16th July 2017
So I was walking through the park today, on my way to the hot pastry parade, when a flock – or, if you want to get technical, a “bastard” – of kestrels swooped down from the trees and pummelled me with their meaty fists. I tried to point out the physiological inaccuracy of what was happening but they wouldn’t have any of it, insisting that this was payback for what I did to their bouncy castle.
        “Oh, my feathered assailants,” I said as they tenderised my sweet, sweet flesh, “your bouncy castle did not suffer at my cheeky hands but those of my malevolent doppelganger, Dark Poncho.”
        I saw the truth of my words blossom in their eyes like a drop of vegetable soup plopping into a glass of vodka, and in their shame they all ritually disembowelled themselves. Once again Dark Poncho’s fiendish actions had not only led to the unnecessary suicide of vengeful wildlife but also landed me right in the shit.
        There will come a reckoning, Dark Poncho.