I say yo to the posse. Posse up, posse.

Man up nigger.

I'm particularly fetching today. Sporting a red addidas retro t-shirt with three stripes down the right arm, a grey and purple stripey sweater, a pair of tweed trousers, some quiksilver boxer shorts and some converse shooos.

Last night I got out of my bollocks, it was absolutely belting. The day began with me and rich getting to the pub at two o click and drunk pitchers all day, until roughly six o clock, I think. Then onto Kelly's place to gawp at new hair styles and colours then back to my house for pizza, vodka and shooower. Then Dempseys, Barfly, Dempseys, Fall Down. Marvo.

Can I just take this moment to address my hatred of most things, particularly bluetooth headsets. "Ooh, heavens, I could never struggle to raise my phone to my ear, no no no! must clip a stupid toothbrush looking thing to the side of my mind and prick about with that, looking all like a cunt. Furthermore, anybody who says, "But it's to stop the radiation going into my brain" deserves a fucking pounding off me. Think about it now. If the radiation will travel from the phone into your head when you make a call moving it to another part of your body will not negate the radiation whatsoever, it will merely go somewhere else, your balls, for instance. Cock cancer or head cancer. You fucking decide. CUNTS.

Just had breakfast and my mood is still blacker than an oily swan. My Yazoo is cheering me up though.

Fuck the arctic monkeys. If that freshfaced little cunt thinks he can get away with making up lies about how much of a chancer he is and how much he drinks and fights and eats chips after drinking and fighting and eating chips he's got another thing coming. He has never been out on the piss in his life, the shit eating, brown eyed, northern cunt hole.

As they say in Llandow, ciao for now.

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