Hello. The muse has me working on the other computer in the house that is not connected to the Internet, so I've been totally unhip to the scene as of late. Oh, and she's screaming from the spare room right now--apparently I have forgotten a significant plot point that will totally put a new spin on the current conflict between two of the characters.

Hey, as long as marmite isn't involved, I'm happy.

So I'd like to put up a blurb I had written for a contest Mike held last year. This one didn't win, but it still makes me laugh so I'll share:

Write something. A story in fact. A story of less than 200 words to get more to the point. And, if you really want to get technical, a story of less than 200 words on the following topic: The breakout hit for a comeback album is entitled "How Playstation Ruined My Life". What happened to inspire this amazing new song?

Piccadilly Circus was almost deserted, yet she had to make another 100 quid tonight or risk eviction. Again.

How far she’d fallen—she tried not to think about it. She was made of stronger stuff. After all, her ancestors had survived the famine. And Margaret Thatcher.

How she longed to be in a world where events aired on American television didn’t matter.

Paddy wouldn’t be proud.

A solitary figure approached. He was Indian, late twenties and headset-free. Perfect.

"Fancy a game, boy?" she asked as she parted her coat.

Light glanced off the badge and handcuffs. "Sorry love, no sale here."

A package dropped onto the pavement as he twisted the woman’s arm back. Officer Bhatia secured the cuffs on her, then picked it up. He inspected it for a moment, then turned to face her.

"Been doing this long?"

"No. And it’s not stolen, I swear."

"Of course, that’s why you had it tucked under your raincoat, tempting passers-by." He prodded her towards the police car.

"You’re making a mistake," she warned.

"You already did love. This here’s a Playstation, not a GameBoy."

Proceeds from the sale of Sinéad O’Connor’s new single will go towards famine relief.