Dear the Bacofoil,

I’ll be honest, until recently I’ve never purchased your product before and, unless you can give me a ruddy good reason why I probably never will do again.

You see I’ve been suffering from headaches recently. Imagine a heffalump of an elephant equipped with stilettos that’s somehow mistaken my fleshy bonce for a trampoline and is in the process of practising the barani over and over again. As tortured as that simile is it’s nothing compared to the torture in my noggin. It has, quite literally, been doing my head in.

Despite the general reticence to do so I ended up booking myself in to see doctors, nurses and even that know-it-all bloke that’s a stalwart in all old boy pubs. Each and every one of them said the same thing, that my cranial painial was due to stress, lack of daylight and inhaling toxic glue fumes. I will admit it sounded plausible as my career at the calendar factory has been somewhat stressful recently. Due to some prat falling into a printing machine and refusing to get back out of it we’re currently running behind on getting the 2015 calendars ready for dispatch. As such I’ve been working every hour possible to help out.

"For god sake John get out of there!"

“For god sake John get out of there!”

However, I weighed up their verdicts and promptly ignored them, for I knew the real reason. After all, what do doctors really know? They can’t even write properly, let alone diagnose someone as special as me. No, obviously the CIA, FBI, TGI, VBR and KGB have been beaming information into my head. I can only imagine they want to brainwash me like that guy in the Manchurian Candidate so I’ll become a mindless drone to carry out their nefarious orders. The problem was that as they were all trying to mind wipe me at the same time I was getting crossed wires, hence the headaches.

I burnt all of my playing cards and started Googling the internet for information. I found a few websites with lots of helpful and informative posts about how to stop irrational thoughts and paranoia taking control of me and my life. I closed those pages and found some different ones which suggested I stick a tin foil hat on.

This sounded like, well, sound advice to me so I went to my local shops and bought as much Bacofoil as my bank card could muster. I could have gone for the cheaper store branded stuff, but decided that if I went for the ‘proper’ gear I’d have better results.

After buying enough crinkly aluminium to keep China’s successful exporting services running a good time longer I hurried back to my hovel. Well, I say hurried back, when you’ve gone through the trouble of disguising yourself as an old woman to avoid all of the evil parties mentioned above you can’t exactly dilly dally down the street, it’d be too obvious.

I hopped over fences, traversed through back gardens, crept down dank alleyways, all the while dragging my shopping bags behind me and trying to keep my Groucho Marx glasses perched upon my nose. No one was following me that I could see, and considering my roundabout path they would have been obvious.

Once I got home, climbed up a drainpipe and smashed through my balcony window (I managed to lose my keys to a very bellicose bichon frise) I was ready.

Fluffy little bastard

Fluffy little bastard

Cracking a box of Bacofoil open I enveloped my head with a full roll of it, poking out some holes for my ears, eyes and Groucho nose.

The next few hours were spent wrapping and taping up the house with your product, replacing shoddy wallpaper with shiny, crinkly sheets of tin. My leather sofa was upgraded to what I called a ‘soft steel’ look and I nearly exploded myself when I tried to coat the plug sockets with your product, which in hindsight was a bit stupid.

I was just finishing up the ceilings when I heard an almighty thump from my front door, followed by an ‘aaaaahhhhhh!’ and yet another thump. Skidding epically across the metallic floor I approached my hallway to find a queer sight. Through my Bacofoil tinted glasses I could see a police officer sprawled across my carpet.

He was a tall, lanky fellow wearing a uniform two sizes too big for his emaciated frame. Most of his head had disappeared into the infamous boob helmet, the only thing stopping him from being completely swallowed was his impressive ears. One had the feeling if he ran too fast he’d take off. As the fuzz lay across the tinfoiled carpet, swinging his expandable truncheon wildly through the air I wondered if today was bring your useless child to work day.

Then, I noticed the other policeman. Unlike his companion he wasn’t sprawled over my floor, instead standing and occupying my entire door frame. He looked like a real officer, and as we all know what they look like I don’t need to bother explaining him to you. He growled, leapt over his dopey companion and tackled me to the floor before giving me a thorough going over with his truncheon.

After a few minutes his arm tired and the beating mellowed.

“Stop thief!” Yelled the proper copper, finally, giving me one final thwack across the thighs for good luck.

“Unhand me you Cossacks, I’ve done nothing wrong.” I said, mumbling through the tinfoil as I had forgotten to make a hole for my mouth.

“Silence bandit.” Said the 5-0, dragging me upwards with many a thrashing to my backside.

“Yeah!” Squeaked the pipsqueak, who had finally extraciated himself from his hat, he waved his upside down truncheon vaguely in my direction.

“We’ve had reports from people saying they saw you break into this establishment and then, for reasons currently unknown, proceed to layer the property with tin foil.”

“It’s my flat, I’m just…redecorating.” I muffled.

“What did he say Cartwright?” Asked the real copper to his Fischer Price buddy.

“I think he’s saying something in foreign Guv. An’ look at his nose and moustache.” Said the lad.

“That’s the probable cause sorted then, let’s go Cartwright.”

At which point, not for the first time, I was dragged away from my home and into custody. I spent some time in police cells, where I was treated like a rug; by which I mean I was occasionally taken out, aired and beaten before getting chucked back on the floor. Eventually though everything got sorted out (after they finally removed the tin foil) and after several months of court appearances and surgeries I was back in my flat.

Obviously the whole thing was a false flag operation by the CIA, FBI, TGI, VBR and KGB. If I’ve learnt anything from the internet and conspiracy theories everything is a false flag, even though I don’t know what that means. Clearly your tin foil isn’t up to spec as I was caught out straight away, followed to my home and given a warning by the parties described above.

In conclusion, sod your stuff, I’ll get it from Lidl instead.


Neville Haley


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