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Decomposed corpse located in Hastings home

December 1, 2007


The widely known eccentric magician Aleister Crowley has, once again, died. His badly decomposed remains were found sprawled on the kitchen floor of his tiny council house flat in Hastings.

The coroner's office did retrieve dead fly and maggot samples as well as about a dozen chicken tikka masala take-out containers. Early indications are that he died lay deceased in his home for at least a month before being found early today.

Authorities we alerted by neighbours' complaints of unclaimed newspapers at his doorstep and an ungodly stench emanating from the premises.

Long time friend "Lady" Freida Harris, who had spent the night following after a drinking binge celebrating his birthday in mid-October, was likely the last person to see Crowley alive.

Rosamund Street residents described him as eccentric, cranky and reclusive afflicted with a "God-complex."

Neighbour Deirdre Barlow said the man often wandered out at night and almost never seen in daytime. "I saw his bin lying out for some time and thought he must be gone away," Mrs. Barlow said. She last saw the him mowing the lawn in the middle of the night in early August wearing a "Egyptian-type" loincloth.

Another neighbour, who wished to remain anonymous, stated he hated the "fat ugly bastard" and was pleased that his passing would only raise property values.

The self-proclaimed "Wickedest Man in the 'Hood" had lived in the street for more than 35 years.

His home was run-down with a big overgrown garden, washing on the line and a sad little tool-shed.

Despite the fact the death not being treated as suspicious, his pet billy-goat Mr. Whiskers was taken in for additional questioning.

Crowley was once known for taking in stray dogs and had a “house full of animals.” However, only the goat was found at this time.

Crowley is survived by Mr. Whiskers and an unknown number of illegitimate children from various mothers.


Crowley with his bluegrass quintet, "
The White Stains


"Lady" Freida Harris

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How many O2 tickets did Jimmy have reserved for him?

Reserved?! That fiend forced me to pay the bloody touts a hefty premium for the front rows.

But since I am no longer alive, I won't be needing the pair I've got. Out of the goodness of my decayed heart I may give these away to the first person who can solve the Solemn Soduku of Pan (see below).


Oops, I thought this was about Evel Knievel.


No problem at all, Redrum my dear friend.

After all, I did ask that after Black Mass that my casket be catapulted into the deepest, darkest chasm of the Grand Canyon.


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