The Skinning Begins in Earnest

Greetings halfwits!! I have made some headway in skinning the Polish fellow that lies bound and gagged in my bedroom. I believe this initial success has proved that I am evil beyond reckoning.

In the early hours of this morning (11:15am, after BBC 1's Don't Get Done, Get Dom), I stepped into my bedroom, which I have now come to think of as 'The Flensing Room' because it sounds a little more evil, and announced my intentions. The Pole at once began to weep, which I found somewhat tiresome and unmanly. Ungagging him, he told me in faltering English that his name was Franciszka and that he had a wife and three children to support. Evidently, he hoped that I would see him as a human being and let him off with the skinning, but he did not take into account that I am now very evil and immune to such emotional blackmail. A little cheeky of him too, I thought.

With a large pair of scissors and a Stanley knife, I set to work on my wicked project. His howls of terror were very distracting, but I managed to ignore them and ran the blade slowly up each arm, tenderly peeling back the top layer sufficiently to slide the scissors in and begin cutting. Snip, snip, snip. How the man wept!

The arms were the trickiest part, but once I'd managed those, I used the knife upon the back and was able to remove a huge layer in one fell swoop. It was like peeling an orange. All this took about an hour, during which time the Pole cried and pleaded like a man undergoing some sort of horrible torture. How he wept!

I laid down my tools and surveyed all that I had achieved during my hour of slicing and snipping. I had succeeded in completely removing the man's denim jacket.

At one point though, my scissors had jabbed the flesh on the man's elbow, which probably hurt him a little. I apologized, but he would not cease his caterwauling. Goodness only knows what he'll be like when I actually start removing the skin from his miserable body.