Arriving squalling and annoyed into a rural English wasteland you would all probably find fucking charming, I endeavoured to shit, eat and hate continuously until I gained the power of speech. WHICH IS WHAT EVERY MOTHERFUCKER ELSE DID SO NO JUDGEMENTS! I’d write some pseudo prophetic satire like my colleagues did, but frankly I can’t be asked.


My virginal years were spent wanking, obviously. But also developing an unhealthy relationship with fictional worlds. The two go hand in hand, clearly. I also started a lifelong love affair with a complete and utter pathological hatred of our faltering so called civilisation.
I got myself an edumucation from these book-ama-fings and made my way in the big, wide, putrid world. I wanted to be a writer, because of a compulsion I can neither explain nor contain, but the older I get, the more I realise that the universe is an unfeeling, uncaring BITCH.


I wipe bums for a living and continue to despise every facet of our moronic species. But it isn’t all bad news … I’m in love! Oh, she left and won’t talk to me anymore. But heh, I’m here now to help lead you through the dark and the stupid, the awesome and the hilarious. Let me guide you, rotting meat sacks, let me guide you.

Over Heard:

“Hello, is that the suicide hotline? No? They hung up. I don’t blame ‘em really.”

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