Having experienced some money difficulties recently, I contrived a small but not unambitious plan to get some. I acquired a weapon from a shady friend, pulled some tights over my face and headed off on the Bus Eireann coach that goes past here twice a day to a post office in Nenagh or something. I ran in the door and gave everyone present a small, preliminary beating, for which I was rewarded with a medium sized bag of fifty euro notes. (And who says crime doesn't pay? It does pay.)

As I was thanking them, I was more than a little disturbed to see that the oldest of the cashiers was beginning to evaporate. I think it was the shock of a young woman with tights on her head hitting her with a weapon and then taking all the money. She eventually disappeared completely, leaving behind a foul eggy stench, that could only be attributed to a large egg sandwich that she must have consumed during her tea-break.

Understandably, I required a moment to gather my thoughts, and my money. I racked my brains to think of any other occasion when a middle aged woman had evaporated. I could only think of Carol Vorderman, but mathematicians don't count.

Thinking becoming dull, I left and ran down the road as though I had committed a crime for which there might be repurcussions if I was caught. I reached a tarmacadamed lay-by and sat down for fifteen minutes, where I carefully ate one fifty euro note after another.

neuro-praxis -- A Bit Bad and Dirty