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Ach here - hes out there, in the land of peyote and ayahuasca - an impressionable wee prick like GB is always going to wander into experimentation arms and eyes wide open.

 

But when the resultant output is this slam poetry pish poking at the proximity of decency and good tastes; then well ach fuck who cares.

 

Hell be fine.

I hope he dies of aids soon. Or a slow and painful bullet to the stomach in deepest darkest Rio.

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Love going to Easter road. When lewis boshed his head against the racing(post), but of cocker knee thrown there. I think i shouted come on joe, meaning get on with it, whoops, got that one wrong. Stil won the game though.

Was good day oot - memorable for the Cerny sha la la la la la la song

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