The dumbest things people bought from Fuckazon over xmas
In the weeks building up to Christmas I was doing a shitty job at Fuckazon putting small items such as DVDs and books into cardboard boxes. In all honesty being a 'packer' is a far cry from the Robocop I eventually want to be when I grow up, but we all have to start somewhere. And that somewhere for me is Fuckazon.
One of the most frustrating things about this job is that I am seeing thousands of pounds being spent on absolute garbage. I can't even afford the razor blades to slit my wrists but some people in this country can afford to buy tonnes of films and books that nobody will ever look at. To buy these for a 'loved one' and wrap them up as a xmas gift is an insult of the highest order. You may as well squeeze out a log of shit, delicately wrap it up, and place it under the tree with a big "Fuck you" note on it. How can you possibly hate your family that much that you are buying this crap for them?
Here is a list of some of the dumbest things I have seen people buying in the last couple of weeks before Christmas:
1. Twilight DVD
This turd costs £5 and also your soul. Anyone who pays money for this tripe really should consider jumping off a bridge. With no story, terrible acting, embarrassing dialogue, and a horrifying scene which desecrates baseball, it is a genuine contender for worst movie ever made.
It's the type of trendy, fanboy bullshit that teenagers queue up all night for so they can waste £20 on the DVD the first day of release. That said, why would anybody still be buying it a year on? Every poser and emotional teen that wants it already does. Films like this don't have any longevity – they are a fad, a popular trend – and within a year or two millions of copies will be popping up on ebay as embarrassed owners grow up and realise what idiots they've been.
So trust me, Uncle Asshole, your spoilt little wannabe vampire twatty niece already owns this DVD so buy her something else for Christmas this year. Like a brain.
2. 'Twilight' book by Stephanie Meyer
Wow, these piece of shit books should go to hell. I can't believe people pay money to read this garbage. As if a shitty film where nothing happens isn't enough, people want to read it too? For £3.44 moody teenage girls can lock themselves in their shitty moody Tim Burton inspired trendy GOTH bedrooms and read this slop and pretend they enjoy it, just because they saw the movie and thought the idiot boy in it was attractive.
Even the front cover is stupid. An apple? Seriously? We're using Disney's Snow White imagery of apples for temptation? Is that the best you can do? If your theme is temptation (which it isn't; Twilight has no theme other than how to bore the shit out of its readers), then how about an interesting metaphor like a picture of generic teenage girl with no brain or ability to think for herself being tempted by a generic book with no plot and sissy sparkling vampires who have no personality?
The novel serves no literary purpose and is simply 500 pages of bland characters standing around doing nothing, with descriptions like "he brooded, cold as ice, Adonis-like" the extent of the author's ability. In fact she repeats this line every dozen or pages so.
Her lack of writing creativity is even more apparent than mine – whenever I'm in trouble I just write "holy fuck I hate her" and hope nobody notices I'm repeating myself. But I'm writing for free and without the intention of stealing money from gullible teenagers who cling to every new trend like they cling to their snotty best friends who they secretly hate but pretend to 'love' because they desperately want to fit in since they have no confidence. Meyer is a witch and it's an insult to everyone that the top selling books and DVDs in the country are these abortions. Holy fuck I hate her so much.
Here's a sample from the book: "We exchanged a few more comments on the weather". Holy shit, that's awful. Here is another terrible excerpt: "The...". Wow, that is really fucking boring. I cannot believe people really want to buy this shit. Stephanie Meyer go to hell.
3. Jesus' Christmas Party – book and nativity playset
What the fuck does the Bible or Jesus have to do with Christmas? Quit with the brainwashing, you creepy assholes. The types of kids who get this for Christmas are the same ones who will grow up reading Twilight books.
4. 'The Haunted Airman' DVD (starring Robert Pattinson)
See, this is the kind of shit that really pisses me off. Every other Twilight book or DVD order coincidentally had a copy of this film in it too. Why do people try and argue that Twilight is popular because it is a good story, when all the evidence points to horny girls having a crush on the latest untalented dipshit that has been marketed successfully, and who will pay money for anything his pasty white face is on. Robert Pattinson is a hack. Come back when you can actually act and don't look like you're dying from AIDS.
5. Susan Boyle - 'I have an ugly head' CD
I seriously hate this hag. Why is she singing crappy music and having an ugly face, it's so annoying. I can't stand how the public loves her just because she looks like Kelly Osbourne took a shit and stuck Richard Simmons' afro on top. And look at her shitty pose on the CD cover. Stop trying to be Macauley Culkin in Home Alone; come back when you've been molested by Michael Jackson, you gremlin. She just sings boring crap that if she was an attractive girl in her twenties everybody would whine that it's generic and that they're sick of pop stars being marketed based on their looks – but this is exactly why Susan Boyle is successful, because she's ugly, not because her voice is anything special.
I just watched the audition video on youtube and she's so fucking annoying. She wiggles and tries to be 'ironically' sexy but she is just ironically a fucking idiot. Nobody in this country listens to shitty opera normally, but just because she was on Britain's Got Talent and everyone feels guilty that she looks like a foetus the CD sells millions. Fuck you all.
6. 'New Moon' book by Stephanie Meyer
There's a new Twilight movie coming out so everybody wants to rush and read the books first so they can wet themselves at the cinema and shout out to everybody "Wow it's JUST like the book – they're all standing around doing nothing, giving ice cold glares and being Adonis-like". Nobody with any respect for good story-telling would buy this book, but then the only people who are getting this book are moody teenage girls who have fantasies about pasty white gay vegetarian vampires breaking into their house and watching them sleep.
7. 'Eclipse' by Stephanie Meyer
Oh for fuck sake, this surely has to be the last one in the series. Seriously, how many more books full of one-dimensional characters going for walks in the woods can you possibly write? If any of your friends or family bought you this for Christmas, they hate you.
8. Steven Seagal triple-pack DVD
Nah just kidding, the person who bought this is a fucking badass. I was so impressed with this customer's order that I put an expensive new camera into the box too. Merry Christmas, Love from Fuckazon xxx.
Without a doubt the dumbest thing anybody has ever bought in the history of life. Robert Pattinson is one of the shittiest sex symbols of all time. What is he doing with his hair? I hate this bullshit trendy 'scruffy' look. I'm scruffy because I'm a lazy bastard and don't care, but security guards unsubtly stalk me through shops because they think I'm going to shoplift or kidnap someone. Pattinson walks around looking like an Arctic Monkeys reject and girls scream and beg for his autograph and penis. Why don't those 10-year old girls want to fuck me too?? It's so unfair. Everything about Twilight makes me sick.
With an expression of dread the handsome young man stepped out of the car and into the night breeze. He remained standing at the open car door for a moment or two; tentative, morose, and still very handsome.
He looked across the carpark to the huge building opposite, and then up at the sign welcoming him. Welcoming him back.
The sign sneered back down at him with that snide, venomous logo that had always bothered him - a smile created with a curve from A to Z.
(Note: obviously I have changed the name of the company to protect myself from creepy google-obsessed Fuckazon staff who want an excuse to fire me - if you are too stupid to work out the name of the real company then perhaps consider suicide?).
As if to almost try and convince himself that this wasn't happening the gorgeous yet untalented and unqualified man glanced down at the photograph ID hanging from around his neck. Yes, unfortunately he really was back at Fuckazon. And no, unfortunately the thin rope around his neck was not a noose. Not yet, anyway.
The passport sized photo permanently trapped in the ID card wept. It was a picture that captured all of the misery, defeat, and desperation that he was feeling inside himself tonight, and had been feeling ever since he first begged for his job back.
He had been browsing newspapers desperately hoping to find a job that would not involve standing up for twenty hours a day, heavy lifting, light lifting, human interaction, walking, driving, sitting, or staying awake.
With depleted funds the search had become more frantic and standards had dropped – he would take just about anything at this point. But there was nothing. Why was it that nobody was offering a job to a lazy, unmotivated, self-centred jerk to sit at his laptop and write a blog ranting about mundane things that nobody cares about? Why did that job not exist???
He became hysterical, knowing there was only one more option. He could try and get his old job back at Fuckazon. Begging had almost been enough - kissing the shoes of Mr Fuckazon, showering him with compliments, repeating the company line about customer satisfaction and being a fantastic and expanding company. Mr Fuckazon had loved it, but he wanted satisfaction of his own. The begging ended, but the handsome ex-worker was not allowed to get off of his knees. He had looked up and seen Mr Fuckazon smiling down at him. That same evil A to Z smile from the sign.
Back in the carpark a silent tear trickled down the young man's face as the sign continued smiling and his memories haunted him. His huge dick flapped in the winter air. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath he shut the car door and slowly inched towards the building.
He suddenly halted, lifting his nose higher into the night and sniffed. "What's that smell?" he muttered under his breath. Sniffing again, he recognised it. His eyes opened wider. "Polski!" he whispered in fright, turning around quickly but seeing nothing. He trembled, patting his pockets to check his wallet was still there, and kept moving.
Another sniff, this time the scent more rancid than the last. A look of anguish and disgust swept over his face as he paused in the road and started gagging. "Arabs! Oh god, I forgot about the Arabs" he exhaled, covering his mouth almost immediately. But it was too much. Keeling over by a bush he vomited, his ID card dangling precariously beneath his mouth, narrowly dodging being damaged and costing its owner an absurd £5 to replace.
Wiping his mouth he stood back up and looked around, readjusting himself, preparing himself once more to attempt to enter the building.
The atmosphere in the gloomy carpark was almost funereal as factory fodder of every race, colour and species trudged towards the entrance directly below the Fuckazon sign. Pushing the rotating glass door one by one the workers disappeared into the building, perhaps forever.
He looked back towards the car that brought him here, hoping for salvation, some sort of miracle. His gaze returned to the workers. Then at his watch, the seconds ticking by towards midnight. Then at the sign. That smug, insincere, A to Z fucking smile.
Panic washed over his face as he closed his eyes once more for composure, exhaling in defeat, and then took a step towards the building.
This is the first thing I've written in ages. Blog, script, anything. I absolutely blow at writing. That's why this website hasn't been updated in well over a year.
So right now I'm sat in a youth hostel in Vancouver, British Columbia, getting rid of a six-pack while I wait for my friends to turn up. I am supposed to be working. I have two serious script assignments that I should have been developing over this holiday but instead I've just been trying to get laid and drink beer like all 'travelers'. I fucking hate people like me. Kids put their clothes in a backpack instead of a suitcase and think they're superior. Somehow they believe they are better than people who go on package holidays, or families who go to a resort for a week. Sure, a 'backpacker' moves around a bit, but he's still a fucking tourist. Why is what I'm doing any better than when my parents drive to Italy? Okay, so I do more. PT just sits in the kitchen talking to nana Tiseo while Sharon sits around bored out of her skull, wondering why she married a spag. But whatever, it's a holiday nonetheless.
You ever met a 'backpacker'? If you meet them back home they'll come across as mysterious, cultured, adventurous, and exciting. Horeshit. They're a bunch of fucking posers. I'll tell it how it is. All we do is go to bars. That's it. We're just trying to hook up with girls, get wasted, and spend money on shit we don't need like everybody else. You really think a 'backpacker' is enlightened and wise? If one of us ever met the Dalai Lama we'd just try to score some crack off him. In this youth hostel all anyone does is wait around until it's nighttime and the clubs open. Why does that make us better than tourists who go to Ibiza just to get wrecked?
So much has pissed me off about this trip, but on the plus side I think I have settled on where I want to move: Alberta, Canada. Somewhere near the Rocky Mountains. Hopefully I fail my degree again so I can move out here sooner. Will work on the ski slopes or in a shop or as a hooker, I don't care. I'm sick of England, and I think I have found my calling.
Wow, I actually wrote a few paragraphs, how awesome is that. Will I post this? Who knows. I just needed to make sure my typing fingers still worked. I'm talking nonsense. Kind of tipsy too. I'll tell you about my drink problem some other time. And rip in to my ex. And detail my last couple of trips abroad. So much to talk about, and so many racist and sexist jokes to include.
So one of my assignments is a collaborative script project about the Iraqi football team. It's interesting and would be fun to write if I knew how to fucking write scripts. The other assignments is an individual script about anything I want, and I don't even have an idea yet. I spend most of my time wondering who will win the Premiership and Superbowl. Getting in to hockey lately too, so wondering who'll win the Stanley Cup will take up even more time. Priorities. I hate school, what's the point? Everybody knows I'm going to end up as a dustman anyway. I don't wash.
I have a hot date tonight, my second in two days!!
I have tidied my room, I have showered, I have dressed nicely. I am sipping red wine.
I have a date with Steven Seagal again.
Hard to Kill was so much fun, I think tonight I will watch Nico. He is so wonderful and manly. I hope one day to emulate his abilities at getting revenge and violently killing people. "Fuck you and die" he says calmly after stabbing a bad guy through the neck with a pool cue. It's fucking gorgeous stuff. I think tonight after some wine he may be able to seduce me. But truth is, I want it to happen. I am such a slut.
All of the photos I have of me have my ex-giflriend Dani in them too. It's annoying. Firstly, I want to be able to gaze lovingly into my own gorgeous eyes without having to look at her. Secondly, I want YOU to be able to do the same on my profile. That's why all the photos are just my head, with her shitty ear or something in the corner. What a shitty ear she has.
My laptop has a webcam so I guess I can take new photos, but I'm not very clever so don't know how. I have never used a webcam before. It seems really arrogant to have one. I don't want people looking at me while I'm sat on my ass on MSN. I look like a bum.
So yeah, anyway, this is annoying. The few photos I have of me where I look remotely non-ugly have got her in them too. I wish I was photogenic. She has a billion photos of herself and she's not even as pretty as me. She thinks she is, but she's wrong. Look at her stupid ear trying to steal the spotlight from my squinting little face. Worthless.
I'm going to London for the Deftones gig tonight. I'm meeting my gorgeous Ash there and we can pretend we're gay lovers or whatever for a few hours. Predictable, unoriginal comedy. We think it's funny everytime we meet up. The same gay joke for six years. No wonder no one likes me. Well, except Ash. And that's only because he feels sorry for me. If he were on facebook he'd post a comment on this blog telling me I'm gorgeous and he wants to dress up as Cristiano Ronaldo and give me oral pleasure. When was the last time any of you traitors posted something as kind as that?
I was watching "Hard to Kill" last night. It's a badass 80s revenge movie with Steven Seagal. It has inspired me to change my goals in life. Fuck writing, I suck at it. THis blog is testament to that. So instead I am going to learn martial arts and how to shoot people and become a buddhist and meditate, then go on a vengeful rampage. It will take a couple of years to become as good at hurting people as Steven. I won't wear tight jeans though. It looks really uncomfortable and I get hot easily so have to wear shorts. What a fat mess. I am part-foreign like Steven too, and I am a bit of a loner like he is in his films. I don't know if he is in real life though. My favourite films all have Steven Seagal in them and he throws people through window.
So yeah, I'm going to go live in China or Tibet or whatever and become a superhero then come back and beat the crap out of people. Bye.
61% isn't good enough when you're as clever as I am
I got my third assignment back this year. The grade was 61%. Okay, I guess, but not that flattering. It's a 2:1 (which in English means a B), so if I average that all year and graduate with a 2:1 I'll be happy. Won't happen though. Not with the way these mongs grade my work.
Last year I wrote a hilarious comedy entitled Milk Men. It was about two rival milk men and the dialogue was garnished with wonderful puns on milk. Here are some examples of the genius that I created:
THE MILK MAN
You're a moron. I've never met anybody as stupid as you in my entire life.
Shut up, Milk WOMAN! You're not wanted in this town.
What do you think? I got 50%. The marker suggested that the script was not funny. What an asshole. I put a spell on him and he broke his leg over the summer.
Should I forgo the generic "Sorry I haven't updated" bullshit? It's been four months or something like that, and I really don't have an excuse. That's why this entry is going to be unstructured, messy, and without a point. I am just sitting at the computer and typing, and whatever I write will go online. No rewrites and no proof reading. I just need to get something written, anything.
Things have been going well, so to speak.
Actually, I just thought that over for a few minutes and it's a complete lie. I'm still pissed off, frustrated, up my own ass arrogant, and full of hate. I walked into town earlier and I was almost sick. Bournemouth is such a dive, so many common people, so little in the way of class. I went grocery shopping in Marks & Spencer where everybody had manners, the people who served me could speak English, and no unattractive blonde girls were pushing buggies with a noticeable space where the husband should be. Fifteen minutes later and I popped into Wilkinson: a wonderful place to pick up kitchen and bathroom utensils at decent prices, but a waste of time if you want to interact with human beings. No less than four staff members barged their way past me without so much as a murmur of apology. The girl behind the till spoke English, but had her bleached hair scraped back so tightly that it lifted her eyes up into her forehead to resemble something out of an Aphex Twin video.
Dani and I spent our month holiday in Malaysia and Thailand, which was delightful. It wasn't one of those travelling around discovering the country adventures, we went for hot weather, beaches, and nice food. We got most of that, except the weather was inconsistent and a few times we had to leave the beach because of rain. Waste of money. We bought a laptop and 200 DVDs. I'll type up my Moany Journal at some point and reminisce about painfully long coach journeys where old men are rude to me, get a spell cast on them, and then piss in their pants.
University has been terrible since I came back from holiday. I've got too many DVDs to watch and so assignments have been put on the back foot. Take tonight for example. I watched Dances With Wolves for three hours, and then came on here to listen to music and type in my blog. I have eight books I need to read for essay research just sitting there, and they've not moved all week. I have two sixty-page scripts to write, I've not started either. Another assignment is due in on Thursday but I spend my time browsing ticketmaster for the latest gigs to waste money on instead. I fear that if this attitude continues I will fail my degree, never get a decent job, and find myself frequenting shops like Tesco and Asda for my groceries. Errggh, how revolting, people wear JEANS in there.
I moved back here a couple of weeks ago and immediately fell back into my rut of moaning and hating everything. A long weekend away in Winchester was just what I needed: a break from the ugliness that Bournemouth is so abundant in; time with my girlfriend who is one of very few people that doesn't irritate me; a perspective on University life which would reassure me that my expectations of Bournemouth students was not unrealistic. It turns out you don't have to be a complete cock rash to be a student.
The streets of Winchester where not littered with unattractive teenage congregations, nor were they vandalised with chewing gum or KFC wrappers. In this Twilight Zone people seem to be human. Turn your attention briefly to Bournemouth, and you will see Bryl Cream wearing cretins wherever you go, and they won't just be standing there looking ugly (always under the false impression that they are actually God's gift to the opposite sex) but they will be shouting and littering and drinking and trying ever so hard to convince the rest of the public how 'cool' they are.
In Winchester you can casually stroll into a pub on a Saturday night and not have to fight through a pack of FCUK promoting gimps to get a drink, nor are your conversations drowned out by loud pop music so that the morons have something to grind to. No, in Winchester people actually have brains and so like to talk – in Bournemouth the mentality is "livin' it large" like the package holidays to Ibiza advertise.
As we left the gentlemanly pub and walked through town (at the weekend remember) not a puking and threatening teenager was in sight. There were no smashed bottles, or endless streams of girls shivering in the wind as they queue up for a generic night's clubbing whilst wearing nothing but fluffy bunny rabbit ears. There are places, it seems, which cater to the intellectual, mature, and interesting people of this race we call human. Sometimes I wonder if mutation has replaced evolution, because the humans I meet in Bournemouth seem of an entirely different species to my own. Just an hour north, in Winchester, there is gorgeous proof that humanity and respect still exists, and also proof that I'm not insane. Bournemouth students ARE scum, and I hate them twice as much now for almost convincing me that I was the weird one.
Back to Dani's Halls of Residence we went, and a reasonable hour to go to bed. Almost midnight, I believe. Trying to go to bed before 5am you say? In a Halls of Residence? You must be mad, do you not remember Purbeck?
I do, I do remember Purbeck. And with great hate. But here it seems the babies stop screaming well before tomorrow morning. If you want to go to bed at 6pm here there is nothing stopping you. The local pharmacy doesn't even bother stocking ear plugs, there's no need for them. Despite mostly being 18-years of age, the students of Winchester have matured at an alarming rate when compared to Purbeckians, or rather any of the Dorset riff-raff which plague my beach town. Oh they go out, sure, but still manage to re-enter the building and go to bed without ruining everybody else's sleep. How strange that something so obvious - such natural instincts – to not disrupt other people when they sleep, seems so magically wonderful to me. Then again after a year at Purbeck finding somebody who can string three words together in a sentence feels like a minor miracle.
But now I am in Bournemouth again, scowling out of my window, casting black magic on the neighbours, and wishing for some sort of STD epidemic to filter out a few hundred of these idiots and make my life more enjoyable. Bah.
And so another wasted day nears its end. My accomplishments since waking this morning have been minimal. I read up on the Cuban Missile Crisis and Fidel Castro’s regime, for reasons unbeknownst to myself. That’s pretty much all I did today. Oh, I phoned Zenith again to complain that they haven’t paid me, and managed to get hold of the manager who tried to make up some lie about why the money’s not gone through. What a crock, just fucking pay me already. I worked there for almost three weeks, and wasted money on shitty shirts and trousers, wasted phone credit, and wasted time I could have spent on the beach checking out teenage girls. Fucking pay me, I’ve earned it.
Zenith’s policy is to give anybody (including ex-cons for the most part ) a job going door-to-door on a commission only basis. On the off chance that you actually have some success (I did, twice, in three weeks) they just refuse to pay you anyway. Zenith Windows? More like cunts. I’ve become more obsessed with recouping the £120 they owe me than actually getting a fulltime job and making that money back in a few days. What a jerk. What a compulsive, obsessive, jerk.
In actuality I have been trying to get a job. Not very hard, but I’ve been trying nonetheless. They always end up being dead ends. The latest example was two days ago – I’d somehow managed to snag an interview with a company, who had a few potential employees coming in at 1pm so they could be explained the job in detail. The woman on the phone said her name was Kelly, and that was about it. The ad in the paper implied glorified newspaper deliveries – collecting and delivering catalogues. That’s fine by me. Sure, I’ll come meet you at 1pm on Tuesday, that sounds spectacular.
Tuesday came, and I paid £4.50 return to Bedford in what must be the lowlight of my entire summer holiday so far. £4.50? It wasn’t more than a few years ago when it cost less than £3, so why the drastic rise in price? It’s a complete con. The journey when made by car can’t cost more than £1, but public transport demands you pay a fiver. Fuck off and die. I seriously hate everything.
Once I arrived at Bedford and fought my way through swarms of idiots doing surveys and a lot of fat people until I came to the street I wanted. I scanned the numbers on the offices until I found 90-92, which is where Kelly told me she was based….
Oh dear God, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
This can’t be 90-92. I must have the wrong street. Or town.
Zenith Windows’ ugliness stared back at me. This had to be some kind of joke. How the fuck had this happened? Of all the jobs I’ve tried for since I’ve been back home, Zenith are the only ones who offered me a job interview. You fucking fucks! Stop stalking me! Jesus, what the fuck is your problem? Just fucking pay me that £120 and leave me alone. I’m calling the police. Fuck sake.
The whole idea of Pint of Bitter is that I'm a miserable old man who hates everything. Including you.
It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how many times I explain that this is a HUMOUR website, I still get abusive emails and death threats from "academics" who let me know what a "boring" and "stupid" "cunt" I am.
I moan about absolutely fucking everything, including really good stuff like oxygen, so chances are I will eventually write a scathing commentary on something that you like too. Try to laugh at yourself once in a while, you might enjoy it. Twat.
So if you like this website and enjoy reading about my endless suffering & misery in life, then please bookmark and pop back regularly for more pointless rants. If not, fuck you and don't ever come here again
ur quite clearly a freak y dont u hang urself!!! - Anon
Your like a fucking old woman, all you ever do is moan - Garth
if you hate people so much, then why don't you go and live in a dog kennel, you might find a species that actually interest you - Anon
when was the last time u enjoyed something - Anon
Twat - Anon
This forum is a complete pile of wank. Its completely made to give this sad tool the attention that must be required in his sad loney life. To be perfectly honest, anyone who posts anything further is only fueling this sad, lonely, future kiddy fiddlers dream. leave it alone loosers. get a life! - Big G
did you not realise that you would be living with 100s of people whos many aim in their first year is to have fun and get wasted - charlie and hannah BLOCK b
I understand everyone must need sleep now and again, but for fuck sake u aragont, boring wanker get a life!! - "Special" Crew
I would agree that picking holes in somebody's grammar is silly, and my attempt to masquerade as a pretentious student of the arts obviously didn't impress you. - Nanny Kath
Your an Arrogant cunt. I dont know you but when I do, i'm going to smash your fucking face in- Big G
grrr u just mke me so angry u gay!- Lizi
Oh shut up you moany .... bucket! - Dani
do u think people dont realise your being a sarcastic weirdo! mr smiley............go and fucking live somewhere else u fucked up twat!!!!!! - Anon
I remember the Redborne days in the summer where me and dobby would laugh at you because you couldnt eat an ice cream without getting it all over your face - Mib
Quit being such a whiney drama-queen - Sian
Where's your sense of humour Sian? 'Willy jokes' are funny - Mib
Just ejaculate on their soap and smirk when they appear from their wash sessions, that is, if they do wash - Dobby
If I have insulted or offended you then Contact Me here and I will send you back a photo of my ass you can kiss.