...rang in work earlier and said he couldn't come in today because a little ginger kid from down the bottom of our street had been run over and killed by a hit and run driver this morning. Work said "oh that's terrible, did you know him well?" Me Dad said "nah, never met him before." So work said "well why can't you come in then?" Me Dad said "well the front of me car is completely stoved in." Woof.

What a sad gang of soft fuckers you must be. Am I the only one to notice that those ham-fisted twats on the telly are having their house done up bit by bit? I mean, he spills rose wine all over the fucking settee when the dog jumps over it, so he thinks why the fuck bother trying to clean that off, let's just ring Nationwide soft fuckers and get them to replace the entire thing. (Me Mum by the way would need more than a prancing fucking dog to get a full glass of wine out of her hand I can tell you. A fucking crow bar more like. She can fall asleep clutching one and never spill a drop, as she does frequently). Half a day goes by, it can't be much longer as they're still wearing the same fucking clothes, and his equally cack-handed missus chucks a tin of paint all over the carpet, so he's straight on the blower again. Bugger me, ten minutes later the pair of soft twats are dropping the chandelier (I use the word loosely, this thing IS shit and DOES want smashing). No wor...