My Resolve Is Finally Defeated

The final steps towards losing myself completely to the diabolical word of evilness have almost been taken. I feel unable to withstand temptation any longer.

Is denying responsibility for my weakness merely proof that I have already in some way succumbed to evil? I do not know. I will say that few men could withstand the temptations I have been compelled to endure and survive unscathed and untainted. Well do I remember the harrowing day in which my dead mother, in the form of the little scottie dog from Monopoly, turned evil. From that day forth, this mysterious associate has contrived to wind herself into my affairs, both spiritual and temporal, and break me. Surely no man is strong enough to resist the myriad benefits of evilness? Whether it behoves me to curse God for forsaking me these last days, or to curse myself for failing to be stronger in resolution, is hid from my discernment and will remain so hidden until that day when my accounts are to make up and reckon for in another world.

I will go, weeping now, to the fridge. There I will take out a crystal of pure evil and devour it. I hope it doesn't taste like horseradish - I can't abide the stuff.

Giving in...

Readers, I am in turmoil. These last days, I have done my utmost to withstand the temptation to eat the forbidden crystals of evil and join my dead mother in a life of wickedness, but feel I am losing this battle of wills. I have descended into a paranoid swither.

"Go on, Horton - be a spawn of Satan," my dead mother said. "You'll love being evil. You can eat foie gras and veal and any variety of succulent but unethical foods. No more overpriced free-range eggs! If you become evil, you can save money by buying the cheap, battery-farmed eggs. They taste the same anyway - you know they do!"

Foie Gras: a delight

"You will no longer have to buy Fairtrade coffee," she went on, "And you can stop using public transport and start driving an environmentally-unfriendly SUV. It'll make you look like a big man. And you can make sexist jokes. Give in to temptation, Horton."

And so it went on. Day after day, I was reminded of the many benefits of embracing evilness. In a vain effort to provide myself with some form of counterpoint to these views, I turned to Songs of Praise but found only a boyish Welshman who singularly failed to make goodness seem cool or hip.

I do not think I will last much longer. The pewter scottie dog which houses my mother's soul seems to be smiling as I type this - it surely knows that my resolve is weakening. Alas, I fear I am not strong enough to get through the week without eating one of those crystals...

Dear god - if god ye be - come to the aid of a poor lost sheep.

Tempted by Evilness

I have spent the last few days fretting over a moral conundrum. My dead mother, through the vessel of the little scottie dog from Monopoly, has beleaguered me with constant glorification of the evil way of life. She never stops telling me of the benefits of being evil and embracing the dark side of one's nature. She urges me to eat of the evil crystals in the fridge and join her in being wicked.

"Give in to your evil side," she says. "It is a lovely life. You can laugh at cripples without any guilt."

You see how she tempts me? She promises we can be evil together and embark on a reign of terror, which sounds nice. Intuitively, I know I should not give in to this, no matter how enticing my mother makes evil out to be.

I hope I am strong enough to resist. Won't somebody help me?

The Evilness Must Stop!

So bad was today's taunting that I briefly toyed with the notion of exorcising the malevolent soul of my late mother, but quickly abandoned the scheme when I realised I possessed neither the wherewithal nor gumption to perform such an act. Perhaps foolishly, I still hope that the evilness will go away of its own accord and leave me with the sweet, good, and untarnished soul of my cold, dead mother, so that we might resume our relationship that ended 13 years ago in unfortunate circumstances. We could go on picnics and such.

The photograph of my dead mother has melted so that she now looks like Andrew Lloyd Webber or one of those saggy-jowled fellows.

Webber, Andy Lloyd

Today I caught the scottie dog doing something unpleasant to a crucifix, so decided that enough was enough - I would have to establish exactly how and why evilness has been permitted to gain control. The game is afoot! This will take every ounce of my deductive ability and will likely take months and months of painstaking research before I uncover the mystery.


Edited to add: It turns out the scottie dog has mistakenly eaten some of the raw evil in the fridge (see entry at January 14th). That's probably it!

The Dog Continues its Evilness

Today the evilness continues unabated. The glowing red eyes and the harsh voice persist, but have now been augmented by copious swearing which I cannot reproduce here for fear of offending my female readership. I have no doubt that if I had a tiny leather jacket, the little scottie dog would instantly don it, and that if I provided a miniature packet of smokes, it would instantly smoke them, so unassailably evil is that dog.

Oh mother - if mother ye be - what have I done to turn thee so evil? Do you hold me responsible for the terrible events 13 years ago? Tell me, what must I do to make things right?

Evilness in Pewter Form

Readers, I have endured a sweat-slicked and sleepless night. Given previous grim events that I have recounted to you in this electronic diary, you will perhaps be unsurprised to hear that my sweat-slicked and sleepless night was not occassioned through a passionate encounter with a nude lady, but rather through terrifying and discommodious thoughts. I fear it is now certain that the little scottie dog from Monopoly, which houses the soul of my dead mother, is evil.

Whether my mother's soul has been spirited away to some dark realm and been replaced by some demonic entity or whether her soul has actually become evil, I cannot say. However, that the scottie dog is evil is indubitable because its eyes glow red. There is no surer sign of evil, save for torture and murder on an epic scale, than glowing red eyes. And to confirm its evilness, it now speaks in a crackly, hoarse voice, which is the mode of speech favoured by the irredeemably wicked.

All last night the evil voice taunted me by saying things about my late mother. Evil things. The evil voice had perhaps gone a bit overboard with the gravelly, rasping business because I could not really hear what it was saying. I think I caught it saying, "Your mother knits socks in Hell" but I could have misheard.

Its eyes continue to glow red. Readers, I do not know what to do.

The Photograph Mutates

Since I went public with my hypothesis yesterday, the photograph of my dead mother has visibly altered. Here is an image of what the photograph looks like today:

I can only assume that this bodes well.

The Truth about the Dog

I feel confident now in revealing my suspicious suspicions regarding the little scottie dog from Monopoly and my dear late mother...

They are one and the same. The soul of my dead mother has somehow found its way into the tiny pewter likeness of a dog. Of that there can now be no doubt.

That is all.

Testing my Theory

I am almost ready to go public with my theory regarding the little scottie dog from Monopoly and my dear late mother. It is a crazy theory and one that will never be accepted by today's scientists or even by my own devoted readership which consists principally of gypsies and dwarves. It will shock you to the very core of your being.

Today saw me placing a rubber quoit adjacent to the dog and recording the results in a jotter. Those results augment my theory nicely, but I will refrain from sharing them.

I also took the dog to Debenham's hosiery section and observed its reactions, which fell pat as I assumed. Again though, I will not report the nature of my findings.

Finally, I briefly opened the hatch to my basement and held the dog above it. After clearing up the ensuing mess and arranging to have my perforated eardrum fixed, I am satisfied that my conclusions concerning this strange little dog are correct.

The implications are terrifying.