What a glorious morning thought Lucy. The smell of her coffee was strong and sweet, like her farts.

Molly didn't like mushrooms, and she wasn't that particularly fond of magic either.

It's raining, it's pouring. My old man is whoring.

What a bloody mess, she said loudly in an Australian accent. Molly had her period. She wasn't going to cry, but she had spilt milk on the kitchen bench.

The pre-Christmas cheer was really getting to Molly. It made her tired and constipated. She wondered if on Christmas morning her gift would be the challenging ability to shit coal?

Holding onto someone else's baby is like trying to hold in an upset stomach thought Lucy. At some point all she wanted to do was let go of the load and wash her hands.

Lucy had finally found her little slice of heaven on a plate while on a quick jaunt through the countryside. She did have to wonder though, where would she be able to buy pork and cream pies back home? The realisation that this was to be her last pork and cream pie, or "pream" as she liked to affectionately refer to them, made her shudder with despair. The world suddenly seemed like a very dull place but given time, her stools would probably be grateful.

When Lucy turned thirty, she really let the wind out of her sails. And by wind I mean flatulence, and by sails I mean skirt...

Molly laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was cracked, like her arse.

When I said I wanted to remain good friends, what I really meant was "I hope our paths never cross again" thought Lucy as she gingerly purchased her second pregnancy test for the day.

A quick nipple tweak and she was on her way

Lucy wondered how the hell Molly had managed to keep her wit up to such a high standard in her absence. She knew she had only been gone a short time and felt that surely Molly couldn't continue the pace. Then she remembered the seemingly innocent samosas on the side of the road and realised that jelly botty may have taken its toll on more than just her appetite. What a fool.

The Meerkat shall inherit the earth, blessed Molly.

Sometimes you just need a good old-fashioned nipple tweaking to set you straight, she said loudly to no one in particular.

Shell-shocked by the shellacking, Molly reconsidered her fondness for craft classes and the applied arts.

During what could only be described as an epic bout of jelly botty, Molly reconsidered her romantic notion of traveling.

Molly dreamt that a giant tuber ginger had grown teeth and escaped the fridge. It was chasing her, and gnawing on her calf. She fought it off with a grater.

Molly sat on the bus with a minty elbow. It tingled with menthol from joint to bicep. She had been hand writing recipes all afternoon unaware of the crisp peppermint radiation it would bring later.

It occurred to Molly that with Lucy out of the picture, things could get out of hand. The previous post was definitely low brow and Molly knew this was only the beginning of her fall from grace. She pulled on a pair of yellow gumboots and defiantly stood by the gutter.

When I said I wanted to go south ON you, I meant WITH you...to Mexico...she said in a low southern drawl.

Lucy pondered how the mother duck and the little ducklings actually coordinated to clean themselves at exactly the same time as each other. She then realised she had used the word ' pondered ' and ' duck ' in the same thought bubble and this made her chuckle out loud before her gas got the better of her....

Build a bridge, she said loudly. Benjamin thought she was speaking metaphorically, but in fact Molly fantasized about dating men who built large, important, river crossing structures. Steel made her weak at the knees.

She dreamt that the township was governed by a giant cock. The man-hen retained his almighty power with an iron claw. He was fowl.

The day smelled like freshly cut grass with just a little hint of bogan. Molly couldn't shake the disturbing feeling that the scent of bogan was permeating the very ground water beneath her feet.

I am so cold, she said loudly, confusing her erect nipples for frosty weather. She had in fact been aroused by the man riding by on his uni-cycle. Carnie folk were her thing.

Molly couldn't remember what day it was. Without her medication, it appeared to smell like a Tuesday. Tuesday smelled like roast turnips and celery soup. Not renowned as a fabulously smelling day, Molly decided to stay in bed.