So there I was roysh, life focked, reputation focked, finances focked – everything completely focked, roysh, and we’re talking big time. And it’s all Fionn’s fault, basically. He’s the four-eyed focker who told me that, like, the first time you do it, roysh, you’re firing blanks. Like an unloaded Uzi – seriously impressive, hard as fock and totally ready for action, but the safety’s, like, on, you know. Well that was a pile of stinking turds for storters. And of course it’s muggins here who ends up with the kid – life is SO focking unfair. On top of all that, roysh, the goys stort to, like, totally lose it – JP has gone all Jesus on my orse, Oisinn is basically trying to fock over Interpol and Christian is talking about weddings and, I don’t know, love and stuff. I mean, I am seriously beginning to feel like I am the only good-looking, loaded, sane goy in the whole of, like, Dublin.
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