spitting out pieces of his broken luck teeth he knuckles down with primate pride and polishes the tip of his good luck charm. the effort takes him but minutes and his efforts are rewarded by the pages being welded together as if by fish paste glue. but then again, perhaps it is?
ever wonder why?
ever think at all?
nah, no need is there? just limp along with a belly full of piss and a head full of shit.
you my son are the future and the past and the present.
porno mags aND jUNK food/ telly tubbie retard/black belt in farting
and you know what?
you are as good as it gets.
britains future is secure in that knowledge.
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