"Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it ..."

Each and every creature under the god given sun has it's season for reproducing, but for all of that, do we really want to bear witness to their mucky mating rituals ? On an empty stomache to boot ?

To cut a long story longer - BoyIdiot's on heat and has entered his rutting season

He's got his weasily little piggy eyes on some unsuspecting chick .. again

If one dared a peek into BoyIdiots bathroom, what would one find ? Suspect bottles of toxic looking liquid ? Maybe.

Jars of ungents and potions, adorned with unfeasibly intricate labels. All faded with time and bearing the highly evocative names of Creep, Greebo and Rancid ? Most certainly so.

So onto the plot then; whenever BI's got the hots for someone he asperges himself with the most godawful aftershave: drains that've been blocked for months on end spontaneously auto-disgorge, flowers fade, die and wilt as he nonchalently strolls by, frail old ladies keel over in the middle of the street like a sack of potatoes ...

Akin to a peecock with it's tail fanned out to expose it's wonderous plumage, so does BI attempt to lively up himself.

He gets meticulously dressed

In the dark

With odd horrorstory colour combinations

When you see him in his bright yellow shirt, red jeans, white socks and brown shoes combo .. well, you just know that something's cooking in the kitchen

Perhaps he's colour impaired or he's just too avant garde for us mere mortals

Whatever