“Saturday,” wrote Mister Kipling, “had some young urchins at the back door trying to sell me their pornography hard-to-pronounce pharmaceutical substances. So I invited them in and they’re now shackled in my win cellar.” Continue reading “Every Day Ends In Why” »
I get bored and enjoy arsing around on the internet, so when I can be bothered I write up some of what I get up to here. Regularity cannot be guaranteed. Constant high levels of writing quality are not promised. I occasionally use some spicy language and this may offend you, I'm pretty certain you'll get over it.
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