Back from the Digital Dead

Hello everyone. I’m sorry to all of you who been frantically refreshing this page non-stop for the last year. For reasons that will become clear I had to take a hiatus from the internet. However I have now returned and we can continue where we left off. For those of you who are new allow me to explain.

About a year ago I was a massive online celebrity (or proportionately a Z list celeb in real life). People from around the globe flocked to me, awed by my use of keyboard and the English language. I was envied and adored in equal measure; I was happy, I was content, I was inundated with marriage proposals from countless young Russian women. Then everything went wrong.

I reached my dizzying height of fame by blogging about my life and items I had bought. A unique concept, why has no one else thought of that? I hear you whisper under your breath as you read this blog. Indeed my individuality and fresh approach to the use of the World Wide Web has garnered me many a fan.

I’ve learnt however, that laying your life out for the entire world (by which I mean the bit we care about that have internet access) can have its drawbacks. While most were happy to read with green tinged eyes about my life and experiences, others had a far more nefarious purpose.

On a side note; before you begin to wonder who I am, as I imagine my name doesn’t ring any bells, I am now largely unknown as the last time I was active online was a year ago and to paraphrase an old…phrase ‘a week is a long time on Reddit’. It’s a bit like when you hear about a celebrity who has passed away and your first reaction is ‘Huh, I thought they were already dead.”

Within my writings I had, on occasion, discovered a side effect or previously unknown property in regards to the items I purchased. Some had beneficial effects, some a darker side. Others could even possibly be utilised for the military-industrial complex, if researched appropriately.

There have been many online who have claimed my blog and accidental inventions as ‘tall tales’ and ‘spurious bollocks’, but to them I say, no, you’re spurious bollocks and so’s your mum. Many more eloquent and less angry people then followed this up by claiming they had tried to recreate my actions and didn’t have the same outcome, but I think they’re just making stuff up for attention.

One of the things I had accidentally uncovered was a rather unique effect a certain carpet cleaner has when it comes into contact with, shall we say, elements that an ordinary citizen shouldn’t be able to get hold of. In essence, it turns things invisible. It appears the MOD, and perverts, were very interested in what I discovered.

Anyway, getting back on track with this careening train wreck of a post, the military decided that they wanted to know how I had created a liquid that caused concealment, they were rather adamant in fact. I found out this when late one night they rudely entered my flat via the doors and windows, which they somewhat capriciously forgot to open before entering them.

Smash went the windows, thwomp went the doors, whimper went the me in bed. A full contingent of SO19 officers trounced into my flat, shouting at me and waving their big, possibly Freudian, guns around, making a right old racket.

“Freeze you Bearsted.” One of them yelled at me, the muzzle of his gun shoved rather deeply up one of my nostrils.

“Squuuuueeeeeaaaaaak.” I replied, eloquently.

‘Shut the Folkestone up you Fakenham Knob.”

“Squuueeeaaaak.” I continued, amid a mixture of fear and pain.

“Stop Flitwicking squealing and tell me where the magic stuff is.” He snarled, wiggling his gun a bit further up my nose. I decided to try and stop whimpering as I was sure he was about to reach my frontal lobe.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Only…”

“What?”

“You’re standing on me.”

I sleep by the window.

Mumbling an apology filled with towns he stepped backwards off my chest and onto the mattress. The gun stayed where it was though.

“Search the flat, turn this dorking place upside down.” Snarled the leader to one of his cohorts, who nodded and followed other members of SO19 out of the bedroom door.

“What do you want?” I asked him, rather nasally.

“Where’s the Farnham magic stuff? The invisibility potion you Falkirking made?”

“Ay?”

With a jerky movement he yanked his gun muzzle out of my hooter, which stung a bit. He looked at the tip of his death stick, gave a hiss of disgust and wiped the pointy bit on my duvet. Then suddenly he twisted his weapon upwards and let loose a round, the bullet blasting through the air and smashing into the only bit of my window which he hadn’t already broken.

He flicked the gun round and stared down the barrel, which didn’t seem like best practice and smiled to himself, content that whatever bit of me that might have been blocking the muzzle was now gone. He looked back down at me, aiming the now clean gun at my chest.

“The invisibility potion, where is it?”

“Under the sink, pink bottle. ‘ere, why do you keep saying town names?”

“I’m trying to cut down on swearing. UNDER THE SINK” Yelled the officer through the door to his troops.

I could hear a lot of raucous activity happening outside my bedroom; the sounds of cupboards being flung open and my most expensive treasures being gleefully flung at the walls. Also, for some reason, the sound of drills.

“Got it.” Called out a voice.

“You know you could of just knocked.” I suggested, wriggling around in the glass shards covering my linen bed sheets.

“We don’t like to take the chance. Now get up, put some clothes on and come with us.” (on a side note the officer started swearing again at this point as his geography had run out).

“Do I have to?”

He nodded, himself and his gun. I sighed and got out of bed, trying to avoid the glass littering my gaff. I grabbed my clothes from the night before that I had left on the floor and shrugged them on.

“Nice tats by the way.” The man said, giving my torso a once over.

“Thanks.” I said, yanking on a t-shirt.

“Now, put this on.” He said, throwing a bag at me. I looked at the scratchy thick cloth bag. It had a drawstring on one end and was dark brown. Also, I noticed rather worryingly it was roughly head sized.

“Really?”

“Don’t look at me, its company policy.”

“Do I have to put it on right now?”

“As long as you put it on before you get roughly thrown into the back of the van.”

“Fine.”

He stepped to the side, gesturing for me to leave the room. I shoved the bag in a back pocket and walked past him. My flat was an utter state, yet somehow the SO19 officers had made it look even worse. Mugs and plates were smashed across the floor. Jackets and shirts were strewn everywhere, tooth paste was rubbed into carpets, which was just wilful naughtiness. One of the men had punched a hole in my wall for absolutely no reason that I could fathom.

“Jenkins, what the hell are you doing?” Asked the head honcho behind me.

The man in question was in my living room, up on a ladder. Him and a couple of other men had my dining table held up in the air. They had flipped it upside down and were bolting it to my ceiling. Jenkins pushed heavily on the powered drill, securing one of the legs into a support beam.

“Hi chief.”

“I repeat, what the hell are you doing?”

“You said to turn this pl-“

“You’re an idiot, Jenkins.”

“Sorry guv.”

“Right, come on. Enough dicking around.” Said the ‘guv’. “Downstairs and get in the van.”

I’d like to say that during the space of time of leaving my flat and getting bum rushed into a waiting van I managed to escape, but sadly I can’t as I didn’t. Instead what happened was that I was driven to an airport and flown somewhere. I can’t say where as I wasn’t allowed to remove the bag for the entire time I was there (I think it was around eight months but as it was always dark it could have been only a couple of days).

I wouldn’t say I was mistreated, because I’m not allowed to. I was asked a lot of questions during my stay in my luxury bijou retention room (their words, certainly not mine) but most of them were about the blog. It’s made me rethink whether I should add an FAQ section to the site. Might be a pain writing it but if it prevents this happening again it might be worth it.

Then, one day, I was let go. Somebody dragged me out of my room by my ankles, hauling me across the easy wash floors of the ‘temporary relocation facility’. I heard a door clang open and felt the ground below change from smooth stone to rough gravel.

“Now piss off.” Said a dour voice behind me, before yanking the bag off my head and giving me a punt in the ribs for good measure. The door slammed metally.

I squinted at my surroundings, it was the first time I had seen sunlight since I don’t know when and even the overcast grey sky was too much for me. I shakily got to my feet and blindly stumbled away, banging into walls and parked cars. It took me about half an hour before my eyes adjusted properly and by that point I had got myself so lost I had no idea where I originally exited from.

At a loss at what else to do I started making my way home. It turned out I was still in the UK, although I’m not allowed to divulge where exactly. All I can say is the place I was ‘staying’ at was originally destined to become the British version of Guantanamo Bay, but due to certain circumstances that never happened.

I flagged someone driving by and asked her for a lift. She was only too happy to give me one as she said, and I quote.

“Och aye I’m happy to get your wee English arse oot of my country. I’ll take ye to the border, but ye can pish off if ye think I’ll take yer any further.”

“Thank you Mrs. Err?”

“Campbell.”

“Mrs. Campbell. Can I ask, what date is it?”

“September 19.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ye mention it, och aye danoo, bagpipe, haggis, Sean Connery.”

Mrs Campbell, in her tartan painted Ford Focus, drove me to a location I have been advised by solicitors not to mention for security reasons. I got a couple more rides and eventually I arrived home.

I walked in; happy to see the old place despite the state it had been left in since I was forcibly removed. I went into the living room and slumped backwards, only to collapse to the floor and bash my head against the wall. As I lay there in pain I stared up at my ceiling, at my sofa. Obviously Jenkins had decided to put in some extra hours and finish off what he started.

So that’s where I’ve been recently, hence the lack of updates. That and I also wrote a book, which took up quite a bit of my time, although that’s a side issue. But we’re back now and ready to send more complaints to companies for their shoddy and worrying products.

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