I know I'm such a player, i'll call a Mr. Woolf, a fixer. I've got stacks of mates. Then I remembered that I'd pissed Dave off, he used to be my best mate. He let me stay in his house and i re-payed him by running up a massive phone bill calling some tramp I met online in Oz who was really a man oh well and then leaving without paying. Or, there was Penelope, she'd stood by me for so long, putting up with all my absolutely animalesque behaviour. She told me she loved me, so I chased after her friend just for a bit of a laugh and made sure she knew about it. Shit, maybe being such a selfish fucker was alright for a bit but feck, wTF? what happened to my meal ticket woman?
I peered back over at the settee and shat myself.Then I sat down on the floor and cried. Like a girl.
'Mum,' I muttered down my little Nokia phone.'Please pick up the phone',
'Hello, son?' I can't speak. My mind seems like it has stopped working properly, the
room seems really white, white everywhere. My mum was the only mate I had left. I suspected that someone with little in their life was gradually deleting all of my facebook friends one by one. Truth is I was just such a leeching, boring liar that no one could be arsed with me. The thought crossed my mind, ' Maybe she did this to herself?? '
And, guess what Dear Reader. Beside her once beautiful body, too beautiful for a maggot like me was a note, in perfect handwriting.
I would rather gauge my eyes out than spend another evening with Stanley,
He is just such a bore. He plays on WOW all the time. He never puts the seat up. Hopefully I'll come back as a Zombie and have access to an American Express Card paid for by my sugar daddy. If not, don't worry about me, it really was just so very dull in this house, cleaning and listening to his mates shout over the xbox before they all fell out. Regards to my facebook friends and yes i did delete four of yours just to wind you up, it thrilled me,
Well, tootles y'all
Murdered Innocent Victim, ( now deceased)
I heard someone rustling at the window about half an hour ago. Oh pants i might've told my mum about this. Someone has called the filth.
Faced with the ultimate dilemma. Go to prison for life, or face up to the fact that everyone I knew would either emigrate or arrange their own deaths to avoid an evening in with me??
I choose the latter and as WPC Malone walks in I'm found cutting up the note with a pair of scissors, close to her, my DNA everywhere.
Oh well, better get used to life inside, at least Ian Wright might visit I hear?