Frank

Noted.

With respect, it's not really a 'statement'... thickstick. I've asked a straight forward question regarding your promiscuity, made a basic assumption on your availability, and more or less called you a dirty fuckin stinking whore.

You were in my dream last night, dingalong. There was you and I, Jacko and Gobbie night fishing for carp in a pop-up tent on the Regent's canal. One by one, we all set fire to ourselves. Gobbie had awful acne scars... but an incredibly full bosom.

Oi stinkhole, how many boss-eyed inbred knobs have you had up your dusty? I'd assume the 'ladies' within your unwashed commune are shared around like a packet of fucking wine gums. I can only imagine the state of your mattress.

Pile of shit.

Long live the tot. Hurrah. Shit.

Tonight Jacqueline I'm at Ronnie Scott's... Marlena Shaw. Wonderful. I started with Côte-Rôtie for lunch and I'm fucking smokin in my Kilgour blue. Some lingering looks from the mature ladies. Shame Ming's with me... the mis-hog.

'Fat wife' That was too rude of me.. although close friends should always speak the truth. I would never have left Aña May if she hadn't become so fucking fat. Such a sweet face.

My grandparents worked for the railway throughout the war.. both based at Euston. I still think of them almost every day. Nan would pick me up from school on Wednesdays in her beige Aquascutum overcoat. We'd go to Selfridges to buy the best marbles... clearies, shooters and onionskins.

I have a '60's vélo Solex. What do you think about that MikefuckingD?

I would lie low behind the back seats of his Range until the chino/shirt wearing pleb appeared. At knifepoint, I will direct him to your windswept fucking hell-hole by the sea. Whilst you sit up on the kitchen worktop.. spread-eagled and knicker-less, Mr G and I will deal with him by mobile judas cradle. Face fucking will naturally follow... hubby permitting.

Very much the nearly man, Jackie. Champagne taste.. beer money.... fat wife.

Fat fingered idiot.

Oi Gobby... hun, this punky tim but dim character needs a good fuckin beating. If I track the weasel down and kill him dead, can I come and live with you and Mr G by the seaside?

ooh.. you dirty whore. I'd have your little spud head hanging over the end of the bed whilst I pump out the dip-wick double two time. Peabo Bryson on 12 inch. Good evening sweetpea.

... and where there's a bag of chips, a plinka-plonka and an old trawlerman's hairy... there's Gobbie. Like honey to a bee. Shit.

Your weak and pathetic self-censored watered down version of yourself makes me dizzy. Where's your spunk?... you little prick.

The arrogance of the Stamford Hill, Garden Suburb and Golders Green mob knows no bounds. Overwhelming snidey little things extraordinaire.

​Idiot.

Rise above it, Ed. Tolerate. Thicko.

What on earth has become of this place, Decimus? A talented wordsmith like you allowing the awful cry baby Eddie to post daily trite, is nothing short of criminal. I want him dead.

You almost skipped into a little melody with that one, Ed. 'Racism is racism'..... noted. Cretin.

Yes, you've already mentioned that. You're getting a little heated, Ed. I only wanted to verify that I was dealing with a youth. I'll move on. xx

I making no attempt at humour dear boy... I'm long gone. Cunts on here allowing a vacuous little shite like you to carry on, is just a little... disappointing. No offence.

Fair do's Ed. However, If you're honest with your dire self, you'll agree that you are punching a little above your weight. Idiot.