Dick Clifford looked at the stripy teapot in his hands and felt sparkly.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his derelict surroundings. He had always loved grand Cardiff with its salty, stupid swamps. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sparkly.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Roger McCallister. Roger was a kind elephant with curvy warts and charming warts.
Dick gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a rude, delightful, whiskey drinker with ugly warts and brunette warts. His friends saw him as a vigorous, villainous vicar. Once, he had even saved a yarbing old man that was stuck in a drain.
But not even a rude person who had once saved a yarbing old man that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Roger had in store today.
The sun shone like sitting tortoises, making Dick sleepy.
As Dick stepped outside and Roger came closer, he could see the mushy smile on his face.
"I am here because I want love," Roger bellowed, in a virtuous tone. He slammed his fist against Dick's chest, with the force of 8468 rats. "I frigging love you, Dick Clifford."
Dick looked back, even more sleepy and still fingering the stripy teapot. "Roger, you must think I was born yesterday," he replied.
They looked at each other with sneezy feelings, like two foolish, frightened frogs smiling at a very hungry rave, which had jazz music playing in the background and two spiteful uncles chatting to the beat.
Suddenly, Roger lunged forward and tried to punch Dick in the face. Quickly, Dick grabbed the stripy teapot and brought it down on Roger's skull.
Roger's curvy warts trembled and his charming warts wobbled. He looked anxious, his body raw like a gigantic, grim gun.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Roger McCallister was dead.
Dick Clifford went back inside and made himself a nice glass of whiskey.
