I was sitting on the scrounge in the city centre today when Rock and Roll Stephen walked up to me. Unusual for him he had no problem being seen talking to me in public when he started mouthing off.
"I hear you and some spide beat up my mates the other night and you'd better start talking dickhead before I call the police," he yelled in my face.
I stood up and grabbed one of his ears and twisted it, pulling him down onto his honkers.
"Now say sorry you wee wanker," I told him.
He did.
Then I told him that maybe if him and his wee wanker mates wouldn't go around the town thinking they're all bohemian and looking down on fuckers that maybe they wouldn't get chinned every once in a while.
I mean seriously, why does some wee dick who can't fight think that standing laughing at Good King Thumpo won't get him a kicking? Just because he says shit like "violence in any form is unacceptable." Good King Thumpo doesn't care! What's the wee indie wanker going to do? Say "I don't accept this" and give it back to him. I'd love to see them try. They'd be screaming and crying with big gummy mouths.
Anyway I told Rock and Roll Stephen I'd let him go if he gave me a tenner for crack, which he did.
I went home and smoked my crack and spent the day bouncing a tennis ball off the wall that connects to Hooka and Fat Rab's house, hoping he'd come round to complain then I could bash his brains in. No luck but also no Angry Anderson
