Death by Lavatory Paper

OKAY OKAY OKAY WHAT’S GOING OOOOOON???’

‘Nothing’s going on. It’s all going OFF.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You must know. And if you don’t know, I must find out. I won’t sleep unless I do.’

‘You’re such a control freak.’

‘I know.’

‘You know it all, don’t you.’

‘That didn’t sound like a question.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘Ah. It was a Statement of Fact. And rightly so.’

‘I HATE when you say ‘ah’. Sounds like you’re sitting there with your arms folded, in your leather wing-backed chair…’

‘Going aaaahhhhh.’

‘Going aaaaaahhhhhh. Counting your metaphorical chickens.’

‘I don’t need to count them. They hatched last week.’

‘I seriously doubt that. Anyway.’

‘Anyway.’

‘Anyway.’

‘Anyway what?’

‘I hate it when you say ah.’

‘Just as well you’re not a doctor then.’

‘One day I will kill you. You should know that.’

‘Why? That is not at all the kind of thing I want to know. Besides, you haven’t the stomach for it.’

‘Stomachs don’t come into it.’

‘That’s what you think. You’re too stupid, anyway. You’ve just proved it by informing me in advance of your murderous plan.’

‘No I haven’t. I haven’t said how I’m going to do it. Or when. For all you know I’ve been planning this for months.’

‘I bet you haven’t.’

‘Yes I have. For the last, oh I dunno, let’s say, several, weeks I’ve been soaking your toilet paper in an odourless arsenic solution, then carefully drying it out and replacing it on the roll so’s you wouldn’t notice. Each time you’ve gone to the lav or blown your nose, you’ve been absorbing arsenic via the mucous membranes of whichever orifice has been wiped. And I’ve been rubbing my hands with glee — which is not a type of soap by the way. Your body, according to my rigorous calculations, must now have reached total arsenic saturation point, or T.A.S.P.. So there. And before you ask — I can see your mouth opening and I know just what’s going to come out — I have a separate roll, so I remain quite unaffected. You however will die a truly horrid death at some point within the next twenty six hours and fifty two minutes.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Yes, you will. You smug git. There’s no point arguing the toss. It’s too late.’

‘No it’s not.’

‘It is.’

‘It’s not. I swapped the rolls.’

‘Oh………..’

‘Oh indeed. Or as I prefer to say, ah. Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice the subtle change in texture, or wonder about the faint greenish tinge, and send it away to have it tested in a specialist lavatory paper testing laboratory that I saw advertised on Facebook, and then exact an awful revenge when I saw the horrifying results? I’m only amazed that you didn’t notice, and swap it back again. You now have twenty six hours and forty eight minutes to plan your funeral and make a few last phone-calls.’

‘Jeeeeez…..and of course all the evidence has been flushed away. You’ve committed the perfect crime.’

‘Quite. Cigarette?’

‘Might as well. Nothing to lose now, have I? Holy arsenic-impregnated lavatory paper. I didn’t see that one coming.’

‘Course you didn’t. And the lesson is, always buy Izal, because nothing, not even arsenic, can penetrate its preternaturally hard and shiny surface.’

‘You’re not pulling my leg, by any chance? Or indeed, ‘yanking my chain’?’

‘No.’