Love is a Cunt and It Punched Me in My Mouth.

Metaphorically, of course. It couldn’t actually hit me. That would be insane. Although I think I would rather get a punch in the mouth. In-fact, there’s a very good chance I will. I have two weeks coming up where I shall be doing my very best to avoid an American fella who really wants to break what little teeth I have left. Part of me kinda wants that to happen though just for the satisfaction I’d feel from seeing him deported, but another part of me is terrified of being punched/kicked.

I can take a fair punch though, I have to say. I’ve been hit by pretty big people before and surprised myself at my ability to not hit the deck like a scared little girl. There was this one time some massive guy, who was probably about forty, I was eighteen, walked up to me in the street and declared how he had “had enough of listening to my fucking shit” and began to pound on my face. Now, I feel this would be a good time to let you know I had never seen, or spoken to, this guy ever in my life. I had never seen, or spoken to, this guy in my life. He hit my head a couple of times then his mate ran up to us and said a similar thing, then he started hitting the guy who was hitting me. It was very unusual.

I have fallen to the ground once during one of my many encounters of random acts of violence. I hate to admit this but they were only about fifteen, where I was twenty-three. There was about ten of them though. I was walking down a lane known locally as “shit alley” and this big gang of kids came up to me and asked me for a fag. I gave them all a fag, then they tried to fight me, but jokes on them because I didn’t fight back. Haha! The fools! They had me on the floor, kicking me and shit, then they all ran off apart from this one guy who helped me up and ever walked me to the end of the lane and onto a main road. Just as we got out of the lane he turned to me and said “one more thing”,  then punched my mouth again. I lost my glasses and everything.

Back to my point, my chest hurts like shit. Even reading Alan Partridges’ autobiography reminds me of this god-damn girl and there is not a thing I can do about it apart from wait until everyone has gone to bed and I’m all alone and then I sulk. Hard. I sulk hard. Maybe posting a photo of my balls on someones sleeping lips on the Internet will cheer me up?

It didn’t. Now I’m just heart-broken and embarrassed.  Can you believe anyone would want to give these balls up? Well they do. A few people have. In fact, I can safely say I have NEVER left a girl in my life. I’m not sure what that says about me. I’m more dumpable than boyfriend material, I guess. At least that’s something I can offer the ladies, eh?

Does anybody new want to dump me? I’m on the market, so if you’re interested email and we’ll work something out.



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