It's Always Darkest Before You Turn On The Light

  The little figure on the raft gazed out across the vast expanse of ocean.  "Hello", he called out, but there was no reply.  He was completely alone.  Gazing skywards, he appealed to the heavens.  "If anyone is up there, send me a signal."   A seagull circled above him, pooped on his head, and flew away.  So that was that. Just yesterday Marcel Ratatouille lay on the deck of the Titanic, sunbathing.  The fact that it was raining at the time didn't deter him.  From the shelter of the bridge the Captain had called "Anything out there?"  "Just a couple of ice cubes", replied the little Frenchman.  Then everything went black. When he came round, Marcel was clinging desperately to the Captain's log which, luckily, unfolded into a raft.  He sighed.  "This is the worst thing that could ever happen to me."  "Oh, I don't know", said a voice behind him.  "Have you ever had your head explode?"  Marcel spun round....

  Marcel Ratatouille was hurled, roughly, into his cell.  "We'll try to be more accurate next time", laughed the toothless crone who was his jailer.  As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, they darted around the cell and then returned to his face.  He surveyed this filthy, rat-infested hovel and longed for home.  He thought of his wife - Madame Fifi La Tour de France.  He pictured her bending over the kitchen sink by the window clipping her toenails and singing Tiptoe Thru The Tulips in the wrong key - her enormous bottom blocking out the light.  He remembered her thunderous snoring which nightly left him gripping the edge of the bed for dear life lest he be blown out the window.  He saw her teeth grinning hideously at him as they floated in a glass of water beside the bed. Suddenly this place didn't seem so bad. So it had come to this.  Tomorrow the guillotine would give him his last ever short back and sides.  And for what?...