Joanne

For sometime, the great JC has been insistent that he blogs his flogging attempt at poems, songs, short stories and other foreboding, forbidden, downtrodden angsty stanzas, that amounts to sad bastard stoicism and self with valour in the face of cruel adversity.
It’s all a crock o shit, crocker.
I have had enough of it.
He got dumped a few weeks ago, folks.
Again.
Dumped, permanent markered, sherricked, ostracised, de-idolised, heave-ho and cheerio big spender
For Christs sakes man, get over it.
it won’t be thee last time that thoust doth be shatteth upon.
Moody bastard that you are.
Lets get back to that collaboration we had going before. Those times of fifteen hits a day, they can be ours again. We are better than 3 hits max.
Give them some candy, Candourman.
Fine, that guy from Inverness, her from Dundee and that French lassie, they have stuck by you. They have shared with you in your moment of bullshiteing.
Invite them round for a sausage roll if you have to pee-hee and tee hee.
I have fish to poach in milk, bigger than those pilfering pilchards, large lord of martyrdomesticity.
So, JC, pull your self together. Let’s get back onto the big subjects.
Blog Subjects of the Future= Suggestions
The Pope’s sex abuse thingy, laughs galore.
The coming Revolution of O-10, abundant tears and chequered bunnets.
Redneck America and sodden motherfuckin Obama.

Never mind all the poncey rancid psychobabble. Your public deserve better. Forget all that, paralysis analysis, codepentia dementia, peoplepleasin cohesion, headfuckin headduckin dancing, you chancer and tell them like it is.
Folks, I know this prick better than most of you.
Sometimes.

I walk, I am the one that walks with my head held high. I loved and do not regret it. I will cherish the beauty of it all.
If you can see that through the fog then you are blessed.
You’re the the one talking bull, CJ. You know fine that I am pursuing the spiritual path. The path of love, tolerance and understanding. the path free from anger, bitterness and gossip.
No more cynicism or criticising. These people know you, with your barbed jaggedjibes, your anarchic sarcasm, your resident resentment.
Your knicked Guvnor. Cuff him, Charlie
I know you CJ, you kill me.
Sometimes.

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