The Bible says (Proverbs 27:14):
Whoever blesses his neighbor early in the morning, and in a loud voice,
will be counted as cursing.
The blessing was silent, the aftermath won't be.
My killer obviously doesn't need much sleep, or goes to bed really early, for there was a bomb on my door this morning. When I went to the shower, it went bang. Now I think I'm probably dead.
Robert Hiersemenzel's lackey Scott Boham prays:
Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot
change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to hide the bodies of
those people I had to kill because they really pissed me off.
A bomb left on my door this morning by Eversor was disarmed by a friend who had got up early for a morning run. Thank the lord for fitness fanatics!
The Wig is reported to have said:
The Emmanuel College Mafia demands you stop quoting the laws to
us. We carry swords.
Having recieved a dodgy looking envelope, I proceeded to open it whilst wearing gloves and using my knife. The letter was professionaly made, but not professionally enough and the almost invisible chalk dust had no effect.
I am proud to announce that on this glorious day I took the head of a master criminal, one Child of the Revolution. I shall proceed to tell you of this epic battle, a monumental struggle between good (Child of the Revolution) and evil (me!) to rival even the greatest tales in legend.
It all started with a pint of Hoegaarden. Often, when alone, my mind wanders to the creamy, sedimentary goodness of a pint of Hoegaarden - only this time I was not alone, but instead in the good company of an old friend. We started talking about various assassins, and soon he got round to mentioning that his girlfriend ( the dignified, elegant and noble Child of the Revolution) was on the most wanted list, and legendary at defending herself against onslaughts from rivals. So, with the Hoegaarden still on my mind, I made a bet with him that I could kill her, and thus succeed where so many inferior assassins have failed, within 48 hours. He laughed jovially and agreed, subtly adding that if I hurt her in any way he would break my face. I immediately agreed, for I could not give up such a challenge and forfeit the fruits which success would bring. Next morning I made my way over to the lair of the Child of the Revolution, and scouted about. On my way back to my room I saw this legendary criminal mastermind walking towards me, and was immediate paralysed in awe. However, I rapidly regained my composure and greeted her. As I drew closer, ready to engage her in idle conversation, I noticed that her gun was already drawn. I had to marvel at her level of paranoia and her quick thinking - truly she deserved her formidable reputation! I backed off, and politely said that I would return to finish the job. With my cover blown, I now had to think of another way to get into her house.
A plan was formulated the next day as I left a lecture in favour of some sleep. With my friend, who I shall call Swivelson, trundling next to me, I suddenly knew how I would get my pint of Hoegaarden. We went to the house of the noble criminal, and I told Swivelson to buzz in and say that he had information on where I lived, thus enabling Child of the Revolution to take me out first. Child of the Revolution, in her infinite wisdom, must of thought that this would enable her to remove a threat, and so she opened the door. He went into her room, and I stayed outside the room door. After one minute I had to make a move, and so I rushed into the room, gun drawn. I scanned the room and soon my eyes came to rest upon the Princess of Crime, sitting at the master control of her lair. The rest happened in slow motion. I moved forward, as she calmly stared at me, and brought the gun up. She did not flinch as I pulled the trigger, even though my right hand man, Swivelson, dived to the floor like the cowering dog that he is (you're fired by the way). She died nobly, and thus came to an end the reign of the Princess of Crime. There is now infinite sorrow in my soul for having killed her - but alas, what can an assassin do. The only way that I can recover is with a pint of Hoegaarden, which I will be getting FREE soon. I'll expect it soon, you know who you are....
The Emmanuel College Mafia has come to wreck everything and ruin your life. God sent us.
I received a piece of post today of a dubious nature. I was naturally cautious and, having opened it with my fine 16th Century silver Letter opened I found it to be poisoned. Reading the letter i was struck by the appalling grammar and ghastly grasp of the English Language, how did this person get into Cambridge I asked myself, non the less, i feel he may not stay for long. The deviant attempted to Blackmail me. So let this serve as a warning to all assailants of The Gentleman Caller. Now your targets know who you are. S. B., T. G. and J. N., your would-be assassin is none other than A Philosopher on a Quest one 'Scotty B' of Christ's. I suggest you collaborate and finish his days.
Irony, anyone?
(Reuter/Itar-Tass/Newnham)
Cambridge University is glad to announce that there will be a celebration
in the Cavendish Lab after the faculty-appointed group of scientists
finally found conclusive empirical proof of the existence of a certain
wanted criminal called Fozia Ismail.
Despite several previous attempts, the said criminal had managed to evade
any scientific experiments to find out whether she actually existed or
not, leading to extreme confusion among the scientists.
However, today at lunchtime an academic breakthrough was finally
accomplished by the well-known scientist Man of the Timber Industry
(a fellow of Milton Keynes University). Unfortunately the necessary
experiments caused the test subject to perish, thus impairing the
scholarly body of gathering further information about the emergence and
behaviour of the wanted criminal Ms Ismail.
According to a statement given today at lunchtime by the black-clad Man of
the Timber Industry, the university considers further experiments to be
conducted with new test subjects to clarify the information gathered
today. The audience, as they say, is listening.
Having discovered a wanted criminal in my college I set out to redeem the name of Trinity Hall, and cleanse us of this. I enlisted the help of my college dad (studying the same subject as him) to put the target off his guard. It obviously worked, since the first words spoke when he opened the door, having seen who it was, were "thank goodness, I thought you were assassins".
--- BANG ---
oops.
The hat's last words:
Weeping with naughtiness, Nor-T-Hat scraped the beautiful barnacles off his wizened Uberhatt with his besoiled Proboscis. Peering greed'ly at the Soleless corpse of the heroic Greed-E-Shoe, the wonderful Hat heard an hideous tap-tapping in the central Vest-O-Bule. He slipped into his Uberhatt with an slimy slither and scuttled a'Quick to investigate.
"Glory be!" cried the excited Hat. For lying 'pon carpet was an Glistening Egg the likes of which Nor-T-Hat had ne'er seen, e'en in his wildest dreams of Eggs. It looked verily like an hat. Covetousness in his vermin-laced Harte, Nor-T-Hat coveted the ovine treasure. O, would that it were that He could sit a'top this won'drous jewell! I daresay his buttocks fairly quivered with anticipation. Unable to contain his selfish desires, the brave Hat leap't 'pon t' Spoile with all his might.
But ho! 'Twas no simple Egg, but an "TRAP OF FECULENCE"! As Nor-T-Hat's silken buttocks slid gleefully around the jewell, an hatless Rat-boy scuttled out of the shadows with an squeak! And afore the Hat was able to deliver his ovine sermon, the sickening rodent had buried his writhing teeth into Nor-T-Hat, and torn it brim from brim. But 'twas not over until Rat-boy performed the ancient Ritual of Onan 'pon poor Hat's befouled corpse. Then, 'twas over.
So endeth the tale of Nor-T-Hat and Greed-E-Shoe. They ended life in shame; the shoe aged 49, the hat 13.
Realising that Andy Eyre was made incompetent for a good
reason, I decided to visit him.
Armed to the teeth, and disguised, I observed that his light was on, and his
door unlocked.
So I walked in, gun in each hand, and shot him - just once.
Since my fwend was bwutally murdered by PC Big Hairy Monster I've had less and less faith in the police force...I mean that big hairy bully killed the late Isobel, and twied to justify his actions by saying that she was on the wanted list, indicating that she was a menace to society and needed to be 'removed'. But you know as well as I do that nothing could be further from the twuth as my fwend was put on the wanted list PWECISELY because she posed absolutely no threat to anyone: she's sweet, fluffy and pathetically harmless!!
Then last night I had a dweam that a police officer would be involved in a dweadful murder, and that this would take place on the site of my fwend's murder: D-floor of the Wolfson building. Fearing that someone else would meet their end at the hands of another evil police officer, I felt I had to act to pwevent a second Wolfson building twagedy from unfolding. When I awoke I carried out an investigation and it turned out that there was in fact a police officer on the same floor. So I went to his woom at 6pm today to warn him of this pwemonition, then stabbed him 23 times when he opened the door. It seems my pwemonition was right after all...
Wots of wuv,
The Laughing Maniac
Psycosix and I decided to go incompetent bashing in the hope of ridding our fair city of some of the scum who give the game a bad name... Newnham first- my kill achieved there by the simple expedient of knocking on the door and waiting until it was opened by the room's unsuspecting occupant. One shot to the chest dispatched her and her dying words as she slid down the wall leaving a trail of blood were "at least I won't have to go kill anyone now......"
The carnage completed, we proceeded to Churchill, where I knocked on Divya Mohan's door, which she opened. This time it took two shots, but the outcome was inevitable.
So as a new day dawns, Cambridge is rid of five more of those who bring the game into disrepute, and I return to my bed with the happy knowledge of an evening well spent.
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