The Last Huzzah for 2007 (The Can Opener Incident)

You think stabbing me with a can opener will stop me?

This year I’ve written about Eaglebush, the moping mo-ped, the harpsichord crusader. I wrote a song that destroyed people’s inhibitions, and they went out and killed all the popstars, throwing the world into chaos.

I’m so bloody-minded that when Judge Dredd masturbates, he thinks of me.

I’m so environmentally minded that I allowed a rainforest the size of Brazil to burn rather than allow the death of an individual from an endangered species of worm.

I stole the blueprint for the universe and judged it wanting.

I crept into a camp of werewolf hunters and swapped all their silver bullets for harmless (to werewolves) hollowpoint ones.

Whenever I get an erection I have to pour boiling water on my cock to stop it from destroying the world.

I’m your guardian angel, poisoning your food with cyanide while you’re distracted by the high school girls on their way home from netball practise.

What made you think, after all that, stabbing me with a can opener would have any effect?

Even the great Eaglebush, who turned maidens inside out with a glance and had the champions of his enemies spilling their entrails at the first opportunity, even he let me write his biography. (It will be available next year under the title “Trimming the Bush: Eaglebush Exposed, the Authorised Biography”.)

If I was a hero from Greek mythology, I would be called Polydiaphragm, because I’m the ultimate in birth control.

Kings and emperors have called up my superhard tongue to polish their jewels. Priests have used my tongue to polish the pews and their altars.

My teeth are miniature nuclear weapons and also have inbuilt super-accurate atomic clocks. My clocks are so accurate not even time dilation from travelling at 99% of the speed of lights has any effect on them.

And I always travel at 99% of the speed of light.

Take your can opener and excrete on it; it will affect me no more than a tourniquet of abominable snowman skin.

Allow me to tickle your funk noodle with this peacock feather. Once tickled, your noodle will turn black and drop off in seven days. Enjoy the serenity while you can. Enjoy the hours of staring at your unopenable cans of tinned pears, tinned peaches and tinned octopus/pony sauté.

You’re done. Your can opener attack has failed. If I’m the death star and your can opener is a proton torpedo, you missed my thermal exhaust port.