Ostensibly he’s topped himself.

Open your cry glands for a real weepy. For this is the story of poor young Callum Brumbum.

Not being the most ambitious of teenagers. Callum had clowned all his GCSE’s and found himself beside himself at receiving his first ever giro. Not familiar with such an injection of spondoodles, he viewed this as a kings ransom and leg worked it to his local Spar. Upon doing so he purchased a four pack of Carling and 5 of those nutritious Rustler burgers. “One of each variety” he surmised, smiling at the prospect of over indulgence. He topped it off with a ten pack of Mayfair and set about his mission. The first act of which was to chain eat all of the burgers.

Tragically, later that afternoon, his mum found him in the garage. He was in his fathers car with the engine running, stiff and purple from carbon monoxide poisoning. she screamed. falling to her knees. Crying and clutching an empty rustlers carton. “IT’S MY FAULT……IT’S ALL MY FAAAAUUULT……..” She could have been forgiven for seeing this as a suicide attempt. Fuelled in large by her lack of domestic acumen. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked him a decent meal.

Nobody would ever know the real reason. Nobody would ever know that the innocent youth had planned to do something quite different. He’d sat in his dad’s car with the engine running so that he could put the heaters on. This, coupled with the bowel loosening effect of the cigarettes, and the shit quick nature of such an abundance of micro food, provided him with the optimum conditions for sniffing his own guffs. He’d wound the window down a bit as it was slightly too hot. More fool him as his dad had just had a brand new air tight garage door fitted. There was nowhere for the toxins to go but into his dumb little teenage lungs. Poor poor Callum Brumbum.