To the thundering fucker who stole my phone out of my jacket in Nancy Blake’s last Saturday night, can I say only this:
May your arse fester and close up, you stinking thieving son of a whore.
May your dick rot and drop off.
I hope you get attacked by an army of giant knob-eating ants.
May you swim with Germans.
I hope you’re shot with shit so you’ll be dead and dirty.
May your dog get piles.
May you die roaring, you filthy, scummy, cocksucking, lowlife fucking thief.
I hope the phone gives you brain cancer.
Why am I so angry at this lowlife piece of shit?
Two reasons: I lost all my phone numbers, and equally annoying, this was the phone I won for blog post of the month back in June.
Bastard. May your shroud be too short.
Isn’t it lucky I was surrounded by sympathetic friends?