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Diary of an Englishman Week 1

While watching the Manny Pacquiao versus Joshua Clottey fight over the weekend, I had a big fight of my own, against sleep!

Rod The Playwright Decides To Deck The Halls With Fierceness And A Snow Pooping Santa.
Leave It To A Comic Book Reader To Tell The Government What Americans Really Want From Their Healthcare System.
My name is Maisie Day and people will tell me anything.

Fiction: The Kingsnake Killing

"Don. Fred Tucker. Come down to the farm. Something’s in my south cotton field. Looks like a dead fella."

"Looks like a dead fella? Can’t you tell?"

"Whatever or whoever it was, somebody set it on fire."

“I mean it, Chaz. I want out.”

“Aw, c'mon, baby. We're so good together.”

We were sitting in a fishermen's bar in Gloucester, a dim, seedy place well off the tourist track. Any stranger who wandered in here was likely to stagger out with an empty wallet and a few less teeth. But for us, tucked into our regular booth at the back, it was the safest place north of Boston ... 

Fiction -- My Sad Cuisine

I never have anyone over for dinner.

Fiction -- Junk

They came to the field of broken junk as three curious boys in need of something to fill a Saturday afternoon ...

Fiction -- Attachment

As a surgeon, I've seen some pretty terrible sights come into my operating theatre. That poor man and his skydiving accident. His poorer fiancée shortly thereafter.

Fiction: The Vanishing Act

So I’m in my office, about a month back, and this famous guy -- I won’t say who -- comes in, sits down and asks me to kill him.
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