This just in: Brewski spine declines to retract 'King of Pain' claim. The cunt.

So it's Boxing Day and because I'm still shuffling about at home I can feel justified in still being festive despite the pain while my peers here go about the regular work week since here on Demented Isle noone gives a fuck. How's that for one ungainly sentence? I would go so far as to say 'homely' in fact.

I can also feel justified being a vapid, random sot since I have reached "two stops beyond Dagenham mate - Barking" levels of insanity. (Swats at imaginary fly. Knocks beer over. Says 'cunt'). Fly, fly fly!

You know what I've never understood? Swedish!

I trained as a boxer when I was a teenager, for about six months. I just wanted to learn how to skip really really fast. I succeeded. I was the fastest fucking skipper in the gym. Never punched anyone though.

The Elgin Marbles? Give 'em back you selfish cunts!

You know when you're in the shallows of a beautiful ocean and the little curious fishies come up and take little sucks on your legs? Is that not bang out of order? Try punching the little cunts. Infuriating.

The spookiest phrase in the world is; 'to hear the pitter-patter of tiny little feet'. Fucking what?

I really am trying to think of something substantive to write.

It's not working.

I spent my formative years growing up on a council estate, unaware of the fact that I was surrounded by drug-dealers and petty crime. Wasted youth or what?

What wasn't wasted however was the early development of my sexual urges. My Mum would be all like, "Been playing with the cushions again Dear?" My proclivity for cushions thankfully didn't last. Kicked the cunts last year.

Clock ticks. Everyone looks down. Fiddle with a hangnail. Squirm.

I once had a girlfriend who couldn't hold newborn babies, as she would be overcome with a strong desire to dig her index knuckle into the 'soft-spot' where the skull plates had not yet fused. She would also want to bite them due to their intrinsic 'juiciness'. She remains free to this day.

Speaking of girlfriends, I like it when they don't wash.

I grew up with a hateful man who was my Mum's boyfriend. He would pull my hair and slap me about when she wasn't around. I snapped my collar-bone once and he came to pick me up from the hospital in his vintage fucking black 1920's gangster car. We were halfway home and I realized his laughter and my yelps of pain were as a result of his purposefully choosing the car due to it's complete lack of suspension, causing the free-floating bones to grate against each other freely. Don't you worry. If I ever see the cunt again I will slap the shit out of him.

Good-naturedly, of course.

And then I will stick the cunt with a shiv.

I'm joking, cunts. An Army-issue survival blade.

To come on with a bit more festiveness: Living, trying to dodge ignorance, is having it. Fair fucks to all of us. HERE'S TO US! And if there is no vodka in that orange juice you're drinking, prepare to die.

'Desist!' you cry. 'Cease!'. Very well. I comply.

Happy Christmas, cunts!

Sirrah!

"The Child-Catcher in Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang can fuck off." Me.