We were so appalled by an incident that Mr Poe appeared before me in a dream and dictated one of his shortest stories: (edited to fit your intellect)

"Believe revenge is always near at hand, nectar to the senses, sweetness to the lips.... It was a dark and dreary night, the inmates of the local assylum had been drinking heavily at a remote windswept house of ill repute, curiously called The Railway despite its location at least a dozen furlongs from the now noiseless tracks.

The events of the evening were not to be clearly recalled by most of the assemblage, and upon awaking the next morning, the sheer horror of the situation became evident. In the small quiet hours of twilight, while good men were sleeping soundly, someone had cunningly and carefully entered the southerly bathroom to commit the despicable deed.

So violent was the deed that perhaps it took more than one person to effect the damage that was wreaked in that delicate room. The shards of debris, the crushed tissue, still, to this day, lie upon the stained carpet where they fell. The evidence of a struggle, of tissue being repeatedly ripped from that elegant porcelain frame, of tissue spoiled and defamed. The pungent aroma of decay has abated, but the stench of crime has not.

The culprit is in our midst, in this very forum, wrent with guilt and shame for the loss of one who held the very fabric of our gentleness, with the strength to dry our tears and wipe away mistakes. We will find this culprit, we will delve into these alibis of secret assignations, of inadvertent sonambulistic wanderings, of the trail of asymetric footprints leaving the scene. We will find and punish the satanic beast who broke the loo roll holder.

God save two-ply!