Clive the Magical Flying Coat soared over the Houses of Parliament. He was heading to a fancy restaurant to treat himself to the soup. Gandhi had said it was superb and Clive was starving. As he passed Harrod's, he glanced down and saw straight down Cheryl Cole's top. Staring, he didn't realise where he was flying till it hit him - literally. He smashed through the window and barrelled into the top floor of the restaurant he had been going to - La Est Schizen. Luckily, the floor was deserted, but he could already hear yelling and pounding footsteps on the stairs to his left.
Clive had to think fast. Glancing around, he saw one of the curtains had fallen off it's rail. In a flash, Clive flung it out of the broken window and grabbed the rail. At that moment, two men entered the room.
"Ugh, what the f*** happened here?" the first man yelled; a weedy looking shrimp, Clive thought.
"F*** knows!" the other one (who was much bigger) said deeply. "That curtain has changed though" he said staring at Clive. "Why is one white and the other black and ragged? If I didn't know better, I'd think it was a coat!"
"Sh*t!" Clive accidentally said out loud.
"Argh!" The weedy man screamed as Clive twatted him in the face. Determind, Clive turned round, ready to bitch the bigger guy.
Amazed, Clive found the enormous guy had fainted.
Five minutes later, Clive was sitting at the table with a steaming bowl of soup sat in front of him. Relishing the moment, Clive slowly picked up the spoon and placed it in his 'mouth'.
The soup was terrible.
It tasted like rat sh*t mixed with the breast milk of a seventy-five year old Indian woman who has AIDS.
And so, Clive killed all the chefs and swore at Gandhi.