Monkey Flu strikes me too!

Today I've been lying in bed with monkey flu (the disease that dickheads get when they get a cold and think it's the latest epidemic). After a very shaky night last night I'm glad it's not swine flu. Fabian Wildman and Betty Blue have been banging away and it's hard to sleep with the sun blasting into my room. I've got Battle Cat upstairs for company but he wasn't as house trained as we thought so I've a lump of shite to clean off the floor. It'd be super cool if he'd eat it like a lot of dogs do. I might hunger him a bit tonight to see if he will but I don't like being mean to the wee thing. He looks to me to be nice to him.

The sweaty metallers called round earlier to see about arranging a jam. I said I should be better by Wednesday and they said that was smokin' hot.

Monkey Flu Comes To Belfast

Today I woke up to screaming, it was different screaming to Fabian Wildman's sex screams. I went running downstairs to find it was Fabian Wildman. He was standing in the kitchen with his hand under the cold tap screaming and crying.

"What's wrong? Did you burn yourself?" I asked.

"No!" he screamed. "I've been infected with Monkey Flu!"

"You mean swine flu?" I asked recoiling from him like I would from granny porn.

"NO! MONKEY FLU!"

"What's monkey flu?" I asked.

"You get it from eating beige foods!" he squeeled. "It makes you shit and piss yourself turn about and then you die,"

"Beige foods?" I asked wondering why he'd his hand under the tap.

"You know buns, pastries, all that shit that tramps eat, now one of the fuckers has bit me! Fuck those gypsy bastards down castle street! I only reached into his tin looking for crack money!"

"Maybe if you did an honest days begging instead of stealing you'd have the money now instead of monkey flu, which by the way sounds like a load of balls to me."

"You'll be sorry when you find me dead!" he squeeled running up the stairs in a wild panic. He locked himself in the toilet and he's been there ever since.