Sinister: the wicked wurtzel of the west

[Mark]

I was wondering through the bookshop one fine day, trying to 
decide what to buy.  I knew that something was missing in my life, 
but I couldn't quite put  a finger o it.  Then it hit me....

'I know what I need!', I cried, much to the astonishment of the other 
browsers in the shop.  I rushed to the counter, and explained to the 
spotty boy sat there;

'I'm looking for a book which is way too long, written by a Sylvia 
Plath wannabe, which charts her life in a totally uninteresting way 
and which is guarenteed to leave me feeling really shit afterwards'

'Why certainly', replied the spotty boy, 'we have just the book for 
you...'  he lead me to the 'shite fiction' section, and found me a 
copy of Prozac Nation by the Wortzul... it was perfect.

'And in buying this', he reassured me, 'you're helping the silly cow 
make EVEN MORE PROFIT out of her own depression'.

Wow... what a concept.  

Love,

Mark xxxxxx
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