theyve cut my FUCKING GAS OFF.

I heard down the pub that all our gas is coming from Boratstan or somewhere. Anyway those gas fucks have cut off my gas for not paying my gas. They should call that company the Ass company instead becasuse that s what their gass smells like anyway.

Anyway this has to happen at the coldest fucking week of the year so I'm freezing my nuts off any time I'm not in the car. Or the kebab shop. Or the cab office. Or the Exchange. Basicaly any where in Ilford is warmer than my fucking shithole of a flat.

The electricity is still working thanks to a hookup that Amal did me, and I'm learning to survive like that fat bloke off the telly who goes into the forest and eats his own shit. I'm not doing that, don't get me wrong, I'm never going to eat shit... not unless someone paid me loads of money, like 500 quid. Anyway I'm talking about survival here, and I don't know how I got sidetracked into talking about eating shit.

I have no cooker, cos it's gas, but I do have a sandwich toaster and i found out that if you leave it open you can fry eggs in it. They come out triangular but they're OK. You can get a couple of sausages in there as well. Also, I prised the gas fire away from the wall and found a real fireplace behind it, so I've been burning a chopped up door for the last few days and when that's done there's a pile of broken pallets in the back yard that will go up nicely.

Kung Fu

Did a pickup at a Kung Fu club today. I tell you it takes a special kind of cunt to go to a kung Fu club. Now I know a fair few Marshal Arts myself but you better believe I didn’t learn them off some senile old fucker whose dick gets hard when people call him Master Sensi. My skills I learned through years of street fighting, cab fighting (that’s where you twist your upper body round, duck between the front seats and punch someone in the head or balls before they can get out of the cab) and watching Fist of Fury about 500 times. So I got the eye of the tiger and the world’s best teacher (Bruce Lee) and it adds up to a lethal combo. That’s why I had to go to the police and register my hands as lethal weapons (and provide my insurance documents, but I had to do that anyway ‘cos some tosser got himself caught up in my wing mirror on Cranbrook road.)

Anyway, long story short, I picked up the cunt at the Kung Fu club and drove him up to Leytonstone and I had to put the window open because the bastard smelled so much. I wanted to say something like what kind of Kung Fu do you do, Pong Like Bum? But it came out wrong and I said do you like men’s bums and the cunt didn’t talk to me after that. Didn’t fucking tip neither so I tried to drive over his foot as I left, the smelly fucker. Cunt Fu, they should call it.