FRIDAY: A weird day all round, then.

I realised when I was on here last night that there were two ways to play Friday;

One. stone-cold sober and hangover-free.

Two, the exact opposite.

The first would lead to confusion, great angst, a general feeling of unreality and wanting to hide or die.

The second would make me behave like a lickspittle corporate tosser, trigger monstrous depths of self-hatred, fear and loathing, and - quite frankly - was never going to happen.

Anway, this is how my day went, I think:

Staggering into the office at way past noon, covered in blood from the home-inked swastika facial tattoos, I hurtled around brandishing a smoking revolver, loudly threatening to drill a cap through any fool who dared catch my eye.

Eventually, I sat down at my desk - a man who evidently meant business.

The staff cowered and grimly went about their work as if nothing was wrong.

Glint-eyed, I brooded there, snarling and spitting broken teeth, waiting for my deathly accomplices to join me.

A hot fuss on the reception intercom, a sweeping flap of shrouds, the unmistakable stench of death and very bad sex announced their arrival.

So, gleefully, me and the boys selected our target.

Our sacrifice.

We'd picked an old family man who had never dared say boo to a goose.

Well, you don't want too much resistance when the blood-lust is rampant, catching in your throat and making you gag.

We sat there, them and me.

I watched them carefully. My eyes narrrowed.

And it was then that the hideous truth started twitching in my mind for the first time.

MY GOD!

These people are vampires.

Yes.

The very folk with whom I'd been laughing and drinking, whoring and partying for all these years are the blood-sucking undead.

Creatures without a soul, without pity. RUTHLESS in their lust for glory.

But it was too late. I realised what had to be done.

I winked at the Slayer, our hitman, who had up until this point been salivating at the mere thought of getting some wet-work after so long.

He had made it known that he is the assassin, a fearless demon who bellowed that blood WOULD BE SPILT in HIS NAME and NOW!!

He winked back at me, slyly showing me the dagger with which he would soon slit the throat of our unlucky pensioner, allowing us to feast on his gushing life-blood.

We killers cackled. It was...Time.

I was assigned to bring the condemned man to his doom.

I stood up to fulfill the order of of the Slayer.

So imagine my surprise when he said: "AAAAaaacchhhh. It's inappropriate for me to be herrrre nooooo. I'm off ooot."

Useless cunt, hissed the demons.

TO BE CONTINUED*

*won't be.