The yawning face of death approaches. Slanderous malodourous maleficent magnates molest a measly mite. Magnificent, isn’t it? How it all comes together? Yes, it really is quite something. Do you think that… No, I’m afraid that is an impossibility, at least in my opinion. Well, I don’t know what to say. Hmm, how to proceed?

Straight in no kissin’. Awful rude, but that’s how she likes it. Rough n’ ready. Grease the flagpole, we’re going for broke! Break necks at every opportunity. Broker deals across picnic tables with nameless dreadmongerers. Snort long lines of sulphorous schnoot, if that’s what gets ya kickin’. Me I like a little glass of water, maybe a coffee if I’m feeling flamboyant. And that is most of the time,  except on Wednesdays Tuesdays and Fridays. Sometimes I wear a dickie bow to the shops, nobody bats an eyelid.

And now vile revenge must be wreaked on everybody that ever sent a bad word my way in goodness. Retreat ye cumgoblins, ye slayers of the true. I shall beat your bums with pandy bat and chase. Ever anon. God if ye never woke up to the taste of bitterness there’d be something wrong. Now’s the time for morose reflection, for tears in the teacup woe betiding.

So I guess I’ll straighten up a moment and talk sense of a sort. It hurts ye know. Sometimes it does hurt. Act the eejit and you’re sure to be smitten. But like like what do ye do? Hurt a wee minute then pick yourself up and jump. Flyin’ about like a madman, some laugh. Yagh, the big laugh. A big laugh for everyone. Fuck I need a drink. Gimmie water, and a minute’s peace, lemme say a prayer here.

Bein’ mad is mad but bein’ straight up mad is madder. Like flauntin’ it. Doin’ it in the middle of the road so to speak. So look I’ll go one better and do it outside the Europa Buscentre on a Tuesday night.

Ain’t none so fly they can touch me, just me an’ ma girl here wappin’ out the tunes and all yousins getting snotnosed. Perfectly terrible for the oul wenches who never had their father’s backs, but they’ll make up for it in tubbytime. Getting’ round to it is awful afterwards later see ye naw wait stop a minute yes enter please forget it.

So yeah, outside a bustop duettin’ with a sanger. Singer’s sang the truth then angels fell from heaven’s gate right into yer wee daughter’s paddlin pool. I like ma breakfast scrambled mostly like ma brains after a fourday headache holiday with the one I call woman. To me she is mummy my sassy my son my sis my sickle head pickled keep her goin keep er lit.

I’ve taken off my jacket now because it was weighin’ me down somethin awful. Nae syndrome like it but sure we’re all on the spectrum. We all got a little bit of somethin’ a wise man once told me once. I don’t know if he made that up himself or thieved it from another. These wise men, goin’ roamin’ the country, romanticising every girl that’s goin’ And them none the wiser all the same but the girls’ll get a goof. And their reward’s in heaven which is easy to reach if you’re pliable and malleable and slippy and dippy. Queen bitch mother lord of the underworld. Great grannies have beseeched you. Wild women have stood by your side. Hungrymen of all shapes and sizes have begged ye no quarter.

Started off with a thrupenny bit and now I’ve nahin but holes in ma socks. Nah ony jokin, I buy the nice kind from tk maxx on sale after cunts have rifled through them like fuck. While you’re riflin be sure to butt butt butt cartridge retrieved from a well-renowned printers, pastoral in print.

Extra surges through the heavens so heavenly in their heathened heave hoave oh fuck up like. Just you sit down and be quiet a minute, ye wee root. Ginger root? Aye haha aye ginger haha well done lad, here take a smoke.

Crispy pancakes fish fingers and smash pure boggin corned beef cherry tomatoes awful garbage grind the fake stuff ye just bung in the oven for pure handiness and craic, maybe summon up the strength one day to make a full on curry. Now for spastics its plastics expletives not explosives ye madman, you shouldn’t be drivin a taxi atall. Over now to gentle jim corbett who’ll be leading us through the history of pugilism

Gooday travellers! I was once a great man until they let a negro at me and I got walloped te fuck! Actually a more honest rendition would be to say that he outfoxed me. Ah those wily blacks! Yes, full of cunning, not man enough to go toe to toe! Somebody wise that man up. Awful propaganda. The fuckin’ media, doin’ them dirty, big surprise there. Jack Jackson beat his shite in, whatever ye called the cunt. Only seen him in black an white slip time, but he played with him, showed him how to box. Not sayin’ all black men are the best boxers, but like most of them. Gimmie Floyd gimmie Roberto gimmie Sugar Ray the fuckin’ both of them, Marvellous Marvin, Hearns and Joe Calzaghe. There’s way loads more known to boys that know. Class craic for researchin’ then ye go in the gym one day an’ they bate the head off ye. All in good faith. Knowin’ the craic. But not knowin’ that ye know it at the same time. Cause the second ye think ye know it: You’re fucked!