I have decided to stop counting my rejection letters. Partly because after 20 it's too depressing, and partly because it's now easier to keep track of the number of publishers I haven't (yet) been rejected by, which are now in the single figures.
To make myself feel better, and to remind myself that I can indeed write, I hereby present for your perusal a previously published short story. It ran in a now-defunct magazine called "Itch", a rather long time ago.
When I was a boy, I used to go into my parents' bathroom in the mornings before school to listen to the 7:30 comedy with my dad while he was shaving. Ja Well No Fine was bloody fantastic, at least to my discerning 10-year old ear. But there was nothing better than the anti-hero, Chicken Man. (Or, as the jingle used to pronounce it, Chickennnn Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.)
