Another set of tales improvised during lockdown. Music: Creepy — Bensound.com. Here are some Totally Made Up Tales, brought to you by the magic of the internet. Put your faith away. It will hold you later. Try rubbing me. I'll pop out of my clogs. Hardly anyone from Germany likes thinking hard about warfare. It was a bright Tuesday morning and Linda was making herself some eggs for breakfast. She broke the eggs into a ramekin before pouring them into the bowl which, she'd read, is something that you should do. Having poured them into the bowl, she whisked them because she was making eggs of the scrambled variety. As she whisked them, the eggs became frothier and frothier and frothier and threatened to over spill the edge of her whisking bowl. Not knowing quite what to do, she, nonetheless, didn't stop whisking and gradually a tendril of frothy egg spilled over the side of the bowl. This she felt was a disaster. Linda was a very tidy person and any threat of a spillage she was going to treat with the utmost seriousness. She brandished her whisk at the spillage on the floor and she whisked it. Unfortunately by so doing, she made it even more frothy and it started to spread across the kitchen floor. As it spread, it starts to gain consciousness. It eventually towered over her a frothy monster with an opening where its mouth would be. It breathed heavily on her, ruffling her hair back around her face. An eggy smell enveloped her kitchen, and she backed away, trapped between the fridge and the washing machine. "It's time for breakfast," said the monster, as it gobbled her up. The end. Lights cast shadows. Shadows hide evil. Don't use lights. Use your noggin wisely. It will let you down. Screw you, Mr Blair! I want to eat you up! One morning, Erica woke up to discover that her boyfriend Jonathan was missing. Normally this would not cause her concern, but Jonathan had been suffering from a very severe case of measles and certainly wouldn't have been well enough to go out for his own thing. She went downstairs to the living room where he'd been sleeping on the sofa in order to be able to toss and turn in his feverish state. But he was nowhere to be found. She called for him, but there was no answer. She searched every room without finding him. Being a sensible girl, she decided straight away to report the matter to the police, not to bother them, but just so that it was on record at the earliest opportunity. She picked up the landline phone in order to dial them, but mysteriously, there was no dialing tone. She went back into the bedroom and picked up her mobile phone, but despite being plugged in overnight, it had no battery. She decided that the best thing to do would be to walk to the police station and report it that way, but when she opened the front door, something shocking greeted her. The whole house had been enclosed in a clear plastic dome, which appeared to be hermetically sealed from the outside world. Some two meters in front of her front door, the dome curved down into the ground and she could see that there was a sign plastered on it on the other side. It said, "Beware: Plague." Is that the end? I mean, that could be the end. It could be the end. That can be the end. Why can it not just be the end? It could be, "Next to the sign on the other side of the dome, Jonathan was waving at her." The end. One day, a scientist called Peter found the solution to everything. It was to dissolve it all in alcohol. He started with himself. The end. Michael had always loved riding his bicycle. He would get up early in the morning so that he could get a bike ride in before his day started properly. And once he day started properly, he would do as much as possible of it on his bike. One year, he decided that he was going to push himself further and enter a really difficult race. He researched all of the possible bike races around the world and picked one which went over 300 miles through desert and mountains. But the most challenging part of this 300 mile race was the very end where you had to cross the channel to make it back to London. He spent many, many months in training and built himself a series of little courses in his back garden that he could do to practice for these particular terrains. He wasn't able to build himself an equivalent to the channel, and so had to go further afield to practice the cycle-powered aquaplaning he was going to need in order to get home at the end of the race. He decided that the Pacific Ocean was the best place to practice for the channel being as it was slightly harder, and therefore would see him in good stead for the relatively narrow distance of the channel itself. Standing on the shores of Tokyo Harbor, he saddled himself up to his bike and pointed the front wheel towards the water. "Tally ho," he said, everyone around him looking slightly perplexed at his outdated and outmoded way of ...
