Really? Fucking hell. I did not know that.

Cats can fuck off. They are too mysterious. There is something voodoo about their sex. And they are always plotting for the perfect HeadGrab ClawCling. If you live with a cat, stay frosty. People who knit stuff fucking enrage me. And you know who else is an insidious bunch of total cunts? Grandmothers. All they do is die and make everyone all fucking sad and shit, and that after knitting a whole lot. And they smell. Fucking bitches.

You can't argue with a jam doughnut though. Until I was about eight I would see 'doughnut' on signs and wonder what the fuck duffnuts were. It follows that since I am not a doughnut, I am perfectly capable of arguing. You fuckin' want some or what?

When was the last time you typed the word 'semolina'? That's right you cunt, never. I fucking win.

Watch out for 'spunk', 'fanny' and 'twat'. The first two can cause confusion with N.American cunts, and the third they can't pronounce. It's twat with an 'a' and a pronounced 't' sound you stupid fucking eejits.

Girls who writhe on the bed, moan deeply and flick their tongue in and out of their mouths a la Linda Blair in the 'Exorcist' as they orgasm can fuck off. Ditto if they can't find humour in me shouting, "Let Jesus fuck you" as they come. Bollocks to that.

A poltergeist once lifted up a whole shelf of big books in my bedroom and slammed the cunts down in the middle of the floor. After an hour of terror under my covers after the big bang woke me, I leaped up and turned on the light. The books were lying exactly as they had been on the shelf, standing on their spines, perfectly aligned. And that was the last of it. It must have fucked off. Fucking pussy.

Pickled eggs. Fucking rank.

I will beat your ass at Subbuteo, even if we have to play five-a-side cuz we got arseholed and stepped the fuck all over the players and broke them the fuck up. And I'm not playing till you iron the pitch. Christ.

Who remembers the drought of '77? Fucking skill!

I have served Eartha Kitt with fresh fruit and vegetables, when I worked as a thieving fucking imp on a market stall in deepest Oxfordshire. How ya like them apples?

I hate most words, but the worst of all is 'normal'. I fucking hate that shit. Not only is it a gormless sound, it does not exist. It limns precisely nothing. Fuck it.

If you can't get into a bit of banghra, you are a bit of a cunt, no?

Ever been down the K-Hole? Magic!

And finally: I love life. You know why? Because it is the business. Squeeze the juice. Remember, pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. Suicide is for cunts. Imagine it. No more morning wood, no stubbing your toe, and no colour of lime. Keep on keeping on, and fucking skin up while you're about it.

Sirrah!

"About that other thing".
"Yeah Boss".
"I say we clip him".
"Maron! Finally! Antipasto! Brewski needs to sleep with the fishes" .
"Bella".
The Grandmother Mafiosi. (Currently vying with the Yakuza over control of most major governments).