42 - Curse of the Vampire Skull

X OF THE Y... OF EEEEEEEEVIL!!!

Ben is wandering alone in the middle of nowhere after Hampshire City Council kidnapped her, chloroformed her, and dumped her as far away from her as they could get. Left alone on a narrow lane, late at night, Ben wakes up slowly, rubbing her neck and moaning.

Slowly she remembers what has happened and starts cursing the local council for the chavtastic tendencies and daring to expel a godhead such as herself from their inner circles just because she had acculumated 940 charges of curb crawling outside the local boys' school, drunkenly asking the students if any of them had degrees in history and wanted some sex.

Ben realizes she needs transport to get out of these dark woods and so heads for a handy industrial vat of oil and empties it onto the road. The plan is this will cause any vehicles to skid off the road and into a ditch, allowing her to comandeer said vehicle.

"Hitchhiking is for chavs," she mutters to herself.

Unfortunately, the next car along is a Morris Minor, which spins out of control and slams into Ben, who in turn, is slammed against a tree. Luckily, Ben's silicon-implanted breasts act as airbags and thus prevent any loss of life to the driver of the car or the tree. Unluckily, Ben survives as well.

"This is all your fault!" she shouts at the driver. "You were going too fast, you chav!"

The window winds down and a familiar figure sticks its head out. "Oh, fuck off, Ben!" Katie Ryan shouts, reversing onto the dry part of the road and then accelerating away.

Ben takes this stoically by screaming incoherently and jumping up and down on the spot. "I hope you have anaccident like ALL female drivers!!!!!!!! I hope you break your ankle! I hope your mobile phone SHATTERS and you have to WALK for help just like I have to NOW!!!!!!!"

Ben takes a Fox's Glacier Mint to feed her evil addiction, but the mint reacts to the rhino anaesthetic she was previously administered. Instead of her excuse for a mine floating in a state of euphoric bliss, she is instantly given an LSD nightmare of pure evil while 'We Are The Pippettes!' blares inside her head.

At a nearby Little Chef, the staff are stunned when a dazed Britney Spears staggers in, screaming about worm-infested skulls floating out of the night, women in black, tall undead creatures, before jumping up on a table and falling to the ground, twitching.

"Wow," says the girl behind the counter. "That was just like the ending of The Stone Tape where the insane blonde is chased by invisible demons to her death. Only more avant-garde."

"Nigel Kneale sucks," agrees her co-worker.

THE END.