Single White Lady, by Jane Austen

I was giddy with joy when the Jane Austen society managed to prize my gold and turquoise ring back off Kelly Clarkson’s woefully chunky fingers.

But there once was a time when Miss Clarkson looked set to finish me forever, driven to jealous insanity by what I can only assume was poor diet or perhaps syphilis.

I first met Miss Clarkson at a fund raising gala hosted by the lithe Mr Sumner, known to his tribesmen companions simply as ‘Sting’ which in their language meant ‘rectal pus’. All of high society was in attendance – from the bawdy Welsh spinster, Ms Church, to portly landowner Sir Elton John.

Miss Clarkson cut a lonely figure, her poor diction and bouts of social impropriety betrayed centuries of tuber fed inbreeding; guests gave her a wide berth for fear of catching impetigo. But I pitied the poor wretch, whose bulbous nose and mottled forearms were not completely without charm. I asked her if she wanted to move in to my townhouse.

Some nights later, I was getting ready to go out to tea and I couldn’t find my favourite stole. As a last resort, I held my nose and ventured into Miss Clarkson’s room. To my chagrin, I found it in her dirty laundry pile (which stood as high as my shoulder). The whole carbuncle was saturated in what I can only assume was illegally home-brewed cider and the stole was utterly bedraggled.

When I got to the dinner party, Miss Clarkson was already holding court, wearing my turquoise ring and telling everyone about how easy it was to write Sense and Sensibility. When I challenged her, she threw my dog out of a top floor window.

For the next 100 years, Miss Clarkson continued to steal my identity, relentlessly clawing her way to high society – that is until now. All one needs is a quick nod to Alan Titchmarsh and £150,000 appears as if by magic. The ring was brought home, and all was made right.


Miss Clarkson went on to pen a hit album inspired by her addiction to cat biscuits. The critical notoriety it brought garnered the affections of a certain Sir Elton John, who asked her to move in. Ms Church recovered from an almost ruinous episode of incontinence and bought a very pretty hat. Mr Sumner had a much welcomed moment of clarity, dyed his hair orange and lived out his days as his character from Dune, which was the most marvelous ending anyone could have hoped for.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday

Stephen King sued by his inner demons

THE psychological demons that haunted Stephen King are suing the writer for a share of his book profits.

As King’s sequel to The Shining hits bookshops, the writers’ twin demons of alcoholism and drug addiction filed a lawsuit for 80% of his earnings dating back to Carrie.

King’s alcoholism demon said: “He claims I wasn’t really a factor in his creativity, but Stephen did his some of his best work while a chronic sauce hound.

The Shining, Pet Sematary and Cujo versus people trapped in a giant snow globe? Come on.

“It’s not about the money. I just want some acknowledgement.”

King’s drug addiction demon said: “Stephen and I lost touch years ago. My memory’s not great, but I recall he was writing a book about a weird skinny girl who makes objects fly around when she’s got PMT.

“As you can imagine, I never thought it would go anywhere.

“But then Steve ended up hitting the big time and what do I get? Suppressed, that’s what.”

However Stephen King’s liver spoke out in defence of the author. It said: “Those guys did nothing but harm.

“Stephen was trying to work out complicated story outlines and they’d be like ‘Stop typing, let’s get fucked up, it’s party time!’ They were idiots.

“Steve’s demons will tell you they gave him the idea for It but what actually happened was he watched a cable TV show called Clowns That Live In Drains and thought it could make a creepy story.”