Hackney is one of the poorest boroughs in the country, and the neighbourhood I live in is pretty rough and run-down, even for Hackney. We see more than our fair share of crime and inner-city depravity: just this morning I walked past a drunk woman taking a dump in a phone box. Nevertheless we were all horrified when we learned that the local library was being used, after dark, as a brothel and crack house. The police raided it around three AM, arrested 30 people and seized a stash of drugs and weapons. We were flabbergasted, we had no idea that we had a library.
So there’s this writer cunt, OK? Kyle sumffin’, an’ ‘e’s been saying shit abaht me an’ Micky on the fuckin’ internet, on his gay-arsed blog, the cunt. Obviously this can’t be allowed to stand, you know what I mean?
So, I bells Mickey an’ ‘e’s fuckin’ fumin’, right, gettin’ ‘is tools togevver, chargin’ up ‘is nail gun an’ that, so’s we can go rahnd there and teach the cunt a lesson. Then ‘e says, “‘ang on, why don’t we send the girls in?” Now, that’s a right cuntish suggestion, coz our women are way fuckin’ crueller than we are. I mean, I like to jump up and down on a cunt’s face like the best of ’em, but I like to get in an’ out, quick like, do the damage an’ get back down the pub, less chance of gettin’ nicked that way too, know what I mean?
Any’ow Mickey’s gotta point, this writer cunt needs needs shit explaining to ‘im carefully, an’ ‘oo better to do that than the girls? Likeisay, much meaner than us they are. My Trace fuckin’ revels in it, spend fuckin’ hours working on a cunt, that girl can. Once right, she come ‘ome wiv this bloke’s dick in ‘er bag an’ fed it to the dog. Fuckin’ ‘ell, ‘ow we laughed. Sometimes I fink she gets some kinda sexual kick aht of it, an’ I don’t blame ‘er. I mean, I ain’t ‘ad an ‘ard-on for eight years, not since the ‘eart attack an’ them puttin’ me on these beta blockers like. Well, you can’t blame a girl for wantin’ to get ‘er rocks off nah and then can yer, know what I mean?
So I gives ‘er the writer’s address an’ tells ‘er to take her time but to leave the cunt breavin’. She gets ‘er little blow torch ready and some pliers and some fuse wire an’ bells Shaz, Mickey’s bird. Before she ‘eads off I say “‘Ang on, why dontcha take little Whitney wiv yer?” She’s eleven now and it would be good for ‘er to see ‘ow we do business. I mean, I’m a parent, it would be irresponsible not to take an interest in me kid’s education, know what I mean?
Hang on a sec, I will finish this post in a minute. There are people at the door, two women and a young girl.
So, they wanna put Mickey’s lovely little staf, Britney, down. Just cos she bit some cunt. I mean, she’s a dog, what the fuck do you expect, know what I mean? Ok, so she ‘alf tore off this fucker’s face and sunk ‘er gnashers so ‘ard into ‘is bollocks that you could’ve ‘eard ‘im screaming in Deptford. Wish I’d got it on me phone, funny as fuck, it was.
So, we go round the cop shop to sort it aht. an’ there’s this little dicksplash, Dembrow, I fink it is. ‘E’s allright though, ‘elped us shift’a load’a snuff movies last year, an’ I ain’t abaht to bubble him for this or nuffin’. I mean, you don’t fuck with a man’s trade, it ain’t respectful, know what I mean? We’re all nice ‘n’that. I ask ‘im how ‘is kids are. I know their names, their ages, wot schools they go to, wot grades they get. ‘E looks proper uneasy, know what I mean? I tell ‘im ‘ow pretty ‘is four year old Emily is.
Cunt gets the message, paperwork gets lost and sweet little Britney, ‘oo is brilliant wiv kids by the way and would kill any cunt just for looking at Mickey’s wrong, gets to live another day. You gotta ‘ave respect for life, is wot I say. Know what I mean?