack had set out a table with cutlery and a vase with a flower in the middle of the table. “Everything looks so great.” Louise said. “Why thank you, you just take a seat and I’ll be back with the food soon.”

Jack went into the kitchen and started dishing out the food onto two plates. We carefully carried the meals into the dinning room, clutching the plates tightly so he didn’t drop them. He cautiously placed the plates on the table. Louise inspected her meal; Jack’s heart began to race. He plucked up the courage and asked; “Is everything ok?” Louise poked at her vegetables and the fried squirrel then looked up, “No, it’s fine, it’s just I have a few allergies, but there’s nothing to worry about.” And she smiled at Jack, he smiled back.

They both sat down and began to eat. Jack tucked into his squirrel, and it was surprisingly good, a lot like chicken he thought. He glanced over at Louise as she took her first mouthful of squirrel. He was waiting for her reaction. She chewed it and swallowed it. A massive weight was lifted of Jack’s shoulders, she had no idea, he was extremely proud of himself. But just as he was about to ask Louise about herself, her face started to go red and she began coughing slightly.
“Is everything ok, Louise?” Jack asked. Her face was getting redder with every second that passed, she started to hyperventilate. “What’s... the ... meat?” she asked. Jack started to panic slightly, “Does it matter, it’s just meat? You’re not allergic to meat are you?” Louise shot him a cold look; a chill went down Jack’s spine. She didn’t need to ask again. “It’s squirrel, it’s a long story, I’m sorry! If you don’t like it don’t eat it!” Louise had a look on her face like a judge had just sentenced her to death. “I’m ... allergic ... to NUTS!!” she said, in between deep breaths. “So? What does that have to do with anything?” Jack asked. “Squirrels eat ... NUTS!!” Louise said as loud as she could. “My throat’s closing up!” She squeaked in a high pitched tone.

Jack started to panic; he pulled out his phone and tried to dial 999. No signal, again. Louise reached for her phone, but it had the same problem. Louise collapsed to the floor, clutching her throat. Jack had to do something quick. There’s no way he could call for an ambulance, the only way into town was on Louise’s bike, but he couldn’t leave her on her own, plus it would take too long. Jack dashed into the kitchen and started to rummage in a draw for a pen, he returned to the dinning room where Louise lay on the floor.

“I have a plan,” he said, “I’m going to give you an emergency tracioctomy!” Louise looked deep into Jack’s eyes as if to ask if he knew what he was doing. “Don’t worry; I’ve seen it before on ER!” Jack said. He removed the ink tube from inside the pen and plunged it into Louise’s throat, just above her ribcage. Her chest inflated as she took her first breath. It had worked, but blood was seeping from the hole. “What does it look like?” Louise struggled to ask. Jack was hesitant in responding but finally mustered up something to say, “It looks like your necks having a period!”

What Jack didn’t release is that blood was slowly filling Louise’s lungs. He’d saved her from not being able to breath but now she was going too drowned. Neither Jack nor Louise realised this, it happened in only minutes. After the first initial shock of dodging death they thought they were in the clear. But as Jack sat by her side, Louise slowly drifted off and never came back. Now Jack was left with a dead body and no idea what to do with it. The police wouldn’t believe his story, he’d be going down for manslaughter. He’d only just realised that his life was worth living today, he didn’t want to spend it in prison.

He left Louise’s corpse on the dinning room floor and he slowly made his way to the living room to sit down and formulate a plan. Then there was a knock on the door. Jack sprang to his feat. Panicking, he slowly made his way to the door. “Who is it?” He asked. A million things ran through his head, was it the police? Was it his uncle? Was it Jehovah’s Witnesses? “Jack, it’s me ... Jill! Please let me in. I need to speak to you.” Jack couldn’t believe it, why had she come to see him. This is the last person in the world that Jack wanted to see, he actually wished it was the police. “One second,” Jack said, as he darted back into the living room, closing the dinning room door so Jill wouldn’t see Louise. Jack returned to the door and let Jill in. She simply walked passed him, dropped her car keys on the table by the door and went to sit down in the living room.

“Jack, I’m sorry about everything I’ve done and said to you. Please forgive me. It’s only now that I’ve really understood what you meant to me,” Jill said as she started to pour her heart out, “I love you so much Jack, I want us to get back together. Please take me back!” This is the speech that Jack had been dreaming of ever since that day in the cafe. “Please Jack,” she continued, “I’ve drove all the way here to see you. I know it’s a shock, I’ve tried calling you but I couldn’t get through to your phone. I know this is totally unexpected.” Jack could barely pay attention to what Jill was saying; he was too busy thinking about Louise. He even contemplated murdering Jill, to cover up what he’d done. “Jack, please say something...” Jill begged. Jack struggled to come up with the words, but finally managed to say, “I need some fresh air, I’ll be right back.” Jack strolled out the living room and to the door. He picked up Jill’s car keys on the way out.

As soon as the fresh air hit him, Jack knew what he had to do. He jumped into Jill’s car and sped off towards town, as Jill heard her car drive down the hill she ran to the door screaming for Jack to return.

It took Jack about ten minutes to get into town. He pulled up outside the police station and made his way inside. As he approached the desk, he knew what he was going to say. He was going to admit to what he did, but as he tried to explain to the officer at reception, something different came out of his mouth, “My ex is trying to kill me!” he said. The officer instantly dropped his cup of coffee.

“I beg your pardon, young man?” the officer asked. Jack looked him dead in the face, tears trickling down his cheeks, “My ex-girlfriend has just turned up to my uncle’s house. She found me with another girl. She’s killed the other girl. Louise is dead! It’s my entire fault! Now she’s trying to kill me, but I got away.” The officer radioed all officers; Jack gave him all the details of where to go. A police woman appeared from behind reception and lead Jack into a room to comfort him.

Only a month later Jill was in court going up against charges of murder. Jack took the stand and gave a damning version of what he’d told the police officer at the reception desk four weeks before. But luckily he’d had time to practice. He delivered a tale of a bitter ex hell bent on getting the love of her life back by any means necessary. It was extremely believable, the judge and jury ate it up liked it was grilled squirrel. Jill was sentenced to life in prison. She denied Jack’s story of course, she really was innocent, but so was Jack, why should he go down?

Jack was proud of what he did; he saw it as the ultimate revenge. She’d victimised him, now everyone could see he was the victim. She’d almost destroyed his life when she left him, so she could go out fucking and sucking random guys from nightclubs.

Jack is now in a new relationship with one of Jill’s best friends, he his happy. Jill is now in a relationship with a butch dyke in prison, she is not happy.

Driving me Crazy

Earlier this week a close friend of mine decided to inform me that his aim of the year is to teach little old me how to drive. Of course, I’ve heard this before. Seeing as I’m 22 years young and I’ve never had a driving lesson in my life, lots of friends have told me that they will school me on how to operate a motor vehicle. But I don’t want to learn. In my opinion, there are two kinds of people in this world; those that were born to drive and those that were born to be driven. I just so happen to fall into the second category.

Firstly, I’ve never had a driving lesson because I’ve never been interested in spending money on learning. Plus I hate tests and exams. The only reason I’m a media student at University is because we have no tests, it’s all course work, baby! I can’t pass a drug test, so fuck a driving test!

The way I see it is as soon you learn to drive you turn into a Jeremy Clarkson appreciating dickhead, who believes that traffic laws don’t apply to you. Why do all the people that drive hate speed cameras? Because they catch them breaking the law, obviously! But that’s what they’re there for, to catch you breaking the law. If you don’t want to be caught, don’t speed! I fully understand that if I smoke a joint I’m breaking the law, I don’t think I’m exempt from the law. I understand the repercussions of my actions and speeders should too. Stop bitching about speed cameras, you have it easy anyway, there’s now signs informing drivers of upcoming speed cameras. I don’t get prior warning that the police are coming to raid my bedside table for drugs or take my PC for possible underage pornography. You should value the fact that you are pre-warned to stop breaking the law before you get caught.

The thing is I really don’t want to learn to drive, because once you learn you end up buying a car. And getting a car is like kerb crawling, you’re just looking to get fucked! First you go to buy a car, but you’ve only just passed your test and you buy a second hand car, this is this the first stage of getting fucked. The second hand car dealer rips you off, because you’re a fucking idiot. Secondly you get insurance for your car, now you get fucked because you’ve only just passed your test, you’ll probably crash your car soon, so you have to pay loads of money. Thirdly you get fucked because the car you bought constantly breaks down and you take it into the garage to be fixed. Then the mechanics fuck you over for a little more of your hard earned student loan. You’d get fucked less if you’d have dropped the soap in the showers of a prison!

Also once you’ve learned to drive and have a car you have to put petrol in it (if you expect to go anywhere), which also cost money. Money I’d usually spend on weed. My dealer has kids, if he looses my business his kids not eat. I can’t have that shit on my conscience! If I drive children will starve! That’s how real it is.

Finally, I spend most of my life intoxicated and I know it is wrong to drink while intoxicated, although I’ve talked my friends into going it. But I know I’d be the intoxicated that mows down an old woman pushing her retarded grandchild in a pram. Then the media would turn me into a scapegoat for society! Lampooning my kind; young, handsome, alcoholic, Asian-loving stoners and we have it bad enough, we’re always getting blamed for everything; the War in Iraq, robbery, the Credit Crunch, AIDs, terrorism and loads of other shit.
So to conclude this blog, I don’t drive for many reason; I don’t want to get fucked, I can’t pass tests, I don’t want kids to starve and finally I don’t want to be a scapegoat. By the way I’m quite stoned at the minute. Peace!

Why I Hate ... Starbucks

The other day I happened to do something which shames me to no end. I broke a rule I had set down for myself. Although as a general public we follow rules and laws placed down by other people, I tend to follow my own set of rules, these (rules of mine) range from many different things, but I’m getting off topic. The rule that I broke was; never go to Starbucks. Sadly, after all these years of avoiding those evil places I stepped foot in one, possibly risking my socialist status in society. I didn’t enter on my own accord; of course, I was with an individual that wanted to go. I, in no way, shape or form wanted to enter Starbucks, but we do strange things for the people we love.

My hatred of Starbucks stems from my hatred of coffee itself. I think it’s vile; it’s what I imagine Satan’s cum to be. It’s so easy to hate coffee, when it is usually grouped together with tea, a drink I love. I show further hate for Starbucks coffee, because of all the fancy-types of coffee you can purchase, all of which seem to me be written in an uncomprehendable language. It’s basically fancy names for fancy shit.

One thing about Starbucks, much like Subway, is one is not enough for a city. Let’s take Derby for example, last count; I counted three Starbucks, all in a radius of less than half a mile. What is the reason for so many? There isn’t one decent record shop in Derby but we have three Starbucks, there’s something wrong with the world we live in; where a disgusting drink is given priority over quality music, it’s almost as if Hitler won the war, in my opinion.

So as I sat in Starbucks, the stench of coffee beans filled my nostrils and I could feel the vomit slowly creeping up my throat. As the sick gargled in the back of my mouth, I contemplated spitting it out on the floor, but I’d feel too sorry for the minimum wage earning bastards that worked in Starbucks – who’d be left to clean it up. So I did what any self-respecting person would do; I swallowed it. Gross, I know but it tasted better than coffee. Luckily for me, the sink of arrogance from the customers sat in Starbucks quickly neutralised the smell coming from the coffee. This is another reason I hate Starbucks. For some reason going to Starbucks is seen as something good to pompous people. It’s filled with individuals that see themselves as better than the general public because they’re drinking at Starbucks. These are the kind of people that really believe what they’re discussing is important and that they’re really intellectuals, but the truth is I’ve heard more knowledgeable discussions on a preschool playground at lunchtime.

The major problem is Starbucks is Americanism at it’s finest. As soon as you enter a member of staff should give you a pistol and a pamphlet entitled; “How To Shoot Up Your High School”. There is nothing wrong with adopting a slight bit of American culture, but it seems that the worst parts of Americanism is pushed on our nation and we’re fooled into believing companies such as Starbucks are what we need. When they’re not. Why can’t we have a nice British place to drink a cup of tea? Oh we have, it’s called home! So stay at home people, Fuck Starbucks!

Who Wants VD?

Valentine’s Day is almost upon us! You have to love Valentine’s Day, it’s perfectly situated in the year, at a point were the general public has just paid off their overdrafts from the expensive Christmas time and then along comes Valentine's Day to get you right back into that overdraft. I’m starting to believe that greeting card shops really do dictate the holidays we have, there’s always some reason to give our loved ones pieces of card with pretty pictures on them.

I’m often told that Valentine’s Day is just for pussy-whipped guys to buy their women nice jewellery. But it’s much more than that. It is the one time of the year that desperate guys, such as myself, send cards and gifts to the girls we’re stalking – anonymously, of course. We’re desperate, and terrified of being rejected.

Why do these things have to be so complicated? Because we all know that things get complicated around VD (Valentine’s Day). As VD slowly approaches, many things can happen. Firstly we’ll take an example of a young man in a relationship. So, I’ve had this happen to me before; you’re in a relationship with some skank, who says she doesn’t want anything for VD. Usually saying something along the lines of; “You show me you love me everyday, we don’t need to confirm to these Clinton Cards based scams!” But when VD finally comes around, you’re in the shit. Because it was all a load bullshit! So you’re stood there with bags and bags filled with gifts she’s got you and she’s empty handed, calling you a heartless prick. Then you get into a massive fight, she storms off, goes down to the local, gets pissed and sleeps with your brother, who gets her pregnant, then they empty your bank account and move to America – or is that just me?

Next we’ll take the example of a single gentleman. So, you’ve been in love with this girl for months, you’re always accidentally bumping into her so you can smell her hair and feel her soft, hairless skin rub up against yours – it gives you goose bumps and a slight erection. You’ve created a shrine in her honour inside your wardrobe out of bits of rubbish she’s discarded; chewing gum, notes, shopping lists, hair, toe nails, old sanitary towels … all the usual stuff. You think to yourself; “I’m the only guy for her, nobody else would go to these lengths!” So it dawns on you; a VD card will win her over and you’ll finally be together! The problem is, if you’re some kind of perverse, twisted sicko, you really do believe that a £1.99 Hallmark card and a withered rose will make a girl love you. But sadly this is not the case, the girl in question only sees you as some kind of perverse, twisted sicko with a £1.99 Hallmark card and a withered rose! And once this comes to light, you snap … her neck. Accidentally of course, you never meant to. You then roll her up in a carpet, stuff her into the boot of her car and drive. You have no idea where you’re going or what you’re going to do! You end up in the Peak District, lost. No signs of civilisation for miles, then you realise this is your chance! You take the girl out of the boot, stick her in the front seat of the car, once you’ve had your wicked way with her of course, remove all her teeth (something else for the shrine), remove the licence plates from her car and set it alight, burning her corpse and hopefully any evidence that links you to anything that happened here. Then you spend the rest of your life jumping at every knock at the door! Is it the police? Have they finally figured it out? You’re so traumatised you can no longer hold down a proper relationship, that’s why you become a peeping tom or a stalker! You live your life everyday, just waiting for it to all end – or is that just me?