Bats

OooOOOooooh!

It's time for a scaretacular, spooktastic, bone-chilling, Halloween Tweet Compilation!

The scariest thing about this compilation is that it's just like my normal tweet compilations, and doesn't contain much specific Halloween content! Isn't that unsettling?


OooOOOooooh!

The eerie normality of the whole thing will make your blood turn colder than it normally is, unless you're a snowman or an ice rabbit.

Do you dare step inside the parade of sentences? Will you take your life in your hands by navigating the dingy corridors of whimsy?

Will your heart withstand the fall through several feet of poorly-formatted sentences?

(I try to format these better each time, but Blogger won't let me. It's annoying. OooOOh, etc)

Also, it's not technically Halloween yet. It's temporally compromised. Bwahahaha!

I'm wearing a sheet as I write this. And am sharpening my fangs. And am sharpening my sheet.

OooOoo... oh forget it.

Let's get rolling. I know what you want - a thousand pounds. I'm afraid I don't have that kind (or any kind) of money. So instead you'll have to make do with another edition of

Frankingstein's Twonster

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There's a sensor on our water cooler that makes it dispense liquid at a tenth of normal speed whenever someone else is waiting.

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Nearly fell off my chair. Tried to play it off as a Newtonian trust exercise.

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I made the following notes during my work meeting this afternoon:

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Cakes have got such stupid names. Like Victoria Sponge. What's her deal?

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When you're parading a corpse through the streets are you supposed to go with traffic or against it?

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When I roll up my sleeves, it doesn't mean I'm going to get down to work. I just want to smoke my sleeves.

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"Tarzan backwards is Nazrat. Marzipan is an anagram of Nazi ramp." - Work at the think tank was hard, but rewarding.

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My favourite thing about the band Another Level was they really captured the frustration of playing a video game that's too long.

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One of the hardest things to eat with chopsticks is a knife and fork.

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It's really difficult to sleep in our bath. We've locked the door. You'd have to shin up the drainpipe.

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I want nothing more than to have my own weekly column. I'd have a Parthenon in no time!

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Documentary Pitch: OVER THE RAINBOW - We follow several people who used to really like rainbows, but now find them a bit 'meh'.

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Sitcom Pitch: MY EIGHTEEN-THOUSAND UNCLES - A hapless college drop-out is forced to live with an unrealistic number of wacky relatives.

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Quiz Show Pitch: WHISK - a mix of card game 'whist', board game 'Risk' and kitchen utensil 'whisk'. The stakes are high, as is the meringue.

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My nose always hits the ground running.

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How do you think they test sneeze guards? I don't think you can replicate the unique magic of a sneeze under laboratory conditions.

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I've thought about learning how to juggle. I don't remember exactly when. Probably 2003/4.

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I'd like to wear one of those gloves with no fingers or thumb, made of paper instead of wool. You know: napkins. One of those napkin gloves.

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But who delivers stork babies?

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I'm dancing as I write this. zldijjp;oj (I just fell)

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Where there's sasmoke there's sapphire.

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Blue Peter once made an underwhelming attempt to find a left ventricle and atrium for a dying boy. It was a bit of half-hearted appeal.

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Children were less keen to earn a Blew Peter badge.

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I once offered a sheriff an apéritif. I didn't draw his attention to it, but I could tell he respected me.

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I'm going to name my first child. (After that, I'll get a bit more laissez-faire about the whole thing)

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You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Not when your hands are shaking like that.

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It's common for young botanists to have an imaginary frond.

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You don't need to read to your children. Just tattoo the full text of The Wind in the Willows on their abdomen and buy them a mirror.

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You shouldn't cut off your nose to spite your nose-knife.

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I dreamt about bees last night, and when I woke up I was covered in stripes.

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Should I make a to-do list? I know they're useful, but I just don't like the idea of my day's activities being dictated by a .txt file.

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Could do it in Paint, I suppose.

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Written out, it's not so bad:

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Pitch black on a late October evening, and the unmistakable sounds of an ice-cream van ring out through Summertown. Ice-cream is perennial.

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A true Scotsman never wears anything under his glass kilt.

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Smoking a pipe makes you look like a very sophisticated plumber.

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You don't need to achieve anything on a Sunday, right? It would be blasphemous. I'm just going to sit here, pious and slovenly.

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Our hob has the ring of authenticity.

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"How do you like your eggs?" "With all my heart!" - extract from hen melodrama I'm working on.

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I pointed out a big apple lying on the street. Lucy said "It's New York!". But she was wrong. It wasn't New York, it was just an apple.

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Fans of the England Moisturiser Team are known as "The Balmy Army".

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You may think I'm above jokes like that last tweet. Well I'm not. I'm below them.

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I'm never reckless. In fact, I'm positively bursting with reck. Does anyone want any? I leave my reck in a box outside, like windfall pears.

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Scaly baguette fakery; a double-take at a snake in a bakery.

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Cutting people in half is passé. I'd like to see a magician mince his volunteer and bake them whole again.

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When I go to pick my kids up from school, the teachers always tell me there needs to be some kind of genetic/legal basis of child ownership.

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Pigs view spoons as portable mini-troughs. "How do they do it?" they think, seething.

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If the internet ever cashes all of my spell cheques, I'll be bankrupt many times over.

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There isn't time for thi

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I can never identify with blues singers, because they always seem to get up in the morning.

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I'm feeling foggy-headed today. But luckily I've installed tiny lighthouses all over the flat, which warn me off the corners of tables etc.

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The best way to save-up all your spare pigs is by stuffing them into a giant coin.

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I spend too much time worrying about how little time I spend worrying about what I'm going to do with my life.

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40% of all landfill is composed of the little bits of metal/plastic they remove to make the holes in colanders. #fact

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I spent £5.49 on a bottle of fake fake tan. Turned out to be water.

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It's legally acceptable to buy fake tan with counterfeit money. "Like for like," you say to the shop owner. "Like for like".

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And you can brush false teeth with hypothetiColgate. DON'T TELL ANYONE.

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I've only ever worn an odd number of hats.

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I've got a life-sized skull tattooed on my skull.

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Sitcom Pitch: BELLE OF THE BALL - Amateur campanologist forced to perform vasectomy, mishap = sentient testicle. Vindictive witch(?)

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Quiz Show Pitch: WIN YOUR WIFE BACK - Have you lost your wife? No? Oh. Well never mind then.

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Film Pitch: COURT JESTER - Jack Black is a tennis player who can only win by amusing his opponents. Is sued by an umpire. Finds love (0).

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Film Pitch: FIXED ARROW - Remake of John Woo's Broken Arrow, but with everything going quite smoothly. Christian Slater learns to juggle.

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Reality Show Pitch: SEVEN YEAR ITCH - Following the seven-year mission of an itching powder factory. Starting from scratch.

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I clip my toenails round the ear.

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My Halloween costume is going to be terrifying this year: a slightly older me.

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Too many Cook Islands spoil the Broth Islands.

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A Red Kite circles our neighbourhood. I've taped photos of mice to the heads of the more annoying children in our street. Now we wait.

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My thumb is bleeding. I'm hitchhiking to Transylvania later, so it might turn out for the best.

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I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag because I'm a paper pacifist.

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You can teach a parrot to talk out of the other side of its beak. Takes ages, though.

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You can't spell Thursday without... ur...

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I'M TWEETING TO DROWN OUT THE SUCCINCT VOICES IN MY HEAD.

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You can tell how old a tin of pineapple is by counting the rings.

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That might have been the ugliest sentence I've ever written. It's given me a weird sense of pride. Like having a really ugly child.

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I forgot to own my watch this morning.

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I must have loaded my head with too many imps, because it's imploded. Ahaha. No, SERIOUSLY.

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You can stuff less stuff in a puffin than you can a toucan. #birdcapacitymnemonics

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I'd like to stack loads of paddling pools on top of each other to make a giant paddling wedding cake. But I probably won't get around to it.

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If you stick a flag in it, it's yours, right? I just stuck my flag into the flag of the United States. Now I own LOADS of stuff by proxy.

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"I claim this flag in the name of my flag! I will also cover it in my bunting, just so there are no misunderstandings!"

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The rarest celebratory beast is the Confetti-Yeti (second place goes to the Och Yes! Monster).

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This Halloween, I will be carving a tiny pump.

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Are you not thinking what I'm not thinking? Some of it, surely.

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Pudsey Bear's whereabouts are on a Children in Need-to-know basis.

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If I die before I finish this tweet - and I easily could - that Pudsey thing could be my goodbye. Tragic. I should have said 'bearabouts'.

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Sometimes I get so freaked out that I go all the way through and freak my way back in.

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I put my money where my mouth is. (I'm licking my wallet)

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I've lost the Friday feeling in my legs.

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I'd like to see someone shot out of a cannon into another cannon, then into some kind of photocopier.

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Do you put the clotted cream or the jam on first? I'm rubbish at changing nappies.

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How many people in the world have got a dog called Spaniel Day-Lewis? Too many. That's how many.

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Supermarkets like indecisive shoppers because they cross-pollinate the shelves.

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I'm drinking out of my lucky mug. All of my other drinking vessels are magpies, which make the tea taste all beaky.

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Congratulations. You have completed the 'reading some tweets' game. Please enter your initials below.

I'm going to drink some coffee now. Not all of it. I wouldn't want to rob the whole world of coffee. Just some coffee.

I like my coffee like I like my "I like my coffee like I like my women..."-style jokes: BLACK.

And plagiarised.