Secret revenge unfinished business list: Scare the annoying little snots over the road. (note: must ask Annie if we can make blood run down walls or projectile vomit. If not, why not?) Alter the menu at the coffee shop so that all the ‘grande’ signs now read ‘large’ and latte reads milky and cookie is biscuit (I might be there a while). Haunt those so called ‘Doctors’ that said nothing was wrong with me. Hypochondriac, am I? Let’s see if you’re still saying that when I drag my own dead body into your office. And leave it propped up in your chair. Wearing a dunce’s cap. (Note: Unsure where to buy a dunce’s cap? Do they still make them? Also, locate my body from morgue.
Come to think of it, my own dead body is a great revenge resource. I think it may well be turning up on the doorsteps of quite a few people who have annoyed me over the years (Note: buy wheelbarrow) Go to toy shops and vandalise every single toy that bleeps or speaks or honks. Ensure that they never make any kind of noise ever again. You monsters have ruined your last nap! Scratch all the records that Mr Parsons refused to lend me. And then put them in the wrong sleeves. And then burn them. Preferably with stupid face watching the whole time. Go into the women’s changing rooms at the Athletics Club/swimming pool/gym. Basically, see lots of naked women. But nothing over 50 years old. Sod it, 40. You’re only dead once (PS- the exception to the forty years rule is Helen Mirren)
Try to possess Helen Mirren. And if it works, gets her to take her top off. Oh, forgot. Already tried that. Ended up dead. Prove the old saying that queen does actually go to the toilet just like everyone else. (by watching her go to the toilet) Go to a spiritualist church and/or séance and see if anyone can see me. If they can’t put superglue in the locks. Put laxative in the bitter at the legion (Belonging to the catering corp of the TA gives me just as much right to drink there as any other serviceman and they will rue the day that they rejected my application) Eavesdrop at my own funeral. Anyone who speaks ill of me is getting a flat tyre. Probably make my own body sit up. (If closed casket, then knocking will have to do)
Slam the gate on the Postman’s finger for all the times he forgot to close it. Stand in the middle of the bypass that used to keep me awake in the eighties and moon at the cars (I realise they can’t see me doing it, but it’s the principle that counts) Pee in the pool at the leisure centre. (can I still pee? If not at least there’s no more getting up ten times a night).
The list was first published here