Frank

Joking aside, Scotty, this is good therapy. I very rarely post personal shit on here, but it's all I've got and I can't go on moping like some lost and soppy gypsy. Nerves got the better of me at the funeral... I laughed out loud when I saw the 4ft 6' rattan coffin.

Dopey whore.

It doesn't sit well with me, Neil... knowing that I'm nonchantly conversing with a little bum-squirt gay-blade who probably cleared out someone's back passage last night with his tonsils. Good morning.

The worst offender is the cunt that will stretch to buy a 10 year old Aston Martin or Porsche, then attempt to hide the cars age with a private plate that, with luck, might show his one initial.

Good night Bawsey.

Jackie?.. opera not so good?

Perhaps we might see your little darkseid this evening...

We met at Waterloo station in 1990. I was 21. It was raining and we agreed to share the last taxi to Marylebone. We were both soaked and I somehow found the courage to ask her out for dinner and planned it for the following week.. when I had some money. We separated in 2013. The most gentle, kind and loving person you could ever wish to meet. Cancer. In time … In time, it goes, everything goes away. We forget the face and we forget the voice. The heart, when it stops beating, there’s no point searching any further, you must let it go. And that’s good.

I remember!.. orthodox Larry who sold snidey Cartier and Patek watches from the boot of his Camry. He's dead now. Cancer.

You had to think about that one, Ed. With all your wonderful worldly views through surburban blinkers, I must ask you this.... why did you sit back and allow Mike to bring this haven to near disaster?

Extraordinary.

It's been years but it feels like yesterday when old big hands turned up to my imaginary restaurant. Do you still have his address?

He's gone up the opera, decs. Imagine the shoes he's wearing...

Mike, you gained a little too much confidence for your own good when we all fucked off. You took the reins and bored the site to near closure. Now that we've returned en masse, you've shrinky-dinked back down to the pathetic little pajama wearing shoulder-less loser that you'll always be. You fucking cunt.

I'll plug his bumhole with mine, you do his left nostril with yours.

Fuck me. Ollyboro!.. the man who measures stuff in double decker buses. A true friend. Poor Proper became spasticated in April of last year after catching his wife sucking a brown helm round the back of Highgate cemetery. We rarely speak. I'm here to save the Corner from itself and MikeFuckingD. Have you seen my video?

You appear to be a touch sensitive, minkey. Offhandish and not within the good spirit of the Corner.

I think this whole sorry episode is backfiring on the boy, Mike. He's been weaned out of his hole on the assumption that they'll be some sort of fucking fanfare celebrating his return. He genuinely dislikes you with a passion. That, my friend, is a sad state of affairs. Bon weekend.

Admittedly I've written a few puns for him during his weaker moments. I've just PM'd him the bones for a riposte to the above. He'll fill in the gaps and probably call you cunt.

Wet. You're not the first man to pull himself off to my moves. Poor Decs shot his load before I got out the chair. I've received an advance from admin for my next piece.. "I Drove All Night". Scheduled for Valentine's day.

Noted.

Actually, we're at the opera this evening, snatch. We might have a drink or two.. a meal.

Fuck off. You're off the radar.. thicko.

I bet Errol didn't struggle naming his band. I've never seen anyone look more like a malteser.