Dyslexic cnut

Fuck this now. That’s not a film btw.

True Shit.

Young Bums

Rimstone

Bell or Highwater.

For a Poo Dollars More.

High Plains Woofter.

Shitty Slickers.

Boned Tomahawk.

Prances with Wolves.

Jap-Eyed Jacks.

Ringo Bravo.

Butch Assidy and the Bumdance Flid.

3:10 to Pooma.

The Fagnificent Seven.

That’s not the Dog’s fault. What the fuck would you do if a stranger rammed two unsolicited nostrils up your hoop?

I was piss wet through, inappropriate soaked footwear and it was raining. The water-blaster was playing up and I’d smashed the brush thing by running over a stone. As the pressure dropped, old JSP came into my head and I chortled to myself. I’ll be honest, Billy…it was a souless endeavour, but it was still better than being in the same building as her. How can I put this…she’s moved into the Departure Lounge today. I’ll PM you with any developments.

I take it you got an XXXXL bag, you clothes-peg whittling minx? Did you go salty or sweet? Killa hasn’t lost his shit-stirring touch…and no mistake.

Fuckme Ape, this is weird. I was bored today. She’s got the hump so I had the Kärcher out for three hours on the drive and I was thinking about that cunt as the pressure momentarily dropped, thinking ‘no way am I getting the standard 4500psi here’ to myself and giggling away. Mrs C said that I ‘looked like I was enjoying myself!’ Spooky…

Well…that was quick.

Cya. Dickhead.

Brilliant…etc.

At least you’re not going down…well, at least until the Rascal’s loaded.

You’ll feel your own if you call me that again…cunt.