Don't fuck with the Wongs

Well the media's gone fucking well mental what? The Sunday Times is the size of a fucking house and full of such infantile shite it made me puke. Sky TV? Get fucked. Rupert Murdoch needs to get buggered and die, like that chap who was killed by a horses' cock. Jesus imagine it. In fact don't. No really. Stop it.

I hate to admit it but I had a bacon cheeseburger in McShit and it was fucking fantastic. I flayed myself with a barbed stick in contrition, which was also fantastic. Pain is underrated.

I went for a good few pints with a mate, went back to his house to chill, broke the fuck down and had to leave after five minutes. Grief is a bit of a cunt like that. So don't give me any.

And how fucking cold is it? I'll fucking tell you. Fucking very! Do not under any circumstances spend five years in a sub-tropical climate and then come back to England in the winter. I am in a cozy house with perfectly adequate central-heating, yet I sit here with my beanie on and my hoody's hood up, chilled to the bone, eyes hooded. This is one cold 'hood.* I used to do manual labour in the fields and factories of Holland in the dead of winter for fuck's sake. I have become a doughboy, a tenderfoot, a cunt. Take your pick there buddy.

Cunts!! This ejaculation I direct toward English coins. Cunts the lodduvum. How small is that 5p? Are you fucking having a laugh? Fucked right in the head. They disappear well sharpish 'an all. The price of a pint and a pack of smokes? Fuck me, tie me up and beat me until I'm smiling, that shit is bang out of order. Extortionate prices. The notion that high prices lead to less drinking and smoking works the opposite with me. Come on then you cunts. I'll fucking pay whatever it takes. Try me. Fucktards. Let's get down the boozer.

The sheer glut of choice here amazes me, it's almost obscene. Having lived in a faraway land so long I'm not used to this mad heavy-weight excess barrage of choice. It is early days being back, and I can't get my head round it yet. What d'ya make of that fuckface?

Moving quickly on, said the priest to the second urchin, have some of this: Flying be fucked. I will never fly again. I might go down on a tug in an obscure strait somewhere, the height of irony, and since my life is the most ironic shit to ever occur, fitting. Suits you Sir. But I will not fly. The flight back from E. Asia aged me ten years. And if that cunt who plays for Arsenal can do it, so the fuck can I. Not ever flying I mean. Christ.

I, as per usual, have fucking spoken.

Sirrah!

"How's my ikkle diddums? Who's a good boy then. Fetch!" George McCuntyFuck Bush's traditional greeting to Tony Toydog Blair. Pair of right cunts.

*Jesus.