A man gets the following text from his neighbour: I am so sorry Bob. I've been riddled with guilt and I have to confess. I have been helping myself to your wife, hammering it morning, noon and night when you're not around. To be honest, I'm surprised that you haven't noticed as I really have been tearing the arse out of the job. I don't get it at home any more, although I know that really that's no excuse. I just had a little dabble one day, for a laugh really, and sort of got addicted. Since then I've just been filling my boots. I mean if it's on offer 24/7, and it's free then what's a guy like me to do? I'm only human after all. But, Bob mate, I can no longer live with the guilt and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies along with my promise that it will never happen again. The man, anguished and betrayed, goes into his bedroom, grabs his gun, and without a word, shoots his wife dead there and then. A few moments later, a second tex...

Me Mum and Dad went away for the weekend, leaving me consigned to the kennels, or Stalag 45 as I prefer to call it. The selfish bastards. When they got back they proceeded to knock up a full bifters Sunday Dinner with all the trimmings, and what did I get? Stew and biscuits. No, cold stew and biscuits actually. Cold fucking stew and a few pissing biscuits, whilst they fill themselves up on roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and gravy. Northern dogs love gravy. The more gravy the better in my book. I once licked my bowl five times round the utility room just to make absolutely CERTAIN that I'd got every ounce of gravy goodness down my scrawny neck. But not this weekend. Cold bastard stew and biscuits it was for your truly. Apparently I'm on a diet. Too fat they reckon. Too fat my arse I'm in me prime, me. Then to cap off the whole sorry scenario, this morning I'm treated to a trip to the vets to get me pissing booster jab thingy. I hate going to the vets. If they aren't ...