What an annoying bastard. Keeps following me around, sniffing my arse. At least he hasn't tried to hump me since Tuesday. Thick as shit as well. Me Dad takes us outside, says "wee" and we do a wee and we get a bickie. Simple as. Not exactly rocket science that is it? It is for Tommy though, who just looks up at me Dad like he's speaking a foreign language or something! Does fuck all but still expects a bickie, the wanker. Well, I haven't actually caught him doing that yet, but it's only a matter of time I reckon. Talking of rocket science, we watched that Stephen Hawking film the other night, pretty good it was, even if I couldn't understand a fucking word he was saying. So I made up a little poem, here it is: There once was a man called Hawking Who got rather fed up of walking So he sat on a scooter Attached to a computer And now he lets it do the talking What do you reckon? I bet Tommy couldn't make stuff like that up. He hasn't even got ...

Well, the dirty bastards have really gone and topped the fucking lot this time. What am I on about? Fucking Tommy that's what. We take a nice little ride out into the country on the Bank Holiday Monday. Ace, nice walk down by the river, game of stick, bit of shit rolling, what could possibly go wrong I think (mistakenly). No siree, we are going to some fucking Rescue place or something they call it. Here we meet Tommy, who they say is a 2 year old Border Lakeland Terrier cross. Not only do we have the pleasure of meeting Tommy, we bring the fucking twat home with us. I couldn't fucking believe it. Two? More like two fucking months if you ask me, the brainless twat. Tommy then proceeds to rip all me fucking toys apart. My fucking toys. They're my toys for me to fucking rip apart. The knob-end. Talking of which, he keeps trying to fucking hump me as well. There I am, lying by the fire having a nice little pre-bedtime nap, and the next thing this fucking beast is all over me l...