May I send this to Microsoft

While typing up some notes this morning a bizarre message flashed up on my screen.

Microsoft is continuously trying to improve their service. The text below has been taken from recent documents you have opened. Please click here if you agree to send Microsoft this information.

Now, I don’t know what sort of information Microsoft is trying to gather, but as I read the text that the programme wanted to send I became uneasy. Why did they want to know what I’d been typing/reading? Taking extracts could give them the wrong idea. What are they looking for? Will it be used by the CIA?

As I read the extracts I became less worried about the CIA and more about my mental well-being. Who is Yuliya? And why had I been dressed as Snow White? Why did the word ‘Oink’ appear so many times? Had I been transformed in to a pig one sunny afternoon and began typing my piggy memoirs?

Some of the text had been written by myself, other bits had come from documents I had read. Scanning through it, it started to make some sense, or readable at least.

Dear Yuliya,

The following ramble has been pieced together from my own experience.

However, I fear that all may not be as it seems. I would hate to find out that you are strapping six footer with a beard like Brian Blessed who would ply me with cheap vodka and take all my money.

'Obviously we don't take the mentally unstable,' he said. 'They get to go fishing instead.'

Images need to be 300 dpi. No exceptions.

I returned home slightly depressed.


I didn’t know what to expect as I approached the crowd.

I will send you these diamonds that I now have hidden in my wooden leg.

I dreamt the other night that the devil came to me and sank his claws in to my arm. I began to pray, but nothing happened. So I told him to F*** OFF, and he disappeared.

Include a caption sheet. (Giving us the names of skaters/leagues in the picture is AWESOME!!!).


There are three main variables to consider.

Are you a photographer?


I will also send you a photograph. I am the one in the back row with blond hair dressed as Snow White.

Faking it.

Returning home I thought that what was needed was a riot. I decided that after lunch I would put on the larger of my two courgette outfits and venture in to town.


I am pretty sure I’m not a sleeper. A Russian spy, deep undercover, waiting to be activated when the time is right. If this is the sort of information I’ve been gathering over the past few years to bring down the West, heaven help my controllers.

Or perhaps Napoleon is my master. Some animals are created more equal than others, and we are on the verge of a revolution.  Whatever, I’m going to hedge my bets. Oink.


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