The Crows and I spun around...Jeremy promptly shat his brown cord kecks.

A dark strange headed shadow appeared, ripping fragments from the cuboid.

I shielded my eyes from a piercing red light that shone, like Lucifer himself had bared his horrible, foul balloon knot.

"Who the hell are you?" I gasped.

"I AM VERNON KAY" quoth the pulsating shadowed form.

The crow heads shrieked a mighty cry and flew back, ripping a new hole into the cuboid. The four dispersed in an ear piercing primeval groan that sounded like Beelzebub himself had caught his left teste in his zipper after a satisfying leak.

The Crows burst into black matter...

"THIS IS NOT THE END KAY. THIS IS NOT THE END..."

An echo on the wind.

The cuboid vanished into the size of a halfpenny and soon Kay, Kyle and myself were standing near some gorse bush in the parched heat of the Niolo.

Kay helped Kyle to his feet smoothing down lumps of the presenter's excrement before turning to me. I smiled at him.

"Thank you, Vernon is it?"

"Yes. I am the real Vernon Kay"

"How did you, I mean why did you..."

"There shall be time for questions aplenty later Bob."

"You know me?"

"I know most things. For I, the Real Vernon Kay am not the slabbering Bolton moron that the Knuckle Draggers desired me to be."

"Amazing."

"And now, I believe your friend is to be rescued from the limp clutches of Spazmo."

"True." Although I'd forgotten all about Connie, and many other things in the cuboid of the Sand Tribe of Smegma-Porch.

"Then let us go forth. A seance must be conducted outside the old hiding place of Spazmo when he was but flesh and blood. The cave of Al-Ken-Dod."

And so we moved off. Across deserts of time, space and consequence.

We passed some strange shape in the wilderness. A decaying human form. Jizz Vultures pecked without haste at its eyeballs and a desert spunk wolf tore at the carrion's sad innards. I recognised the cloth shirt of Baptiste, and yet shed not a tear.

I moved off with the real versions of Jeremy Kyle and the mighty Vernon Kay. And with the stench of Baptiste's remains filling my nostrils like Mephistopheles' aftershave we said not another word.

08/09/06

Niolo, again.