Why did the baker have brown hands? Because he needed a poo.

Two old ladies are sitting on a park bench when a man in a trench coat comes along and flashes at them. One of them has a stroke, the other one couldn't quite reach.

Diary Of A Madman #3 3rd February 1786, 3rd Era, Year of the steam Entry 266 Dear Diary Oh what a great revelation that had revealed itself to me this day! The second after I woke up, I did not eat, I rushed down the staircase into my workshop and set to work forging a silver part in the shape of the part that I was apparently missing. The silver I salvaged from my late fathers collection of watches, clocks, various necklaces and jewellery. I do not care to think what his opinion of my actions would be. It would not be of importance anyhow. The taper on the top of the cylinder was particularly difficult to craft but I managed. By the location of the part in the centre of the diagram it looks as though it could be some sort of power source. I do not know if this is the case or how it could work. I have very little to work on. When I was satisfied with the shape of my creation I decided I must venture into the city to acquire nourishment. It is not often I leave my house. Society does not accept me the way I am. I am ridiculed for my paleness, shyness and my "eccentric" language. I try to avoid other human contact at all costs, but I had to eat. I kept up a brisk walk into the city. It took only a few minutes despite my dwelling not appearing to be quite so close to town. As I browsed though the fish on display I noticed children seeing me and running away in fright. Several canines whimpered at my mere presence. All of a sudden I turned around to see two young men pointing and laughing at me. I let out a scream of anger and upset. What have I ever done to harm them? I had enough. I grabbed a salmon and ripped it to shreds, took a bite and spat it in the face of the fishmonger. With that I ran directly home, never looking back to see the public's shocked gazes. I do not regret any of my actions. When I reached home I kicked my cracked door open. I released my anger on the nearest object available. The 5 foot long table was flicked on its side. A candle hit the wall, leaving hot wax solidifying on the panel work. That was it! The confusing object was a candle! The heat would be used as a power source! I fell to my knees, now crying in astonishment. I am still getting my head round what on earth the machine could do. At least today I discovered something useful, although slightly dampened by the events in town. I shall assemble this mysterious object tomorrow.

Diary Of A Madman #2 2nd February 1786, 3rd Era, Year of the steam Entry 265 Dear Diary Last night I could not contain my excitement. I tossed and turned in my bedding imagining the fantastic possibilities this opportunity could hold. What dark mysteries could be unveiled? What adventure? I am not sure if I can stand waiting for answers much longer. Today at noon I shall open the mysterious bag and take my first good look at that scroll. **** Dear diary One ancient dweller of the lower plains once said to never trust a man out of the sky with all he claims to hold. That certainly seems to apply to my situation this afternoon. At noon I sat myself down in my workshop. Trembling with excitement I carefully undid the leather lace on the ragged sack. The bag itself was roughly a foots length high but weighed down heavily by the array of parts contained. I removed the rugged scroll from the sack, taking care not to damage it. Slowly but enthusiastically I unrolled it. When I saw it it took my breath away. It was a diagram! A diagram of a machine so intricate, time itself seemed to stop. I took my time to remove the brass metalwork. I eventually remove 50 parts consisting of what seems to be casing, clockwork and decorative features. Ever since my dark childhood I have been fascinated by the intricate workings of clockwork. From pocket watches to the mechanical guards of the great mausoleums in the east. Some folk would say I have wasted my days on clocks and the rest. One day they will see that steam and wind power are unreliable and entirely dependent on someone operating and overseeing the machinery. A well wound pocket watch can keep time for years on end without falling behind than more than a few seconds. But I digress. After many hours I am still confused and interested in those drawings on the scroll. I noticed a strange cylindrical shape with a taper sitting on the top. As I write, this piece is not known to me. Am I missing it? Or did I not notice it? There are so many questions that need answering. So many mysteries that need solving. Yet another day passed and I am still no closer to uncovering the secrets this machine could hold. I need my rest. It must wait for tomorrow.

Diary Of A Madman Somewhere in the steam punk world... 1st February 1786, 3rd Era, Year of the steam Entry 341 Dear diary Today as I was taking my morning stroll through the field, it was unusually misty, at the foot of a lone oak tree, devoured by vines I stumbled upon a cotton bag containing a jumble of cogs, pistons, springs and whatnot. Amongst these parts was a peculiar scroll. From past experience I know that things can slip away from you when you grasp them so I wasted no time and made my way hastily back the the workshop, breaking into an excited run. The bag I have stored out of the reach of the unenlightened behind several intricate locks of my own handiwork. I've spent the last three hours gazing out of my cloudy window into the meadow in pondering what the blazes this could all be about, but the windmill has proven distracting. I confuse myself as to why I still run my windmill as I haven't produced bread in over 10 years. Perhaps I should sleep on the matter and set to work on assembling the machinery in the morrow. Will be continued as soon as possible!