All the excitement of a Christmas news letter, every day of the year.
Albert? Well done for finding a friend. These are few and far between, but you don't often get one who wants to bite you. Hotboy
Jealous hotters? You just wish you had friends with teeth.
Albert? I'm a afraid your little visitors are my fault. I'm sorry. Because you said my book was shite. Even if it is shite, you're not supposed to say that just because you're not. So the bed bugs! You'll never get rid of them unless you go for the agent orange, or do all those things like checking all the seams of the single silk sheets covering you rich basturns all have there in the hot places. Only folk brought up by the virtuous working classes know how to deal with such things as the bed bug infestation. The only alternative is to talk to the bugs and tell them you're sorry for ruining my holidays by being honest, which, was Moliere had already pointed out, leads to the complete collapse of the social nicety nice! Also, you will have to tell the bugs the book was a post-modernist de-constructivist existentialist masterpiece only fifty years after its time. You won't do this because you don't understand interconnectivity and should stick to reading computery manuals written by the Japanese. Hope this helps. Hotboy p.s. I have got friends with teeth!
I say!It's obviously one of these. Scroll down, and you will see the solution: "Maintain good personal hygiene."Need I say more?MM III
I say!Did you raise a brendice to the New Year?MM III
Hotters, where does my review say it's shite? I was very careful not to say it's shite.And if I could ever actually jettison the social nicety nice, I would at last be following your advice.Mingers, at NY I was in bed by 10, with bugs. I left the poultice-raising to others.
Albert? After your insightful review. I decided to commit suicide by jamming my finger in the library letterbox. Also, I decided to sell all the rights for ten pounds. Have the cheque in the post soon please as I need the money for plasters. Hotboy p.s. It says on the wall: "Ah. let my enemies write a book!" It's ascribed to Job. That can't be right!