Dreams...

....they can come true, according to Gabrielle. Which is fucking ace news as I dreamed that Tommy Knocker got knocked down by a fucking 30 tonne artic last night. Not that it's likely to happen as "Mr Sensitive" can't be taken anywhere near the main road can he, as he barks like fuck at everything that goes past. That's my walks to the pub fucked. Thanks Tommy Lad. It's not his fault, he's afraid, that's why he acts like that says me Mum. She obviously hasn't considered the option that he's simply a fuckin retard. Doesn't like sheep, horses, cars, lorries, the window being open, the window being shut, me Mum and Dad kissing (not keen on that one meself like, but there's no reason to kick off about it), the noise that the fridge makes when it's been open for more than 30 seconds, the noise that the washing machine makes when it's finished running. What else is there he doesn't like? Oh yeah, thunder and lightning, fucking shit scared of that is the Knocker Dog. The wanker. Can't fuckin wait for fireworks night me, he'll be shaking like a, well erm, a shitting dog as it happens. The big soft shite. The postman. Anwar for Masala home delivery. The man from Amazon. The postman (obviously, we all hate him). The fucking Jehovas Witness Ladies. It's fucking hilarious when they come round, he's shit scared of them and they're shit scared of him. It takes me Dad about an hour to clean up the mess after they've been. Bits of shit and the Watchtower all over the fucking place there is! Me Mum and Dad are going away this weekend, and they've booked us into Stalag 45 together. In the same fucking room! I can't wait! I'd rather kennel share with Fred Fucking West than that mong. You know the saying "shit happens" well I'm living proof that it does indeed happen. At least half a dozen times a fucking day in my case. Bollocks.