Tuesday Tourettes

Of course you're a f*cking bad mother, you're FOURTEEN for christ's sake! If you couldn't afford to buy your hideous chavvy blue eyeshadow from Poundland last week what makes you think you can feed a f*cking army of illegitimate mongrels all of sudden? Put a f*cking condom on his f*cking d*ck and shut the f*ck up you useless little trashy wh*re.

F*ck you and your multitude of vomitous technicolour pixels. I don't need you or your f*cking mule you limped in on.

I don't give a flying F*CK how many billion tons of goddamn CO2 i pump into the atmosphere just because i left my f*cking phone on charge or my hi-fi on over night. I don't know about you but i actually have a life and couldn't be f*cking bothered to sit and reprogram every single f*cking station each f*cking morning in the off chance that I MAY choose to listen to one later that day.

What the f*ck do you think this is? A game of f*cking Pass The Parcel for retards??

Do i HONESTLY look like I give a flying continental mother-f*cking orga*smic holy SH*T about how special you think you are? Because honey you ain't. You're more than likely just the result of one of your sl*tty mother's many blind drunk f*ck-fests and your father is probably your uncle for all you know. Which would explain your f*cking cleft palate.

Ignore me. Don't comment. Come back another day.