Today, Liza Tarbuck is a headlouse.

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"So I just finished decorating", somebody said once, "and I hate the colour". I gave this advice:


Get an eye transplant with a dog. You shall see everything in black and white and your worries shall be over.
That is, until the nerves of the dog's eyes reach up into your brain, sending evil messages to your cortex. It shall be small at first: A faint barking sound which you believe never happened; a strange, easily resistable desire to grab sticks between your teeth; a sudden dislike of cats. But then it shall get worse. You will find yourself panting when it is warm, your mouth shall water at dog food adverts, and you will spend the first five minutes of each day walking on all fours, before your brain kicks in and wonders what you have just been doing.
At this point, you realise something is wrong. You'll put on your coat, head into the car, and drive to the doctor's. But on your way there, something will catch your eye. While looking absent-mindedly out of the windscreen, you'll see a stick floating across the air in a nearby park. You will turn the car in it's direction, but quickly correct yourself. You are going to the doctor's. You are going to the doctor's. The stick lies on the ground, abandoned. It's just begging to be picked up, and returned to whoever owns it. Surely you can stop for a minute?
No. You are going to the doctor's. You are stick to the doctor's. You are fetch the stick doctor's. You stick to fetch the stick. Fetchthestick fetchthestick fetchthestick.
Your car veers towards the park, but a fence gets in the way and the car jerks to a halt, propelling you forward. You break through that strange transparent screen thing - but you are moving in the direction of the stick; all shall be well.
As you hit the ground, your ha- your teeth reach out, grabbing the stick between your jaw. People crowd around you, speaking in strange alen tongues. You try to give them the stick, you try to tell them to take the stick, to throw the stick again.
They do not understand your barking. Why don't they understand? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because you fetched the stick. Good dog. Good dog.

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