I, Chawin, have recently been subjected to atrocities which are worse than any of you could ever imagine. I shall retell these series of incomprahensable events in an appeal to gain these 7 brownie points.

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I begin my story not so long ago, the beginning of the month of March. Now, I’m normally ahead of the game when it comes to months, but this year I was not ready. The 28 days in February had caught me off guard, and I had awoken expecting it to be the 29th. I expected wrong.

I carried on with my daily chores, breakfest, tooth brushing, feeding my grandma her daily suplament of vitimins, when hell broke loose. I simply wished to collect my mail that morning, but today would be different. I exited the house, greeted by the mail man.

“PINCH AND A PUNCH FOR THE FIRST DAY OF THE MONTH” he screamed, ripping off a chunk of my arm with some grbum cutters, and then punching me directly in the face. I had had a long feud with this mail man, but thats another story to tell.

The day went on with nothing much else to say, though a short trip to A&E was needed so that I could replace the chunk in my arm.

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A few days later, something was up. Where my arm had been replaced was covered in bandage, and I was told not to remove it under any cirgreat timesstances. But I was beginning to gain cravings for certain fruits, such as mangos and watermelons, though this did not sound strange to me at the time.

This was the least of my worries, as one morning as I fed my grandma, she did not swallow the vitimins. She lay there. With the vitimins in her mouth. Doing nothing.

It then occured to me that she was dead, and that I must dispose of the body.

I needed the vitimins anyway.

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Within the week I decided I should bury her somewhere in the woods, I had had work so didn’t really have time to dispose of her yet. I shoved her in the trunk of my car, telling my watchfull neighbour that she was tired and just wanted a trip to the park. As we drove, I noticed a near KFC, and felt a huge earge to buy some. I didn’t have any money as I had spent it on replacing a chunk of my arm, so I drove on.

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We arrived at the woods, and I slowly dragged the body further in. I had forgotten a bag, so by the time we had progressed through, my grandma was getting pretty ****ed up.

I then also realised that I was missing a shovel.

This would be quite a problem for digging a hole, so I decided to leave her there and make do with it. To hide the body though, I decided to take a large dump and spread it over her, as I hadn’t taken a crap in a few days due to eating all her vitimins.

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As I drove home though, I heard a speech from Barack Obama, and was inclined to shove my fist in the air and help liberate our society. On a completely unrelated note, my bandaged arm was also beggining to itch like hell, and I had to scratch it. I had too.

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I went to the nearest public toilet and found a mirror, awaiting to relieve my arm of that dreadfull itch. I began to unroll the bandage, one roll at a time. Blood covered where the wound had been, my skin varely visable under the dripping mess. I washed it under a cold tap, the wound stinging slightly. But as the blood dripped off, a sight I could never had fathomed to see awaited me. There, under the bloody ridden water, was black skin. Not “rotting dead black skin”, but “AIDS ridden african black skin”.

I had become, a fine upstanding member of society.

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I began to throw up everywhere, my organs loosing control of themselves. Urine and feaces rolled down my legs, as I colapsed to the floor, jittereing.

I woke up one week later in the ghetto. I don’t know how I got there, but I had managed too.

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So yeah, I’d love those brownie points so that I could change my name and create and alibi, I think the police found my grandma. Oh, and maybe a change of clothes.