This load of utter s*it contains profanity (that's swear words) and probably a load of other stuff that shouldn't be on here. Unfortunately I can't remember most of it so I'll give it an age classification of 44. Though,if you're 16 or over you probably won't suffer any lasting damage.
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Great Scott, That felt GOOD!
How long I’ve yearned to utter that marvellous - almost erotic - pairing of words. Though, as I’m sure the pragmatic, Mr Roble will point out, I haven’t uttered them. What I’ve actually done here is write them, which is kind of the point in this palace of prose, isn’t it? But you get the gist, yes?
(…….you do, don’t you? Otherwise I’m pretty much in the fcuk mire from the beginning).
Bollocks! I spelled fuck wrong. How the fcuk does anyone do that?
But speaking of the French and FCUK (French Connection United Kingdom) I’m not particularly enamoured with them since Brexit. I read in the papers that they hope our economy gets fcuked. Which is a bit stupid since they’re clothing brand and any other UK interests will go exactly the same way.
But Brexit Schmexit, I say. They’re just pissed off because they can’t send their illegal immigrants down the Chunnel anymore.
Anyway, whether you ensnared the ‘gist’ or just couldn’t be arsed, my name is Rob Kosy and I used to be somebody around here.
Oh, yea, back in the day people used to bang on my every word.
(BOLLOCKS! I meant to say HANG, not BANG).
Okay, okay, I give up. It’s pretty obvious that I can’t edit anything without a delete button so I’d better come clean. The other day Malcolm weed all over my keyboard and, consequently, the delete button is fcuked.
Malcolm is my muse y’see and usually he’s quite content to just sit there eating the lettuce from my kebab whilst his comedic countenance inspires the shite you’re reading now. Content, that is, until the salad runs out. Then he pisses himself.
In a little jocular aside, Malcolm also has the hair style of Donald trump, which is, perhaps, why he inspires me so. Hey, maybe he saw his own reflection in my computer monitor and pissed himself laughing. I mean, come on, if that ludicrous, flapping rug can’t do it what can?
At this point, Denizens, I reckon I should point out that Malcolm is a guinea pig and that any laughter generated by his resemblance to America’s commander and chief is inspired entirely by Malcolm himself. Not - as some Americans have confided from their new homes in Canada - by the fact that ‘president’ precedes the name Trump.
So, given our closeness, I’m sure you can appreciate my quandary. I can’t abandon Malcolm after one little accident, can I? (The mishap being my inability to phone for another kebab fast enough, not the fact that he weed himself).
Come on, have a gwar!
(I meant to say heart.)