Little Girl's Bike Stolen From Outside House

Written by Monkey Woods

Saturday, 2 June 2018

image for Little Girl's Bike Stolen From Outside House
A thieving bastard

There was trouble with a capital 'T' in Tapon this morning when it was discovered that a bicycle belonging to the daughter of a writer at satirical news website had been stolen.

Delma Kenwood, 3, daughter of Moys Kenwood, loved that fucking bike, a red one with stabilisers, and the callous thieves who crept up to the house last night would do well to ensure that I don't find out their identities, because, without too many questions being asked, their hands could be removed at the wrist, or a hole could be dug for them somewhere remote, and people persuaded to 'look the other way' for not much more than the price of a new bike.

Neighbors sympathised with the victim. One said:

"Never mind, love. Your daddy will buy you a nice, new bike."

Kenwood flashed this neighbor an angry look, but, seeing his daughter's face light up, he said:

"Yes, yes, come on now, my little treasure. We mustn't let these callous bastards, I mean, misters, get us down, must we?. Let's go to the bike shop, and get you a nice, new bike."

A local woman with slack jaws, who had heard about the theft, decided to stop by and offer the benefit of her experience:

"The bastards! I'd have them flogged, though flogging's too good for 'em. I'd tie 'em to the back of a motorbike, and ride all the way to Phnom Penh. That'd give 'em a few scrapes! Or I'd handcuff 'em and put their knackers in a vice, and tighten it one turn every hour - or maybe every day! - until those little balls popped out! Or I'd feed them to tigers! Or crocodiles! Or man-eating ants, Or..." as she wandered off into the distance.

Another neighbor, an old woman of about 80, said:

"It's a sign o' the times. You wouldn't have got that in the old days. Folks was different then. You could leave your back door unlocked. Open, even."

Later, when Delma had brought her nice, new bike home - a violet one with stabilisers, a plastic basket, a bell, and colored spokes - she rode around in circles as happy as a pig in shit, singing softly to herself without a care in the world.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Mr Kenwood sharpened a huge knife.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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