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Wednesday, 2 November 2016

In which One can't be bothered...

When I left The Shit-Face I fully intended to expose the shameful waste of tax payers money on the ghastly inmates, whose own families can neither be bothered to look after them or pay others so to do.

Similarly, I was once of a mind to tell the story of my time incarcerated with that vile old harridan at Langley Cross, exposing her manipulative, self proclaimed, victim status.

Instead, I just can't be bothered.

Suffice it to say that the horrible old woman completely cured me of my propensity to  collect lame ducks.

The ghastly inhabitants of the Shit Face, closely followed by the equally dreadful and ungrateful old women being cared for in their own homes, have put the tin hat on my time in 'care.'

No, it is with a tremendous sense of relief that I now wipe down shelves instead of arses various.
I can shoot the breeze with persons acquiring pints of milk (no one ever buys anything else), bid them farewell and forget about them.

As yet not one has bitten me or shit themselves and expected me to clear it up.

However, the SFO had a severe farting problem last night, which is hardly surprising since he stuffs his fat face from the moment he gets to work, interspersed only by trousorial dipping, playing on his phone or reading the newspaper.

The distribution of labour is interesting to say the least: 95% in my direction.

I'm sorely tempted to tell him which way 's up but it's difficult when breathing through one's ears.

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