I was sitting on the sofa. It was a reclining future-sofa with a built-in kettle, toaster and toilet. It was a future-sofa because this was the future. The fact I hadn’t stood up for three weeks was beginning to bother me. I should maybe have mentioned that earlier. I hadn’t stood up for three weeks. I had always been lazy, and that sofa was comfortable, but three weeks? Something was clearly up. So I craned round and looked behind the cushions and found this black hole, which had obviously been exerting a gravitational pull on me and stopping me from getting up. For three weeks.

The full enormity of this discovery was pretty overwhelming and a lot for one man to have to think about, so to take my mind off it I switched on the telly to watch The Most Recent Clone of Jeremy Kyle shouting at a promiscuous human/rabbit hybrid who had been neglecting her 73 children and sleeping with the human/chicken hybrid who lived next door.

Whether it was the slight but persistent gravitational pull of the black hole, or the timeless charisma of Jeremy Kyles, I couldn’t say, but here I am still sitting on this sofa above a small but powerful black hole watching An Even More Recent Clone of Jeremy Kyle having a shout at a cash-poor human/marmot hybrid on the telly a month later. Send help. My sofa is full of shit.

This story is dedicated to The Most Recent Clone of Jeremy Kyle who sadly died of furiousness during its writing.

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