#11: Fucking forgot to put the dinner on and raised next door's baby (burned it)

Send me ____________ through my E-mail at the footy(footer // bri'ish)

As you'll all probably be expecting (unknowing strangers), this, 'Headline'-kind-of-titles signifies another, "Have one Rest", reading, as we delve into the shallow waters of mishaps people are willing to fabricate and/or sacrifice to the U.K., for all to enjoy. Especially those who might've found it a bit difficult coming back from Sheffield still a-pissed and having had not showered yet the train's at 11:45am, and are buying a pepperami, a capri sun, and a Tak- Magazine of indescript quality and/or substance (if any - which I enjoyed very much).

All in all I've been pretty slack lately, but, I think I'm making solid dents in my virtual-life. I can more-and-more-regularly bring up c-c-c-cunts who bring up Virtual Land, and make logical people despair in confusion, and appropriate frugal understanding. Not sure though. I didn't like the sound of that.

Fun times, bwc, and a replacement to the #11 episode we all ceep revisiting - Luv y'all

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"I never thought to say this originally, because I wouldn't like to lose myself in a Social-Vacuum-Esque Hellscape.
Purely if you think I have something to be understood, or anything of value...
Then, and, only then.
Be a Fan.
I'm opening up the idea of conversational ramblings. I think I'm naturally born reactionary, but instilled within silence. Don't be silent...? I'm a rational Human-Rights advocate, and I create my own kindness adverse to systems of Politics, wherever possible. However I'm Just not a fan of Tories. Irony, however... makes me look at Hugh Dennis differently. Like a Human. Not a Toffee. Or John Cleese. Or countless other wealthy Artists I, "couldn't possibly", relate to."
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