specialbrewrants

JPH's Kebab Nightmare by SS.

Ladies (unlikely I know) and Gentlemen (plural also unlikely) readers of this Blog. It is my pround pleasure to introduce to you a new monkey on the typewriter. By the traditions of this Blog he will be known only by his initials, SS. (No relation to the famous organisation of the same name, I think)

Sometimes a great master must take on an apprentice with a view to his own future and to pass his great skills down to future generation. Ideally the one chosen should display a natural talent for drunken ranting so ferocious that with careful nurture he will eventually surpass his master in this fine art.

Unfortunately the words 'talent' and 'skills' are so devoid from my new boy-wonder of the text, that if they are applied to SS then their use will be somewhat oxymoronic. Moronic is actually what you can expect from this cant as he is normally Stella'd off his tits.

Enjoy...


Good evening y'all. Welcome to the all new 'friends of JPH' specialbrewrants posting section.

As you can imagine, the number of contributors to this section will be finite. In fact, if there are any other contributors other than me, I'll eat my hat. Let me introduce myself. My name is Tony Blair. I'm JPH's ONLY friend.

I'm posting now as JPH is currently sat on the pot squealing like a pig, arse like the flag of japan, whilst listening to the Dark Side of the Moon. The Kebabs round here are very nice. I've had one myself this evening - nothing wrong with mine, but JPH's seemed to want to 'follow through' all the way if you get my drift. Anyway, you may have had a rather one-sided view of JPH's character from his incessant mysogonistic rants on this blog. I'm here to set the record straight[sic].

Straight is a rather ambiguous term when talking about JPH. He may not be inclined to roger a member of the same sex up the Cadbury Highway, but that doesn't make him any less a deviant. Only this evening, I've had to listen to him waffle on about the merits of pouring a half pint of cream over his knob and letting some farmyard animal lick it off. And me a Member of parliament!

Note to Self :

Cream from waitrose, 3 litres should do it, oh, and get rid of Cherie for the evening.

Note to Self2:

If it works for an evening, think about ditching the fucking puke-inducing whore-bag permanently and moving to a farm in Devon.

posted by gruad @ 10:30 pm