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Title: Douglas and Angela

“That’s not normal!” Angela screamed. She covered her face with her hands. “Stop it, now!”

Douglas noticed her distress. “I’m sorry,” he said, unwrapping his legs from behind his neck. “Just one of my bad little habits.”

“Well?” she said, her face still covered. “Have you ‘unwound’ yourself yet?”

“Yeah.” Douglas answered, examining his limbs. He felt his backside and noticed a tear. “I think I split my pants, though.”

Angela took her hands away from her face. “Oh my God! Now you’re trying to get your hand up your arse!”

Douglas looked at her and smiled. “Don’t be silly. I’m examining the tear.”

“This can’t be happening.” Angela said. She sat down on the sofa and started sobbing. “I’m living with a flexible pervert!”

“I’m not a pervert!”

Angela looked at Douglas. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Then why did you have your hand up your arse?”

“I didn’t!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if next you tried to rip out your duodenum.”

Douglas could not believe how insane his sister had become. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because you’re a deranged elastic man.”

“I’m a ballet dancer, for Christ’s sake! I’ve spent the last fifteen years stretching myself to the limit. I’m supposed to be bendy, dammit!”

Angela stood and glared at Douglas. “You didn’t tell me that you’re a ballet dancer!”

“You stupid woman! You’ve been to thirty of my performances!”


“You saw me in Copelia last night!”

Angela shook her head. “I was at Robin’s all evening.”

“Who the hell is Robin?”

“Robin isn’t a person! It’s a bar on the corner of 12th and Main.”

“Ha!” Douglas laughed. “You’re wrong.”

Angela glared at him. “Wrong about what?”

“Wrong about Robin not being a person. If the bar is called Robin’s then the bar owner is more than likely called Robin. It’s the only logical reason to call a bar by that name. Case closed.”

It was Angela’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Now who’s wrong?!”

Douglas glowered at his sister. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a picture of a bird just above the bar’s doorway.”


“So, you dumb arse, the bar is named after a bird - a Robin Redbreast.”

“I’m not a dumb arse!”

Angela placed her hands on her hips and took up an arrogant posture. “Is your arse intelligent?”

Douglas frowned. “Of course not!”

“Is it wise and all-knowing?”


“Does it regularly complete crossword puzzles and take part in game shows?”

“You’re mental!”

“Answer the question? Does it?”

“You know it doesn’t!”

His sister grinned inanely. “I’m right again!”

Douglas found it hard to stay calm. “You’re right?” he asked, raising his voice. “You’re proud that you’re right about my butt not having intelligence?”

“I am.”

“That’s like me feeling proud about proving that water is wet. You’re mad, woman!”

“How dare you call me mad!” Angela said. Tears filled her eyes once again. “Just because my arse is mad doesn’t mean I am.”

Douglas shouted. “What are you on about now?!”

“You didn’t realise?” she asked, her voice quivering. “You’re so insensitive sometimes.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Angela became very serious. “Up until last year my butt was normal and healthy. Then it all went wrong. Within just a couple of months it changed from an articulate philosopher to a gibbering goon.” She sniffled, trying to hold back from sobbing uncontrollably.

Douglas was speechless. His sister was a lunatic! “You need help.”

Angela looked up. “My butt needs help.”

That was the last straw. Douglas ran over to the sideboard and opened the top draw. He reached inside.

“What are you doing?” Angela asked.

Douglas turned to face her. He was holding a box. “Something I should have done long ago.” He walked towards his sister and smiled. The home lobotomy kit he’d been given on his birthday would finally get to treat its first patient.

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