Connie Its Yer Birthday (Happy Birthday Connie)

So I had a few ideas for yer birthday. Creative shit. I did think about looking for somethin decent wrasslin wise. A rare photie of Sting kickin fuck oota Shane Douglas in a layby, or suhin of that nature. Suhin special tae Connie, but eventually I decided on somethin writing based cause I thought ye’d appreciate it more than anything I could buy ye, and also…I’m skint. Well I’m no skint the noo, but after I get a troupe of hookers tae lick Raspberry Jam aff various parts of my boady when we’re in London, I probably will be. That feels like an expensive excursion.

My initial idea was tae find out yer favourite PPV (hence askin ye hunners) and just review it. Review it like I dae everything else, tie a wee bow roon it and a sticker sayin ‘you’re the worlds greatest deid eyed emo’ on it, and that wid be that. I wis pleased wae this idea Connie. Really pleased. I thought it was a belter. Downloaded said PPV once I finally got an answer oot ye, and we were aw good tae go, but then I came up wae somethin better. Somethin different. Somethin I genuinely couldnae give tae anyone else. Naecunt who would actually enjoy it anyway. For some reason ye seem tae find the things I write amusing. Entertaining n that, so I decided just tae open a blog post, and gie ye whatever my brain decides tae spit out over the net few hours. I have a few ideas n that. All of them wrasslin based, but I might even take it outwith the realm of wrestling, cause there actually are other things oot there. I know, it always surprises me anaw. Things that aren’t wrestling, or even kinda wrestling related. I mean..whits the point?

First idea I had was tae open up paint, and draw the first thing that came intae my heid, so I’m gonnae dae that right now. It might take me a while, but obviously that disnae effect you readin this like. You’re seeing the finished article, no aw the blood, sweat, tears and pish that went intae the process behind it, but listen. Feel free tae take a break at this point anyway. Mibbe buy some Adam Cole merch, or go a wee stoat up the high street and look for cunts wae gid traps. I’m sure yer adept at spotting them at this stage, even if they’re hidden under a jaiskit or thick cardigan. Aw the traps. Anyway…DRAWING


I drew Ambrose initially, cause he’s taken ownership of my brain I think. Then for some reason I decided tae make his feet huge. I wis originally gonnae dae somethin about Seth Rollins making them that way cause his feet is where he stores aw his sad thoughts, but I decided tae go wae big Kelso instead. Meshing together That 70s Show, Dean Ambrose and some Titty Master patter. No my finest work, but I’d say its a solid B+. So whits next? I spose I’ll review some wrasslin eh. The talent that’s got me tae a stage where Noam Dar knows me on a first name basis, and sometimes we exchange hand written letters about our feelings n that. Proper gid palz.

Eddie Guerrero vs Dean Malenko (Starrcade 1997)

I wis planning on asking ye what one of their matches was yer favourite, but I decided no tae bother cause they’re aw fuckin amazin, so I opted for Starrcade 97. I’m gonnae review it btw. But no as me. No as Martin Smiff wae the big beard. I’m gonnae review it as ol Dusty Rhodes baby!

Oh yes! We got us two of the greatest young bucks in the game here baby! Got us that lil technically skilled fella go by the name of Dean Malenko. I remember wrestlin’ his brother Joe down in Mississippi, musta bin’ summer of 89. I told Joe before the bell even rung, I say “ know ol Dusty gon come at ya wit the Bionic Elbow baby! Its inevitable! Don’t fight what feels right sugar!”  Joe took that elbow like no man ever took it. Right on the bridge of the goddamn nose patna. I aint even playin. Down you go Joe. Joe Malenko baby. Underrated, and that cannot be overstated. 

Joe lil brother goin up against an acrobatic young Mexican fella by the name of Eddie Guerrero. Oh yes. Yes indeed. I like this guy. He got the stuff. Look at him! Haha he slappin that boy Malenko and they aint even locked up yet. Pushin lil naitch around. Thats the referee! This boy crazy….Wait…haud on

I started writing in the Dusty patter before I put the match on properly right. Just seen Eddie slappin Malenko aboot a bit. Naecunt had said a word. So I finally put the match on properly and who dae I hear on commentary Connie hen? Who’d d’ye hink? That’s fuckin right. None other than ol Dusty Rhodes himself…cunt is actually commentating on the match that I wis gonnae dae an impression of him on. Thats that fucked. I dunno how tae proceed here. Dae I review it as me now? Efter going down the Dusty Rhodes path. Is that viable? Will I delete this whole bit, meaning ye never see this rambling patter and aw that typing has been for fuck all? Nah, fuck that. I’ll watch on a bit.

Dusty’s talkin about destiny. Its aw about destiny Connie. I dunno so much. I think its about brilliant wrestling. Jabs n that. Beautiful vertical suplex from Malenko. Tony Schiavone gibberin in ma ear man. I cannae go that cunt. Pain in the dick so he is. Eddie goes for a headscissors takedown and Malenko turns it intae a powerbomb quite magnificently. Cause he’s a magnificent wee man so he is. Constantly looks like he just got up oot his bed, but then ye see him dae amazin wrasslin and ye come tae the conclusion that he’s probably been up for a while. Stretching n aw that. Got tae keep it stretched if yer gonnae dae hunners of mental pinning combinations, an OOOFT there he just caught Eddie in a powerslam. There Eddie screamin at him tae come ahead. Check this shit out. We’ll ye’ve probably seen it a million times, but its quite beautiful.


Come intae me! Mon wee man. Land wan right oan ma finely chiselled chin.

“Hit me ya wee dick!” before when he actually tried tae hit him, Eddie scurried away! Unreal. What a wee cheeky. Eddie’s just no keen on getting in amongst this. All of a sudden he he bursts in and takes Malenko down. DOUBLE CHEEKY.  Some uppercuts, some jabs, some chops. A wee poke in the eye. Vintage Eddie. Stood right on Deans face anaw, before hitting a low dropkick. Whit a man. This is beautiful man. Malenko blocks a suplex, and drops Eddie kidney first on the top rope. Big lariat for a twa coont. No hearing a lot fae Dusty here tbh. Disappointing. I was gonnae review the match and his commentary as an alternative tae daein an impression of him, but he’s been quiet. Mibbe his blood sugar’s drapped eh? Ye feelin awrite Dusty pal? Somedy get Dusty a biscuit.
Hahahaha I spoke too soon, there he’s talkin about destiny bein upon us again, and he just shouted suhin. Couldnae make it oot, cause he’s a mumblin bastard. Fuckin hate cunts that mumble so I dae. Its such an off putting trait. He finishes aff wae “WE GON RIDE IT HIGH TONIGHT BOYS!” …ride whit high? Whit ye talkin about big man? Aw here, I’ve got it paused and it looks like Malenko’s fell asleep staunin up. Here n I’ll show ye.


See whit I mean? Cunt looks like he’s just woke up, constantly. For such an energetic wrestler, he gives off the vibe of a guy who treats life like one big nap. That’s no a bad thing though is it. Naps are good. I had a four hour wan earlier, it was rerr. Malenko stood on Eddies hauns, then hit a dropkick, before out Eddie got dropped chin first on the top turnbuckle. Another suplex block. Dean Malenko REFUSES to be suplexed man. No fur it ataw, but it costs him dearly here cause Eddie dropped behind him ontae the apron and snapped his neck like a fuckin twig on the top rope. That’s it. Dean’s deid. Eddie wins by forfeit. Ol Dusty tells us that that move wid make yer “back crack, and yer liver quiver” even though it wisnae executed anywhere near those parts of the body. Dusty Rhodes is my hero. He’s daein a much better job of being hilarious than I ever coulda been daein an impression of him, so this has worked out no bad. I’m happy wae it. Cause I get tae watch an Eddie Guerrero vs Dean Malenko match and type words about it AND I get tae hear Dustys patter. A venture that I’m happy wae taking on. Eddie uses the top rope tae levitate himself to his rightful godlike status, before coming doon on Deanos leg. Sets up the steel steps and DROPKICKED THEM RIGHT INTAE DEANS KNEE. MY GOD KING! HE KILLED HIM!

Powerbomb fae Eddie. Dusty disnae actually say anything, but I’m willing tae bet he refers to it as something else. “A pow wow lung busta baby!” or suhin of that description. Tony Shiavone is a terrible commentator btw. Wis he always as shite as he sounds here? He cannae keep up wae this ataw. I know its not yer average wrestling match, and they’re daein things ye might not have seen, but fuck sake. Cannae just keep using generic terms for things that actually have names. Its not big or clever Tony. Anyone, Malenko has Eddie up in a torture rack lookin move and spins it intae a back breaker. Incredible. If I was on commentary for that shit I widda just screamed for a while, before lifting Dusty Rhodes up above my heid and thrusting him towards the sky like a fuckin trophy. A beautiful slice of wrasslin goodness so it wis Connie. But then, ye know that. Ye’ve seen this. Dusty just explained Malenkos reluctance tae put the Cloverleaf in as being down to his knee being in “a situation” which is fuckin hilarious. Knees cannae get intae situations Dusty mate. People get intae them and their knees just happen tae be there as an unfortunate result of being attached tae the rest of that person. Anyway, fuckin WRESTLIN. I dae that WRESTLIN! hing tae remind myself that I’m actually supposed to be writing about wrestling and no just rabling incoherently for hours at a time. It snaps ma brain back intae serious mode. Its no worked this time but, cause now I’m rambling about that. I’ll stop now. Nae seriously. I will. Honestly. Truly. WRESTLINNNNNN!

Whip intae the corner. Eddie gets caught going up top. Eddie tries tae position for the Huricanrana, but Deano blocks it. Blockin everythin. Another nifty wee rollup for a 2 count fae Dean, before he hits a beauty of a powerbomb. Spine shatterer, but the Cloverleaf attempt gets blocked. Eddie on the apron. Up top he goes. Dropkick tae the knee…FROG SPLASH BABY! Game over. Eddie retains the shiny Cruiserweight belt. Been a while fae I watched this match and that was fuckin beautiful. A sight tae behold.

How the fuck dae ye top that? Well I’ve got some more ideas. One I just thought of there. ANOTHER fuckin drawing. This time yer no permitted tae take a break. Enjoy the drawing, then continue reading. I’m no sittin crafting this literary masterpiece for ye tae be taking breaks aw the time fuck sake.

"Ah'll chop yer dick clean aff any merr ae it" - BT Gunn.  Professional chopper.

“Ah’ll chop yer dick clean aff any merr ae it” – BT Gunn. Professional chopper.

Went wae BT choppin fuck outta Eddie. This is new territory for me drawing wise, cause I’ve never actually drawn a wrestling move being performed. I was rather proud of myself, before I realised that it could easily be mistaken for BT gently rubbing Eddied chest wae the back of his hand, although you’d probably be intae that anaw eh? Ya mad weirdo. BT Gunn rubbing Vicks on Eddies chest like he’s his da or suhin. But aye. Chops n that. ON TO THE NEXT THING.

The Great American Bash 1990 – Words aboot it n that

I’ll no tell ye any lies, I’ve seen very little of auld WCW stuff. Sure I’ve tellt ye this before and ye kinda gasped like I just shat directly in yer cats eyes. When I get the network, its my first port of call, but I don’t have it yet and won’t be getting it tae I’m employed or SOMECUNT answers one of the many ads I’ve put in phoneboxes over the past few weeks. I’m no sure if “Big boaby, indifferent attitude” is the best way tae sell yersel as a gigolo right enough, but anyway. I’ve never seen this show before. I know the main event is the main recent ye like it, so I’m gonnae review the fuck outta that. Until then, I’ll skim through the rest of the show and jot down anything notable. Like if Lex Luger flexes so hard, he bursts a blood vessel n bleeds oot. Anyway…WRASSLIN!

Jim Ross having a wee chat with us tae open the show. Ye forget he used tae be able tae smile n shit. Wee shame whit happened tae his coupon. Bells Pallsy’s a bad bastard. The first match is “The Nature Boy” Buddy Landel against Brian Pillman. I had nae fuckin idea there were more Nature Boys. Too many. This cunt looks like whit I imagine Greg The Hammer Valentine would look like if he took a dunt of speed and actually managed tae open his eyes properly. Flyin Brian wins wae a top rope crossbody. Nice tae see ye Brian. Yer tiger print pants were a particular highlight.

The Iron Sheik hahaha yass. Shiekie baby. Taking on some green lookin fanny in a white cap. Who are ye youngster..whits yer name? AWWWWWW ITS BRAYS DA! Captain Mike Rotunda. Here if this is in 1990 and he’s Captain Mike Rotunda, they must have changed his gimmick quick eh? Cause I had Starrcade 90 on tape, and he was Michael Wallstreet then. Fuck knows whit he’s the captain of btw. Capitain of making beautiful bearded geniuses, and soakin Pocahontas lookin fannies. Shiekie leathers him wae a flag tae kick things off. I skipped tae the end cause I have no desire rae watch The Iron Shiek wrestle today. Cannae be fucked. The finish was dire. A really slow backslide that The Iron Sheik refuses tae sell properly, and he flexes towards the camera seconds after gettin beat, cause he disnae give a resemblance of a fuck. I’m no really daft on his Twitter either, followed it for 2 days and the patter wis shite. He just tells folk tae eat dug shite a lot, and I know ye hate Hulk Hogan mate. Don’t need tae hear about it every 15 fuckin minutes. Anyway. Whit? Fuckin…..Whits hapening here?

Ye forget this was 25 year ago I spose, but thats fuckin Zeb Colter in his gear, gettin ready tae wrestle. Against Doug Furnas anaw. I mind this cunt. Him and Phil Lafon. Gid wee tag team. I’m intrigued by this so I’ll watch it. Dirty Dutch Mantell is a HAIRY MAN. Check his fuckin back oot.



That cannae be his backhair Connie can it? Looks like he’s wearing one of yon hairy jumpers. I know men groomin thersels widnae be as acceptable back then as it is noo, but that shit needs trimmed. Incredibly dense back hair. Great beard right enough, but he must be roastin man. Sportin a permo jumper. Big Furnas gorilla presses Mantell for about 15 minutes, before droppin him tae the mat and whisperin “you look like somethin a bigfoot shat oot” Mantell isnae too enamoured with this patter, and I don’t blame him there tbh. Its no very nice tae insinuate that somedy is the result of a bigfoot huvin a shite is it? He responds by slappin Furnas a few times, which made Furnas raging. He channels that rage intae hunners of flippy, dropkicky shit and I wisnae really that intae it. Impressive, but he done a backflip out of the corner that was completely pointless. Big Dutch respons by rubbin his sweat oakster on Furnas’ shiny coupon. Furnas missed wae a top rope splash, and this shit was startin tae bore me, so I skipped it tae Furnas winning wae a snap belly to belly suplex. What did we learn here? Zeb Colter is a sweaty, hairy man, and despite them continually saying it, Doug Furnas is not, and never has been “The Worlds Strongest Man”, aint that right Mark?



Well said big yin. Nice tae see ye. Ye burst Curt Hawkins yet? Fuckin get on that asap. Cheeky wee cunt so he is. He better be the next inductee intae the Hall of Pain. Then the hospital. Nah I jest. Curt if yer readin this mate, ye made a mistake. It’s ok. I’m sure Mark understands and has moved past it. He seems like an understanding man, I mean look at they kind eyes…..NAH I’m at it. He’s gonnae bearhug ye tae yer heid pops aff. So enjoy that ma man. Also Harley Race beat Tommy Rich while I was typing that. I wisnae paying attention, but it looked like a wrestling match, so I assume that is indeed what it was.

The Southern Boys against the Midnight Express. Jim Cornette tells somedy in the crowd tae sit down and “wipe that ugly off your face, you stupid pig faced moron” which implies that he considers pigs tae be ugly. That’s just insensitive man. And I bet ye don’t even play tennis dae ye? Or is it a squash racquet? He disnae look like a squash guy either. Looks like the typa cunt tae chain smoke while he plays dominoes for hours on end. By himself. His team won though, so thats gid. I really just wantae watch Sting n Flair tbh. ERR THE Z MAN!

Z man gets his cunt kicked in aff Vader. It was like a Rusev squash, without any shiny legged Lanas tae stare at/masturbate furiously to. Vader had a mad thing on his shoulder spittin on steam. The 90s were fuckin mental.

The Steiners against The Freebirds. Everyone had a mullet and The Steiners won after a belly to belly suplex. Two matches won wae belly to belly suplexes. Wis that a big time move back in the day? Big E does about 18 of them every fuckin match he has, never had a win aff it yet. Maybe yer daein it wrang big man, whit d’ye think?

big e2e


Call me a specky cunt aye? I’m no the wan cuttin about wae a belt he disnae even hold anymore, ya gorgeous diddied ineffective belly to belly suplex slingin big WANK.

El Gigante, The Junkyard Dog and Paul Orndoff against a The Three Horseman. Nah yer awrite. I’ll pass. Gigante pushes cunts aboot, and they ran away. Ran away fae a guy that could barely walk. Cunt makes Khali look like Bret Hart.

Leg Luger against Mean Mark Callous next. I had nae idea Taker done anything notable in WCW btw. Knew he was there for a bit, but wrasslin for belts on a PPV? Mental. He looks a lot smaller. Musta had his last big growth spurt when he started the Undertaking. Anyway. Luger wins wae a shite clothesline and bolts up the road. Heyman was involved. Well done on not being bald in 1990 mate. Well done indeed.

Rock n Roll Express against Doom next. Boab Gibson gets preoccupied knockin Teddy Long the fuck out, and he turned round tae catch a flying shoulderblock aff Butch Reed for the win. Belly tae belly suplexes and flying shoulderblocks were winning moves back then. Ye forget wrasslins moved on fae then. The DDT was devastating anaw, and now its sadly run of the mill. I’m sittin huvin a wee think. Is that a good thing? Is it a good thing that moves like these cannae really be finishers anymore? Am I being too harsh on Bo when I slag fuck ootae the running Bo-Dawg? Is it a good thing tae be aw ponderous and reflective when yer writing something designed to amuse and entertain? Does any of this matter Connie hen? No really. Not when we got us a BLOCKBUSTER MAIN EVENT BABY! The Nature Boy against The Icon. Shiny belt on the line. Let’s dae it.

Ric Flair vs Sting (World Heavyweight Title Match)

Chops in the corner from Flair. Thunderous bastards tae. Stringers I’d call them. Stingers for stinger. Stings huvin none of it though. Flair pleads for the preservation of his life, but Sting does not comply. Grabs Flair by the heid, plants a regretful kiss on his forehead and snaps his neck. The dirtiest player in the game just done done by the auldest trick in the book. Deid guys can’t kick out. 1…2…3. New champ. Nah I kid. I joke. I jest. Instead Flair WOOOOs in Stings face, and Sting shouts right back at the cunt. We’re in amongst it noo. Flair fires a few jabs, and a belter of a chop to take Sting down. BT style choppage. Slings him tae the outside and floors him with another chop. Flair on top. More chops, and kicks tae Stings bad knee. Sting hits back wae frantic jabs. On and on. Reckless abandon. Nuhins wrang. Naecunt better stop him. Sends Flair across the wring wae a high arcing hiptoss, but his Flair avoids his dropkick attempt tae follow cause he’s a sneaky bastard so he is. He cares not a jot for your dropkick desires Sting ma man. Sting dodges another attack fae Flair and aw.fuck….whit…..whit ye daein Sting mate?


Sting in his infinite cheekiness locks Flair intae the Figure 4. The crowd go absolutely fuckin daft for it anaw. Everyone’s on their feet, only tae swiftly park their arses back down again cause a wily vet like the nature boy disnae have the most world title reigns for nae reason mate. He knows the rules. He knows where ropes are. Stepped through them tae get intae the ring eh. Even if he didnae know before that, he surely would have took a wee mental note. After 5 seconds of ardous figure fouring, Sting gets dragged tae the outside and hit wae another did destructer of a chop. Saaaaarest. Before Flair whips him intae the barricade only for Sting tae go all Hogan on us and no sell it tae fuck. Back in the ring, Sting gently rests his baws on Flairs chin (seriously, the baws wurnae oot, but they were about a centimetre fae Flairs chin. He had the expression of a man who had been subjected to some unexpected baw chinnage anaw) before unleashing a flurry of jabs. Catches Flair going up top and launches him wae a Gorrilla Press before coming within a bawhair of the belt wae a backslide. Stin accused Nick Patrick of a slow ount. I wjdnae be surprised man. Nick Patricks an untrustworthy swine of a man. The face of a swindler. In fact I’m no even sure if that is Nick Patrick, but I still don’t trust this cunt. He looks like a flasher. Know that way a cunt sometimes looks like a flasher? Some cunts have that general look about them. Typa cunts that cut about the park wae an imaginary dug, and kid on he’s comin up tae sniff ye. “Oh sorry about that darlin, he’s just friendly, he’ll no bite” burd turns round, and there he is, trenchcoat open, boaby oot. He was talking about his boaby the whole time.

Chops n that. We’re coming to the end here. The final countdown. Sting’s huvin a limp. Flair keeps kickin his fuckin knee man, of course he’s got a wee gammy leg. Flair batters some more heart stopping chops, but Sting refuses to yield. Sting near decpaitates Flair wae a clothesline on the apron, followed up with a vertical suplex back intae the ring. Flair’s duckin n diving, wheeln n dealin. He knows he’s in trouble. Aw fuck…STINGER SPLASH. This might be fuckin it. Locks in the Scorpion Deathlock after that, and all hell breaks loose Connie. Yer horsemen come doon, but they get met haufway up the ramp by the Dudes With Attitude, and wae the threat neutralized, Flairs got nae plan b. Surely he’s gonnae tap. Nut. No yet anyway, somehow he drags his lifeless body to the bottom rope and Sting’s forced tae break the hold. Fuck sake. Flair goes for a rollup, wae his feet on the middle rope, but Scott Steiner pushes them off. Cause Scott Steiner is aw about wrasslin being clean, and free of any form of cheating so he is. He’s a dude with attitude for fuck sake! Sting gets a 2 count wae a rollup. Another wan wae a backslide, before Flair lands abother 4 or 5 fuckin sickening chops. Sting once again refuses tae yield, and his defiance reduces Flair to his knees. “Please dont hit me Mr Stinger, I’ve still go so many burds tae ride, and so many litres of brandy tae drink oot the bottle..for the love of god, please dont hit me”
Sting’s a reasonable cunt so he is, so instead of hitting poor Ric again, he rolls him up wae the inside cradle for a motheruckin 3 count to become your NEWWWWWWW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION. 

Crowd goes fuckin bananas so they dae. Fair play tae them. We’re in an era where ye kinda grow accustomed to indifferent or even smartarsey crowds but these cunts went fuckin daft. Know why widda went dafter than any of them but? A lassie who wisnae even born yet when this shit occurred. A lassie who would literally eat her ain hand wae excitement. A lassie who’s celebrating (aye fuckin CELEBRATING….ye better celebrate btw, nae miserable coupon, crack a smile…STINGS THE WORLD CHAMP FFS) 


“When she removed his haun fae her gub, she found that only 3 fingers remained. Pointer, thumb and pinky, so she lived out the rest of her days throwin up the Wolfpac sign, cause ye know whit? Wolfpac 4 lyf ya cunts”

Sting cuts a beautiful promo after it bigging up Flair and talking about trying to emulate him. Why am I tellin you that but? Ye obviously know. Ye’ve probably seen this a million and one times. I hope I done it some sorta justice.

I was gonnae finish off by fantasy booking a match between you and Carmel. Carmel’s made it tae WWE obviously. Tore through the Divas division, knocking out every single tooth outta aw the deid eyed bimbos who cannae wrestle, and carrying them aboot in a wee pouch roon her neck. You’d come in and have glorious matches wae her. A heel vs heel rivalry, but cunts love yees both for some reason. Fuck knows. Maybe its cause yees have beautiful mat based matches, wae aw the submission holds gaun, or maybe its cause people secretly like having fire spat at them aff deranged goths, but either way. Yees would feud, and you’d eventually win the belt off her. Bull Nakano would be the special guest ref, in her golf gear, and at the end she’d raise yer hand in triumph. You get on the mic at the end an denounce the “Divas Title” name and insist that its once again referred to as the woments title cause we’re WRESTLERS. Oh aye, and instead of a mutual respect handshake at the end, Carmel would get up and knock the utter shite out ye. Cause she’s a heel to the core. Widnae knock all yer teeth out, but she’d take one, put it in her wee tooth pouch and swagger up the ramp, pouring drinks over audience members and heidering grannies. Heel…4..lyf. You’d get up, blood pouring fae yer gub, smile maniacally and raise the belt above yer heid once more. A lovely tale. I was gonnae make it more detailed, but I decided no tae cause you’ll make yer own path. Ye talk about panicking cause yer 22 and ye feel like yer maybe never gonnae get there, but I believe ye will. If yer body lets ye, theres naecunt on this planet more passionate about wrestling, and wae that passion on yer side, you’ll be fuckin fine. Dont fret so much. It’ll gie ye wrinkles so it will. Ye hink Lana will ever want tae ride yer coupon if its aw wrinkles? Exactly. 

Happy birthday Connie. Yer ma favourite deid eyed mentalcase, and without yer support I would probably have lost the plot entirely at the end of last year/start of this year. Seriously, I’d be wandering aboot Glesga askin folk tae smell ma haun. Lit that “Its peanut butter….get it sniffed, its the good stuff” That sounds a bit specific eh? I’ve no actually seen anycunt dae that specifically like, and I’ve never actually done that….seriously…I’ve no. Stop lookin at me like that fuck sake.




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