Goodbye, goodbye, it's time to go

Well, it's been fun, but I'm signing off now.

Goodbye, goodbye,

It's time to run,

Goodbye, goodbye,

I hope you've had good fun,

I said goodbye,

I'm happy that you came,

I said goodbye,

Please come back,

Please come back,

Please come back again.

You shall hear no more of me.

This is my final entry.

Sometimes, too much of a good thing can prolapse one's anus.

I asked Charlotte if she liked prawns today.

"What?!?!" she said.

"Do you like prawns?" I asked.

"Ooohh," she said, "I thought you asked if I liked porn."

I asked her if she had seen prawn porn but she didn't answer.

I did a prawn-porn mime, but no-one saw me.

I told the other Charlotte that when she was drunk the other night she had her hands all over my bum.

She looked mortified and walked out of the kitchen sharply.

She never went near my bum, nor, for that matter, near anything else.

I felt a tiny bit guilty for winding her up.

Actually... no I didn't... but I did feel I tiny bit guilty for urinating in Tim's special cup.

I told Jams today about the present I got for him: a plastic, pint, skull mug for the kitchen.

It's heavy metal.

Sleepo asked me if I was being sarcastic tonight.

I said no.

I lied.

I asked Mini for a drink after one of my testicles fell off, as a result of "oversweat".

It came,

eventually,

I enjoyed it,

Eventually.

Danny wasn't in.

What a shame.

"Danny and I," I keep thinking, "Nous existons là où d'autres ne peuvent pas exister"

Our little corner of the world which we look after

 -  a fridge in Parkgate

 - the Wirral

 - the arse-end of the fucking world

 - where people think a dead river is something to be admired.

Wankers.

You, they and us,

All wankers.

C'mon Danny lad, lets go and get a fucking drink and a smoke sometime.

And enjoy the crack, sure enough.

And I'll say in my best French accent,  "Nous existons là où d'autres ne peuvent pas exister"

and your mother was a Fanny

and her mother was a Fanny

and so on and so forth...

Remember Danny, we can say what we want. If you look at the title, this is Modern left-wing pseudo-anarchist literature by Craig Guthrie.
Yes, we can indeed say what we want.

Goodbye Cleaning Down, it's been fun...

at times...