It’s no good – I can contain myself no longer. Actually, that would be terribly messy, wouldn’t it? Organs and tendons and bones spilling out in an unholy soup simply because my too-frail flesh could no longer hold them in, and should it happen, would I see it, like the beheaded man is believed to see for a glancing second or two? It doesn’t bear thinking about.
However, if a chicken can run around headless for days, or even eighteen months, as Mike the Headless Chicken did, why cannot a human? Granted, it would be bizarre if not actually terrifying and disgusting in equal degrees, but if a chicken can do it, why cannot a man? Superior being and all that . . .
I can’t see anyone volunteering to prove that it could be done, but you never know. Notoriety can bring money – I’m sure the people who survived hanging dined out on the story. Only two Englishmen survived attempted hanging three times, John ‘Babbacombe’ Lee and Joseph Samuel.
And now, having written this ramble, I find I can contain myself – for another day or two, at leastJ