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
