Blog: Chris Mitchell
I was woken up at around 05:00 by the sound of helicopters and loudhailers outside my house. I crawled out of a deep sleep, but before I could even open the curtains to see what was happening, my door was kicked in and the house invaded by a snatch squad from Manchester City Council.
Armed with tasers, I didn't stand a chance. I was overpowered within seconds, and dragged out of my house naked to a waiting helicopter and taken to a secret military base near Bolton. The military personnel there are working with two alien races, one from a planet orbiting Aldebaran, and the other from the omega Piscium system. Both insisted on anally probing me, though why the aliens from omega Piscium did it twice, I'm not sure, especially as I tried to ingratiate myself with them telling them that I myself am a Piscean, and showed them a copy of the Daily Mail to prove it. The Aldebaran guys - I use the term loosely, since they were actually large yellow blobs of something that looked like a cross between jelly and yoghurt, then did a mind meld on me in an attempt to extract information.
They didn't seem to be satisfied with this, so I was then transported to Guantanamo Bay, a top secret base in Cuba run by Manchester City Council. The Council apparently put out a cover story that it's run by the CIA, but purleeze - it's in Cuba, FFS, so it's hardly likely that the Americans would have a base there, is it?
Three burly former tractor drivers, coincidentally all called Olga, interrogated me for four months without food and water. They wanted me to reveal the name of the bloke in Manchester who persistently left his bins out after 4pm, claiming to be "at work", and who on one occasion left two bins out in clear contravention of their policy. Their anti-terrorist squad also discovered that he had links with a Lesbian Eritrean terrorist cell, and they were convinced that I was somehow involved in passing secret communications to him through a medium they called "The Forem".
Naturally, I didn't crack, and eventually I managed to tunnel my way out of the cell using a nail file that I found in a bar of soap, and found I had gone from the frying pan into the fire. Around three thousand armed uniformed members of Manchester City Council were making their way back from an all-expenses paid conference in Havana where they were making the final arrangements for building another 20,000 schools in Bangladesh. They all took aim and fired at me, but fortunately they missed. At that very moment, Cuba was struck by a hurricane and I was caught up in the eye of the storm which lifted me several miles high and ended up dropping me in Haiti in the middle of a Voodoo ceremony to summon up Norman Tebbit, which they were going to use as a golem to set loose on the free world in order to usher in a millennium of pain and anguish. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to have kept my copy of the Daily Mail, which acted as a magic amulet to charm the Tebbit golem, who gave me a bicycle and told me to go and seek gainful employment.
I cycled across the sea to Florida, and ended up getting a job as a research assistant at Cape Canaveral. This turned out to be a highly successful career, and I rose through the ranks to become the mission director there, and headed the first successful manned mission to Mars in 2019. I made several return journeys to Mars, and as a result of the alien artifacts I found on Olympus Mons, and subsequently decoded, won the Nobel Prize in 2023 for building the first time machine.
Sadly, I became rather blasť about its use, and set it for 30 August 2007 - the day of my kidnap - but forget to set the quantum vacuum dark matter temperature regulator, so on arrival in 2007 it promptly vanished into a separate spatial dimension, which promptly curled up to a Planck-length thinness and vanished from view, leaving me trapped back in 2007.
I then went back to sleep, awoke at 09:00 and had a bowl of Fruit and Fibre.
It feels a bit like Groundhog Day.
Manchester City Council