Diary of Henry Jekyll:

1888, Tuesday.

I’ve decided that I am sick of my life. My God, I am nearly forty-four years old! I have more wrinkles than Joan Rivers! If I were a younger man, I could travel the world. Well, perhaps I would just stay home, seeing as how I have a severe case of agoraphobia, which just so happens to be an irrational fear of traveling. Oh well, I suppose that’s what the Travel Channel’s for, eh? And if I were young and beautiful (I’ll have you know I used to look just like David Hasselhoff as a young lad. Hmmm…wonder why I never married?) again, I could snag a bride for myself. Mother has been on my case far more than usual about that particular subject.

Jekyll's Mum: Henry Jekyll, I want grandchildren, blah blah blah, naggitty, naggitty, nag.

I must admit I fear that whomever I have the opportunity to marry will be just like her. I can’t even count all the dates that have gone bad because of that nosy woman. I remember the time when she set me up with that bloody prostitute, the one with three fingers. I mean, even a prostitute should have the decency to have at least four fingers.

Velvet Liquor:

I just had to write a parody for my favorite novella of all time. :)

Review. NOW.