The first frost of winter came sneaking into Ballykillduff one quiet night. It crept over the hedgerows like icing on a Christmas cake, decorated the village pump with shiny icicles, and froze the puddles so hard that even Bridget McGillicuddy’s hens slipped about like ballerinas on roller skates.
The Ballykillduff Daleks had never experienced such a thing. For weeks they had been trundling around the village, muttering about “TOTAL DOMINATION” and “EX-TER-MI-NATION,” but on this particular morning they emerged from their shed only to discover that their mighty treads were no match for frozen mud.
One Dalek gave a mighty shove forward.
“COMMENCING DAILY PATROL!” it announced grandly—then immediately skidded sideways and lodged itself in the ditch.
Another Dalek rolled confidently onto a glittering puddle.
“THESE HUMANS ARE WEAK! WE SHALL—AAAAAGH!” it screeched, spinning in helpless circles like a saucepan lid on polished tiles.
By the time Councillor McGroggan wandered down the lane with his bucket of coal, he found half a dozen Daleks floundering about, their eyestalks fogged with frost, their plungers stuck fast to frozen gates, and one unfortunate unit still wedged headfirst in the ditch.
Click on the link, below, to read the full, bonkers mad story.
The Ballykillduff Daleks Winter of Madness
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 