Send me ____________ through my E-mail at the footy(footer // bri'ish)

Hello there, everybody. Or... Inevitable nobody, for somebody we do not know, like, understand, respect, or feel like oxygenating in discussion.
Unless...?
Here's something potentially not-funny, grindingly moist, and yet gritty as chewable tarmac. I find my intentions thrilling, personally! I was on a thrill-ride-high-of-fantastical-and-immeasurable-to-others', pleasurable, honey-flavoured suffering. And If I am to entertain others... I'm allowing them to seek some fucking awful godawful cursed auditory imagery, of a man who is lonely enough to reeeally scrape the barrel of his last bit of wages. Bored. Working at M&S. As a Poor and overaged, Temporary Gobshite (I was brilliant, I've just lost hope in getting Bollocked from the Job... 6-stretch, 'n'all.)

The flavour of my month back then was probably, how sexy some older women treated me. Honesty. I need these dribs and drabs. Without that... My Cock stops fucking trying.
Scraping money together for a Brass instead, these days. That's Cockney-Rhyming-Slang for, "A Girl of Class".

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"I never thought to say this originally, because I wouldn't like to lose myself in a Social-Vacuum-Esque Hellscape.
Purely if you think I have something to be understood, or anything of value...
Then, and, only then.
Be a Fan.
I'm opening up the idea of conversational ramblings. I think I'm naturally born reactionary, but instilled within silence. Don't be silent...? I'm a rational Human-Rights advocate, and I create my own kindness adverse to systems of Politics, wherever possible. However I'm Just not a fan of Tories. Irony, however... makes me look at Hugh Dennis differently. Like a Human. Not a Toffee. Or John Cleese. Or countless other wealthy Artists I, "couldn't possibly", relate to."
{Poddy e-mail address coming soon.}