Dodo Eraser

The sitcom star maintains his laryngeal cancer is a result of holding in laughter during takes

When an assistant shows him an early draft of his obituary/press-release he’s furious; I didn’t die from Laughing, I died from not laughing. She holds her tongue but in Spiritual Group Therapy that Sunday finally vents: everyone’s so anti-cancer but it’s only all that anyone wants to be: growth. She brings the bloody house down.

Sasquatch Enchanted by British Post-boxes

There’s not much red where I come from, apart from the berries, and the blood. I heard that during the holidays people in villages over there crochet little hats for them. After the Olympics they even painted some gold to honour local medal-winners; they must have reflected in the sun like the innards of a white-tailed deer. I know it would take a series of extremely unlikely events to get me into an airport let alone onto a flight, but I’m trying a ‘believing in things’ thing right now and, sure, I might want to roar at UK Customs but I’d repress it, be roight Britoish abat ut. People actually use public transport over there; everyone travels on THE TUBE, I mean all sorts, and I guess that’s where this Anglophilia began: imagining somewhere so different that people might not be afraid of me.

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Ewen Glass is a screenwriter and poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and a body of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared in the likes of Okay Donkey, Maudlin House, HAD, Poetry Scotland and One Art Poetry. Bluesky/X/IG: @ewenglass