We'll leave it up to Mr Donwood to tell you about his excellent collection of 'Extremely Miserable Stories':
'This is the first book I did, now republished in a new edition. This is rather an elegant publication, and if enough of them sell then the publishers might print my next book. Ha! 'The most troubling explorations of thought and situation are described with clarity and minimalism like that of haiku genetically spliced with propaganda leaflets and air-sickness-bag instructions' is a part of what somebody said about it on Amazon. Quite an accurate description, until they start on about propaganda and vomit.' --Stanley Donwood ﾠ ﾠ
After a tortured night I awake full of determination. I review my position, and consider with circumspect gravity my inner strength. My new job demands much, and I eat my breakfast whilst wearing a serious and adult expression. I suck the hot coffee with a professionally pained mouth, and flip the pages of my broadsheet nonchalantly. I swoop back up the stairs in my towelling dressing-gown, and fling open my wardrobe in a manner which I assume to be casual and easy. My suit hangs in front of me, full of nothing. It is up to me to fill it with myself. I pull on the trousers, and carefully fold my penis behind the zip, fastening the button with what I hope is a manly grin. I tuck my shirt into the trousers, and spend some time with my understated tie.My jacket feels slightly small under my arms, but it is nothing anyone would notice. I wonder what my new workmates will be like, and fantasise briefly about the relationships I may possibly enjoy with other members of the organisation. I glance once again at my digital watch, and decide that I am ready. I pull on my coat, check that I have my keys, and walk out of the front door, slamming it firmly behind me. I stand outside, looking blankly ahead, realising I don't have a new job at all.