In a stadium-sized coffin on the 31st floor of a subterranean office complex in the heart of the dank town of Svampville, a clergyman, a rapist and a member of Mensa were locked in a heated debate over whether to revoke the latter’s license to practice yoga in the men’s room two floors down. The discussion brought little enlightenment, however, as the three gentlemen (I use the term “gentlemen” rather loosely, as the rapist was in fact born with both male and female genitalia) had undergone a lot of stress during the day.

The day had begun with the executive officer of their profoundly unorthodox labour exchange/cheese emporium crying out that he was fed up with all of their nonsense and vacating the building through one of the windows. He was a gofer, you see. This had lead to further confusion among the troupes and within short total anarchy ensued in the crowded office.

The Mensa member became tangled in the “Incontinent Horse Radish” yoga position, the clergyman had taken to the bottle, as well as to the shotgun, and the rapist had locked himself in the toilet two stalls to the left of the Mensa member in order to rape himself in perfect anatomical and moral harmony for once.

Meanwhile, as their fellow worker bees killed each other off in the most heinous ways imaginable by the most sinister people conceivable by the most perverted minds this side of Svampville, all was calm, serene and as usual on the surface, where children laughed, flowers bloomed and Mr. Henry, the town aardvark, was menstruating beyond control.

And this, dear readers, leads me to tell you whatever happened to the mushroom people that were watching the monitors…