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WooHoo!

Fuck me, me Dad brought me home another parcel AND another letter last night from those wonderful people at Thomas Bell, the leading fertiliser merchants in the whole of the world! At this rate I might have to get meself a little desk set up with an in tray and everything. I was shaking like a shitting dog when I opened it to find another box of 50 pigs ears! That's enough to last me a week or two, and will help fuel my "dig for victory". I haven't bothered too much with the tunnel this week to be honest, it's been too fucking hot hasn't it? Sweating me little doggie bollocks off with this bastard fur coat on all day I am. Not that me Mum & Dad give a fuck like. Anyway, the nice people at Thomas Bell seem to think that it's probably OK if I go and live with them when I get out of here. They could probably do with a bit of security muscle on site like. I can handle meself me you know. It's a terrier thing. I mean I'm more Barry McGuigan than the Kalashnikov Brothers of whatever they're fucking called. if you get my drift. Caught a hedgehog in the garden the other night you know. Shit itself it did. Rolled over into this little ball thing, the soft get. Covered in fucking fleas aren't they, the dirty bastards. Not surprising if they keep shitting themselves like that I suppose. Picked it up in me mouth no fucking problermo and ran round the garden with it in me gob. Bet the Kalashnikov Fucking Brothers couldn't do that, the big tarts. If you're reading this Mr Kalashnikov, any one of you two pair of jessies, I hereby challenge you to pick up a shitty, flea encrusted hedgehog in your mouth and run round your back garden with it. I somehow don't think they'll be getting back to me on that one. Case proven I think. I'm tougher than the Kalashnikov Brothers! Woof!

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