The Confrontation

Today has been wearisome and trying to me. The homunculus has spent the day lording it over me in my own home, to my everlasting mortification. From the early hours of the morning it greedily satiated its rapacious appetite with crisps and vinegar from my own larder, pausing only to intermittently cackle - I could endure such torment no longer.

Shouldering the door down, I flung myself into the kitchen, noting that from every surface there now sprung toadstools of enviable girth, and made a grab for the creature.

To protect itself, the venomous fiend took on the likeness of a small church, the inherent holiness of such imagery no doubt intended to provide a natural protection against destruction, but being a heathen, this gambit failed to deter me and I smothered the beast in tinfoil.

I placed the bound homunculus in my oven at dusk, and left it there to perish in the heat. The noxious smell that now eminates from the kitchen tells me the beast is surely cooked.

I will eat it later with a can of coke (diet).