Just had three short haired junkie fuckwits come to my door at four in the morning, accusing me of having a mate called Stewart, or Stuart, or however their junkie minds spell it, that's been banging up through their floor as they're being noisy junkie fuckwits, and his Purple Eminence must have been advising them as not only do l not know any Stuart, or Stewart, so he can't be my mate, but I don't know them either. Or what landing they're on so I can't return the favour with some help from my actual mate, Peter the claw hammer.
One of the cnuts threatened to kill me and bury me in the local park, which is nice. As l was only wearing my Reebok boxer briefs at the time, l avoided listening to the Emperor's advice to go after them as I wasn't equipped properly, so l told the gobby **** good night, **** off, and slammed the door.
To be honest, I am torn between phoning the Bill, waiting for them to come back so the gobbiest **** among them can meet Peter, or going looking for them. I don't like junkie cnuts at my door threatening me on behalf of someone who l don't know,.
And what's even worse, since I wasn't wearing my glasses, I couldn't even give a good description of the cnuts to the police. ******* shit way to start my birthday.
.
I am probably going to have to find Stewart, or Stuart, and give him the Gypsy"s Warning about these goings on.
I am scared though. Not just of the three junkies, but of me, as I would like nothing better to do than try my very best to kill all three of them.