The horror! I had a story about bipolar violence published 20 years ago, but I've found it impossible to write anything coherent since, silenced by the blackouts and surges of my disease.

Tonight I watched the right combination of music videos on YouTube and belted out a short, sharp and wicked horror story in two hours. The dam has broken. Cover the mirrors with black crêpe. Sing a song and bang a gong.

The story and all names, characters, and incidents portrayed within are completely fictitious, and no identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings or products is intended or should be inferred.

Unfortunately the characters, places and buildings portrayed bear a remarkable resemblance to actual persons, places and buildings, and the story is dusted with a Fukushima of radioactive dirt about my family and our business, so authorship will have to be attributed to a friend on the mainland. I have been vindicated.

To celebrate, I'll treat everyone to a of what it's like when bioChE has his first sip of Monster in the morning.