My piles are a persistent pain, (even with two bags of frozen cauliflower wedged into my arse crack), but I'm mobile enough to spend my mornings strolling around our local park with my hunting rifle...taking pot shots at the geriatric c***s perambulating there.
And he still hasn't responded...even though his car (formerly in Santorini Black) sits on his driveway, a burnt out shell.
My piles are a persistent pain, (even with two bags of frozen cauliflower wedged into my arse crack), but I'm mobile enough to spend my mornings strolling around our local park with my hunting rifle...taking pot shots at the geriatric c***s perambulating there. It's been a strange beginning to the month of May. My 'grapes of wrath' have returned to my arse but are, as yet, untroublesome...and despite my serial abuse of 'Special K' I'm not, thank God, spending all night astride 'the throne'.
Also, (and this is a real big surprise) the arrogant c*** at number thirty seven, who's taken delivery of a Range Rover Evoque (in Santorini Black), has yet to respond to the mortar rounds that I lobbed at his new auto at the weekend. Peculiar times indeed. Not minded to waste my valuable time doing housework I persuaded (with the promise of a £10 note and an old flatscreen TV) two passing Sudanese illegal immigrants to do my laundry, ironing, hoovering and dusting.
And at bang on noon, and after they'd completed all of their chores to my satisfaction, I handed over the tenner and the telly...before 'grassing' them up to the Border Force. Time for a w***. News reaches me of the sad demise of old acquaintance Daphne Twat, ENT consultant at St Thomas' Hospital and sometime stunt double for Vin Diesel (during his introspective gay romantic trilogy series in the early noughties).
Apparently Twat got into a row with the deputy night manager at our local Tesco Metro over Clubcard points and was subsequently beaten to death with a stale French baguette when she tried to eviscerate him with a cake knife. Took our neighbour's German Shepherd for a walk in the local park this morning...and then promptly sold him to a couple of passing gypsies for a tidy sum of cash and a half-sovereign ring. When Ralph and Lorraine pop round and ask me if I've seen Genghis I will, of course, feign ignorance.
Time for a w***. My hope of building bridges with Anne and Pete (at number sixteen) have sadly faltered. Optimistic that we could come to an agreement over roadside parking I was, I have to report, utterly incensed when Pete let his westie Rufus take a dump on the grass verge out front of our house this morning, so utterly incensed that I shot to death the pair of them where they stood.
C***s Way too pissed (on a mix of rum, whisky and brake fluid) to put one foot in front of another I nevertheless had enough about me to drive Redwinter Junior to her school this morning...which in hindsight was not such a good idea. Hopefully most of the bus queue that I impacted on will recover from their injuries.
Went into town this morning to score some crystal meth from the local drug squad, Constable Jones being most obliging in that he threw in a tidy amount of dope and ketamine as part of the deal.
Transaction completed we then proceeded to torment a number of elderly Spanish tourists in Soho, Jones' using his Taser, my weapons of choice a sizeable piece of wood (taken from a builders skip) and a broken beer bottle. Paddy and Thelma (at number nineteen) invited me round for lunch today, on offer a fine selection of sandwiches, sausage rolls, quiches and a bare knuckle fight on the patio. Paddy, God bless him, put up a spirited defence against his wife of forty one summers, but by round four the cracked ribs, punctured lung, broken jaw and concussion did for him...and he was carted off to the local A&E, his prospects bleak.
Busy morning this morning. Baked a lemon meringue pie, a Victoria sponge cake and a busload of fondant fancies. Also did a spot of ironing and (with my M-82 Barrett Light 50) brought down a police chopper...on top of the care home for the elderly at the end of our road. Soon be time for lunch.
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AuthorA keen observer of humanity I am nevertheless humbled by the glory that is the modern electric kettle. Categories |