Featuring all new material except for some stuff from the previous album which was withdrawn because of that business with the estate of Sir John Betjeman
Timed for the Christmas bonanza where people go all soppy and try not to be twats for 24hours, it should sell well containing, as it does, loads of Love except for “Flower of my Dreams’ which is all about murdering and only ended up on the album because some twat just read the title and not the content.
It will be available everywhere (Amazon, Spotify etcetera). It won’t be available on Apple Itunes because they’re evil bastards.
For the time being it can’t be bought on this site because the shop function is faulty. What it does is, if you buy anything, it gives you 250 Yen and sends whatever you buy to a non-existent address in Bulgaria. Don’t get me started about my web streaming service – anyone who saw me during testing can rest assured it was not me or Amelia.
Buy three copies: one for you, one as a gift and one as a spare in case you lose the first one (doesn’t apply to downloads)
ffs, do not listen to track seven.
Available November 14, 2020 from Sywwow Records & Audio Media Products: “Fuck You Cunts”
Some time ago I was trying to impress some science-type tarts.
I made up a load of bollocks. I supported this rubbish with graphs, diagrams and a picture of a Polar Bear.
They were very impressed and I’m now well regarded by science-type tarts throughout the known world.
The recent shit weather has exposed my made-up-nonsense to be nothing other than made-up-nonsense.
My, so-called, “Global Warming” got out of hand mainly because brain-dead cretins such as the BBC and most of the mainstream media will believe any shit you feed them.
I apologise for all the trouble I have caused particularly at this time of Global Cooling which I am formally announcing now. I will be publishing loads of stuff which proves this awful scenario to be true with graphs, diagrams and a picture of a Polar Bear.
What I will tell you now is some of the things you can do to combat this Global Cooling: Drive cars with big engines (2Litre or above), smoke cigarettes, spank loads of tarts, don’t recycle anything, never buy ‘green’ products and leave your lights on. I am setting an example by doing all these things with gay abandon
It will be devalued and there will be a temporary run on gold.
The collapse will be signalled by an ‘amusing‘ little story in the incompetent juvenile mainstream media who will report a quaint deal where the invoice must be paid in gold.
The USA is ‘printing‘ money like it’s worthless paper – which it is. This will lead to inflation.
For years the USA has been receiving goods from China paid for in dollars, The Chinese couldn’t spend it fast enough so they bought US Treasury Bonds. Most of the trillions of dollars debt the US owes is to China. Inflation turns this debt into peanuts.
The US will eventually revalue their currency based on their substantial gold & oil reserves and, once again, the dollar will reign.
Who will be left with fuck all? The Chinese. Seems like a plan from the outset
Normally the outsourcing lackies who work for corporations and drive fag Audis are so weak & inept they make me puke in a galvanised steel bucket so it came as a pleasant surprise to receive an obnoxious & threatening letter from the evil empire which is Apple:
This guy won’t last five minutes acting like a real man who talks the talk. Whether he does or not is largely irrelevant for they shall all be decorating lamp posts sooner than you’d think.
The Soviet Union lost the Cold War in 1962 when Khrushchev reached a secret agreement with Kennedy. Ever since that point, the chattering classes and ‘experts’ predicted the imminent end of the world in nuclear war. This never happened. Excepting accidents & misunderstandings we never even came close (Incidentally, I am one of the few people on earth who knows what they would do during the ‘two-minute warning’ after one such accident).
The world has a tendency to blunder along surviving or dodging predicted end-of-the-world scenarios. This is due to the firefighting which quells things before they get wholly out of hand. Like Khrushchev and Kennedy did, largely without credit.
The genius of Roosevelt ensured the United States of America became the dominant power for 50 years after World War Two ended. Now, the USA is at a crossroads. The political will is such, the USA will no longer dominate the world but will squabble over rubbish which you can see every night on the news. Like the Romans, decadence and weakness has sown the seeds of its downfall.
China China China
In Part Two I will tell you how the world, as we know it, will end with the proviso that there are still Khrushchevs and Kennedys out there and many more unknown individuals who put out fires every single day. There may even be a Roosevelt
I attend the Cricket Club on selected Sundays when I get confirmation there’s free Champagne and a buffet laid on.
I sit on a deck chair and occasionally shout things like: “Howzat, Well Played and Good Show”. Actually, they’re the only the three things I randomly shout because, like everyone else, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
This week I noticed a sign: “Well behaved dogs are welcome in the bar”. Bastards. That’s clearly aimed at my dog, Fred.
A more blatant case of dog racism I have never seen or hope to see again.
My dog has only ever ‘attacked’ three people and only two of those were actually members. And, when he did a shit on the carpet, he must have had a good reason.
Fuelled by Champagne and a large bowl of strawberries they’d unwisely left next to some cream I entered the bar accompanied by Fred, who had got a pork pie from a table he’d leapt onto en-route.
After some Pimm’s and a glass of Brandy, for courage, I announced to the assemble gentry my displeasure at the dog insult.
Everyone was looking at me which is always a big mistake to an egotistical prima donna such as I.
Next minute I’m standing on a chair expounding all sorts of stuff about freedom, the rights of the individual and discrimination.
This went down extremely well, even better as I introduced Boadicea, Queen Elizabeth I, Nelson & Churchill into the oration. When I eventually finished, I got a round of applause.
The room was spinning a bit by then, I was hot and a little over emotional which would account for me losing my footing as I attempted to leave the chair. This spooked Fred who did a shit on the carpet and then he tried to bite the Club Secretary.
I am banned until Michaelmas (whenever that is) and Fred is permanently excluded from the bar. The dog racist bastards.
I collect stories. As a consequence, I can talk for 10-minutes on any subject you care to mention.
I issue this challenge to pass the time sometimes on journeys. Today a tart who wants another, yes another, fridge freezer suggested as a subject; “Fridge Freezer”.
I generally tell the first available story delivered to me by my enormous brain. The trouble is, these stories may not be what you expect.
A Fridge Freezer Once upon a Time I would travel via a scenic shortcut between my mountain retreat in Wales and the great metropolis.
I would pass over a large hill. From atop, people would gather in Summertime and look at the view stretching out before them for miles & miles.
At this point was a village of sorts with little lanes disappearing off and scattered buildings some of which were barns and the like.
One Summer’s day three little children were playing hide and seek. In a farm building they had found a most excellent place: an old freezer.
Their friends never did find them.
Later that night one of the many adults who were now, themselves, seeking, found them.
The irony was, they died unable to see their hands in front of them yet inches away they could see for 25 miles.
This is what you will do: If, for whatever reason, you have a fridge or freezer outside for a brief period, you will accomplish the easy & simple task of removing its door. You will then struggle and pull, tug & tear the seal of the door until it is removed or damaged significantly.
You will never use an old freezer, say a waist height one, for storage.
If someone is inside a freezer it is not possible to get out. Period. Yet, someone outside can put a fingernail between the seal and the door thus breaking the vacuum and the door is now free. You will never test my statement or allow this.
As I said, this story was the first to mind which, in itself, is a story as to why this happens.
In telling a story it unlocks others. Concerning this particular hill, I have several stories including a Winter’s tale involving death, the police, a law dating back to 1066, financial misdeeds and me, my stories very often feature me.
Owing to a misunderstanding on my part regarding the difference between millimetres and centimetres a consignment of handkerchiefs I ordered for my Man of Todayfashion range turned out to be the size of bed sheets.
Ergo Fashion by Sywwow has a new line: Bed Linen
The sheets have my Sywwow Slut logo embroidered on them. The logo is a bit big and can lead to a sleepless night for anyone on that side of the bed. This does not concern me.
Please note the Fashion by Sywwow Bed Linen Range consists of the sheets only. I’m not getting into the sordid business of pillow cases & duvet covers. I only got into women’s panties to help out a friend and my men’s range only came about because of the altercation I had with Amazon over Spanking.
Lord Sywwow initiated an ad campaign offering ‘Free Cookies’ to females he whips. The resulting backlash prompted him to make matters worse by extending his offer to also include spanking.
To add fuel to the fire of his making he then added ‘Free Salads’ to women he whips as an option to the cookies because of some ludicrous notion this would please women – especially, ‘fat tarts’.
It is only after this debacle did he involve me – his head of Media and Public Relations.
I shall not even attempt to justify this lunatic’s ideas. Instead, I appeal to all editors to drop this story. There are plenty more important things going on in the world than the latest catastrophe this jerk has gotten himself into.
I was dazzled by his animal magnetism and devilish charm when I took this post. I was only at my desk for a day before he tried to start World War Three. Not content with that he then tried to blow up the moon with a laser he’d stolen from somewhere.
It’s lucky for him you didn’t know about the Angela Merkel thing.
I’m on LinkedIn if you need an experienced and loyal PR Rep.
On the presumption I get clearance from a certain delightful dame I shall soon relate a story of romance, love, passion and tit torture. (You tarts love tit torture. Every single one of you – I know you do)
Integral to this story is my use of something I shall call ‘Tart Ties’. These Tart Ties are used by me ONLY. No-one else in the world has the intellectual ability or lateral thought capabilities to employ these items as I do.
They are capable of tying a tart to a bed or her hands behind her back with no possibility of escape yet are releasable by me in less than a second. Their ability to tie tits together or to purple them individually is unapparelled.
I won’t show you them or go into unnecessary detail as to how they work or describe then unduly so as to keep them a secret – my secret.
The purpose of this article is to let you know what they are to avoid interrupting the flow of my epic narration of what I did to xxx.
Tarts who know precisely what Tart Ties are – because I tell them, directly – are sworn to secrecy and, thus far, they have abided by this requirement.
If your curiosity is such, you can find out yourself by availing yourself of my most excellent services, an advert for which shall now be shown:
In truth, I am hardly inundated with clients but do engage in answering many questions – which I am happy to do.
There is a dichotomy here. If I was to tell stories of slapping a bottom several times, having a chat, then repeating the process it’s hardly riveting stuff. Equally, what verges on the extreme provides entertainment at the risk of alienating some (whom still enjoy the varied content).
I must reiterate how mild I am more than pleased to be. It would appear, for whatever reason, some ladies have never been spanked yet yearn for that and that alone. Uniquely, I will service this requirement and simply give you a spanking – nothing more or less.
In a moment of exuberance, I may have over-stated my motorbiking skills whilst trying to impress the tarts at Spotlight Casting.
I told them I can ride them, fix them, do stunts, go fast and go even faster.
The good news is I have landed a part requiring me to film at nearby Silverstone for two whole weeks for a nice wad of cash. The down-side is: I have to ride a fucking motorbike. To be precise, multiple variations thereof.
This is a disaster. Why didn’t one of you twats stop me?
The last time I was on a motorbike it resulted in a rather serious incident in Florida. It wasn’t my fault. Over there, in The United States of America, the traffic lights are overhead. Who the fuck looks up there? And, to make matters worse, they all drive on the wrong side of the road like those wankers in Europe.
Added to this mix was a considerable amount of tequila I’d consumed whilst impressing a pair of twin brunettes with renditions of Shakespeare.
To complete the list of circumstances, I was speeding to meet a girl called Helen, whom I still love though have not seen in years. And, it was raining.
As I recall, it was a Honda 250. It was big and you do not want to end up underneath one in the middle of an intersection.
The good news was, I got on the TV news in Miami – my first public appearance in America.
I shall soon be riding at high speed around Silverstone looking cool and getting paid to do so.
A brave girl, Marie, risks all to travel through time in an adventure to pale all others.
Using a complex machine of the design left behind by Nikola Tesla and constructed by none other than the legend Lord Sywwow, she has been given a task by the Lord of Chaos and given the key to the past, the future and everything.
Danger, excitement and terror are of little concern to this brunette beauty as she obeys every mad load of shit this nut-job comes up with.
Alone, defying the laws of physics and the rules governing the fabric of time, can she be trusted to do a relatively simple task that any tart should be able to do with the utmost ease?
Come with me now as we find out what happens when Marie goes back in time…
My Socks of Great Sexiness are a great success, just read this bollocks:
“I’ve pulled loads of tarts and it’s all down to the socks”.
“I thought he was a right ugly twat until I noticed his socks so subsequently shagged him but he took his socks off so I jumped out the window and broke my leg but it was worth it”.
“I like the socks”.
Wow. What can’t speak can’t lie very much.
Surprisingly, women are wearing them:
“I didn’t know I was a lezzer until I wore the socks Now as I type this glowing review about your socks, I’m being fucked up the arse by some dyke with a strap-on I met in the DIY store which I thought was a florists”.
“I couldn’t pick up girls until I got the socks now they chase me down the street wanting me to have sex with them (I’m a girl)”
“I like the socks”.
Wow. Stuff that’s not been made up.
I’ve received complaints about availability. I’m sorry but these are premium fashion items so are unavailable on Amazon because they banned my book and sell shit like nappies and washing powder. Low end retailers like those cunts Tesco and those bastards Currys are not the sort of dumps you’d find products of mine – thank you very much indeed.
Buy My Socks and Get Fucked – Trademark
UPDATE: MY Socks of Great Sexiness are now available at ALDI
Sywwow Socks of Great Sexiness official supplier of socks to Virgin Galactic
This article is for men only and concerns itself with spark plugs which are invariably oily & dirty so are not the purlieu of lovely ladies who should, rather, busy themselves with needlework and such.
Therefore, ladies, there is no need to read past this point
note a life ring has appeared on the canal near to where I usually fall in.
I have chosen to ignore this insult and carry on about my affairs as if it wasn’t there. I’m above being sucked into such trivialities.
What twats. They’re just pissed off over the ambulance – which I never called in the first place and why they sent the helicopter version of an ambulance is beyond me. Plus, it never landed.
Once, an ambulance attended, just once. Except for the other time. But I never fell in that time; it was a scooter incident very very near to the canal.
And, what’s more, every time I have fallen in (which is below 10, probably) it’s been the dog’s fault, except for two times. Come to think of it, he’s fallen in more than I have – why don’t they provide a life ring for him? That’s dog racism in its purest form.
And, the last time I ended up in the drink no-one even knew it happened except me & the dog. Who also fell in.
It’s the railway line banning order all over again.
I found myself in city of some size on a rescue mission.
I parked my automotive vehicle in a space marked ‘Reserved’. These spaces are dotted around all over the place and are intended for my use and convenience: so do not use them you ignorant selfish twats.
After my mission was successfully completed, I returned to my horseless carriage to find it trapped by a selfish inconsiderate twat – or rather their bloody Citroen.
After a considerable amount of time my investigations as to who owned this offending chunk of metal revealed a note in its window stating: “I am in hairdressers, First Cut”.
After a considerable amount of time walking about looking at shops, offices, residential accommodation and a place which sells gravestones I did in fact discovered this so-called ‘First Cut’ establishment opposite my vehicle’s entrapped location.
I knocked repeatedly on the door. I never use doorbells because they remind me of a clitoris so I get carried away pressing them softly, hardly, then I tease them by appearing to be in the process of pressing them but, at the last second, press the wall. Then I press them long and hard then softly then press them over and over again. I wouldn’t ever lick or suck them: this would be classed as odd behaviour by anyone with a normal head.
Eventually a blonde tart answered and we ended up chatting about some irrelevant shit I’d brought up. I can talk about stuff for hours, a fact known to many who try to avoid talking to me in the fear they’ll learn something and the excess knowledge could cause their brains to explode or, conversely, collapse in on themselves making them suitable for work only in local government or the EU – which we’ve left.
Presently she invited me inside and made me a revolting cup of coffee. Listen up tarts, buy decent coffee, I’m not telling you again. Buy decent coffee.
I have a working knowledge on every single thing in the world so appraised her of my related skills regarding hair and stuff like that. She was perturbed to learn of me cutting tart’s hair and shocked to discover it is a fetish thing and the resulting disasters at my hands and floods of tears followed by not leaving the house without a hat for some time was all part of the fun for them.
I then told her about my other hair activities (Twat Shaving – book your appointment here). She said they did this in their beauty therapy facility. She told me they use waxing and electrolysis which I thought sounded like excellent torture techniques so made a note of them. She also told me about anal bleaching which seems like great fun. I didn’t make a note of that but remembered anyway. I must have remembered because I’m telling you all about it now.
After going into great and unnecessary detail explaining why Sigmund Freud and his theories are all bollocks the chat turned to my hair. She offered to cut it (how odd). She said she wasn’t allowed to cut hair at the moment but could in my case because I am a friend.
How shit must she be at cutting hair if they will only allow her to do friend’s hair for free?
I declined saying some rubbish about being allergic to metal and combs. I haven’t combed my hair for over 10 years (FACT) why should I? It’s not my job and I can’t be arsed. Plus, it’s a style thing.
She then said she’d do it topless. This was only after I mentioned jousting, duelling and Topless Sword Fighting (the last being available at my Mansion: I’m the only person in the world offering to facilitate Topless Sword Fighting which, for legal reasons, is currently unavailable).
This is why they wear those apparently unnecessary aprons when hair cutting – because they’re topless. You learn something from me every single day. If it weren’t for me, you’d know fuck all about nothing in particular.
As it was now getting late, I made my excuses and buggered off – only after she’d moved her Citroen which I saw her then park in my reserved space – tart.
On the journey home I reflected on this meeting. Because I’m a bit dense concerning women I began to think I’d missed signals regarding a possible liaison: “I’ll do it topless”, “Would you like to shave my pussy?” and “You could stay the night in my flat upstairs with me, in my bed, with me”.
Tarts, if you want to have sex with me will you please make this known to me in a clear and unambiguous manner. I won’t tell you again: if you want to have sex with me will you please make this known to me in a clear and unambiguous manner.
It never even occurred to me at the time and I cannot believe this was the case. This beauty is in so many ways similar to another outstanding beauty of my acquaint it is uncanny. Everything. In particular her long blonde hair. Her long blonde curly hair. Weird.
I have resolved to do something about this and will create a long and absurd reason for my returning to this particular reserved space of mine and shall visit ‘First Cut’ again.
If this is all in my head and she actually just thinks I’m an idiot who pinched her parking space I shall cover up the fiasco with another plan and shall return with an industrial sized bottle of hair conditioner.
I’m not allowed to use superglue so I bought Gorilla duct tape because it’s the best anyway I used it and it got tangled up and we were both sort of taped up in a rope type scenario so I said we should go in the shower and it would go all gooey and we’d untangle it but the reverse happened then the shower thing broke and water was everywhere then the doorbell rang and I panicked and we both fell over and I hurt my head then the phone was ringing then I decided to answer the door and some guy at the end of the driveway was shouting something about my car alarm so I told him to fuck off but then he turned out to be a policeman who then was going on about clothes which was irrelevant because we didn’t have any on so I got the car keys but pressed the red button and the car went ape shit but I didn’t do it to annoy him because it didn’t happen that way and I thought the red button was yellow so I told the other cop that we were tied up and could she help but she said she’s not paid to mess with idiots then this sergeant turned up and she cut us free and when we put some clothes on the car alarm went off which is why they were here or there but it wasn’t my car it was another car which I not know fuck all about why would I so they said they were going to take no further action about what I’d done but I’d done fuck all so I told them this which made matters worse and they said they were going to arrest me for being a twat which is not an arrestable offence so Wendy said to calm down and she would sort me out and make sure I behave myself and cause no more trouble which they seemed to accept and fucked off but it wasn’t my idea in the first place to use superglue it was her idea because she’d read somewhere I used it but can’t be trusted so I said I’d use this super tape I’d got and that’s why I got the tape from the car but in overexcitement failed to observe the ludicrous arming and disarming the car bollocks which my PPO had fitted in the first place it’s like some sort of conspiracy which is why my PPO had the alarm fitted and told me not to go and see Wendy even though it was Wendy’s idea not mine because I was watching Killing Eve which didn’t have any murders in it but I’d superglue the blonde’s tits together because using superglue seems a lot better and safer idea.
My flying friend Biggles introduced me to a right mad twat. This crazy nincompoop does all sorts of crazy stuff, day in day out.
Listening to his tales of madness made me think; “This chap is bonkers”.
During our conversation I happened to mention several things out of the ordinary I did and, to make matters worse, Biggles told him about our trips to Ireland & France.
It then turned into a who can out-mad each other. I went for the killer blow – duelling and my (recently suspended) Topless Sword Fighting facilitation. He, however, countered with: Jousting. Bollocks.
I have barely started to learn to ride and now have to figure out how to joust and not get killed. Pauline doesn’t even know we (her and I) will have to be able to charge at full speed, sabres slashing, in Ireland if production ever restarts. I have that hurdle to jump across with style & competence before even broaching jousting.
Looks bloody great: I’ll look cool in a black affair with a fucking huge plume on my metal head hat. This all takes place in front of tourists at a nearby castle. Tarts will think I’m great and want to be shagged and spanked by me – not necessarily in that order. Unless I die on the field of honour, in which case, they’ll shag the other guy but he won’t spank them because he’s a twat. Anyway, my pal will make me a lightweight aluminium lance with a platinum tip which should easily penetrate armour and kill my opponent. I’ll poison the tip to ensure instant expiration of my enemy. (I have to check this is permissible; in the stupid book of rules I’ve been sent but don’t intend reading)
I know you girls love to squabble amongst yourselves about fuck all.
How about taking it to the next level: Topless Sword Fighting
I know, sounds great doesn’t it.
Thanks to me and, Sword Master, Marie, you can realize your dreams.
What happens is:
You come to my place, join in the fun, and, on Saturday Evening, you choose your weapon with the assistance of the highly dangerous Sword Master, get your tits out and fence away until a victor is declared (by ME).
Note : You will be pricked, of that you can be sure
After issues regarding my duelling I have learned to say: “This is Fiction and no such sword fighting is on offer”. Learning this simple trick has avoided me using the services of legal legend ‘Barrister LG, QC‘ and thus dodge receiving a fee note of some size both in dimensions and monetary outlay.
I’ve been watching Killing Eve which is all about some nut-job blonde-beauty psycho who goes around murdering people using sick & depraved means, taking delight despatching her prey.
She’s fucking great. Why can’t I have a tart like that?
In a recent episode, the slaughter queen, Villanelle, goes back to her home and eventually, quite rightly, killed her mother who was a moaning twat. Before being murdered and having her house blown up, her mother said: “You were dark and evil since birth. You never cried”.
What’s wrong with not crying? It means fuck all. When I was a baby, they called me “The Professor” because I never cried and seemed to be listening to their conversations. I was, the cunts, I would have snuffed them all if I could have got out that fucking pram.
If you’re a nut-job blonde-beauty Psycho who goes around murdering people using sick & depraved means – please contact me using the contact form and let’s get to work on my list.
Those of you in the UK who thought were going to be baled-out thanks to the Self-Employment Income Support Scheme are now beginning to think: “I’m not going to get any money” – at last you’re beginning to realise.
Because of the Media campaign against Fake News there’s loads of stuff I am unable to tell you and, to a certain extent, I don’t care. You just sit there and let them fuck you day after day after day.
They never had any intention of paying. You will discover this in due course. But not from the BBC whom, at present, are diverting you with Dominic fucking Cummings who, incidentally, is one of the few left with balls in Britain.
Similarly, the 80% PAYE employee subsidy – you’re running into ‘admin’ problems – aren’t you?
If you’re a PLC, a multi-national and, above all, a bank: don’t worry you’ll get your money and a lot lot more. They’re printing it out for you right now.
What you gonna do about it? Fuck All
You’re a joke to them. Listen… can you hear it? Laughter
The only reliable source left for information is me and Max Keiser, and, I can’t tell you: I’m not wearing that fucking vest again it itches and weighs a ton – especially during the lockdown which I ignored from day one – I’ve even been abroad three times.
For legal purpose the last line paragraph statement in this article is erroneous, LG, QC, date per publ. by ‘Sywwow’, pseudonym
After a successful trial by the Bank of Europe (Bundesbank), negative rates are the latest subject to be spun by the propagandists in the media as some form of monetary planning of genius.
What it means is, when you pay 34% interest on your credit card, the bank that had to borrow the money to give to you was effectively paid to borrow the money which, if they ever repay, will cost them zero interest. The amount of profit they are making off you is incalculable it is so colossal.
Meanwhile, a disastrous company of my acquaint is such a total failure it is in debt to a bank to the tune of 1.5 Billion Pounds. The punishment for their catastrophic failure to make a single penny profit in 15 years? – more free money.
You have a company; you’ve built it up and are proud you’ve got £10,000 in the bank. Don’t spend it, leave it there for a year and, when you return 12 months later, you’ll have £9,000 (Incidently, this is just the start. No-one has raised an eyebrow. They will not stop now – secure your valuables).
You have a mortgage. It may go down regarding payments – by pennies. However, the ‘Product’ you got in that ‘deal’ has traps in it to ensure they will profit substantially if you ever pay it off or reach the end of its extended term.
Savings? Who the fuck can afford savings?
They are laughing at you. You are a joke to them. What you gonna do? Fuck All
My feminist work ‘Clever Girls’ has not gone down with tarts as well as I thought it would, with comments like “demeaning” and “insulting” being bandied about with gay aplomb.
You’d think women would have better things to do than have a go at me; such as sewing, thinking about fuck all, having a cry and looking pretty.
What I’ve chosen to do is do another work all about a specific clever girl in the hope I can be seen as some sort of ‘sensitivemodern man’ (NOT GAY) who’s in tune with women and all that shit (NOT GAY).
I expect positive feedback as these tarts see me for what I am.
It’s 4am (ish). Ergo it’s 4am (ish) throughout the world.
As you twats sleep and dream your little dreams, I am about my business. Bringing order & discipline to the world through my encounters with naughty tarts who then start whingeing when I order them to get me refreshments whilst I type this important message.
When, said tarts, return I shall give them something as a reward. When they’re happy – I’ll outflank them with a spanking: for I am Lord Sywwow.
Now fuck off – I’m busy
I’m like some guy in a film, a film like this, for instance:
I recently made an offer of assistance to aliens should they be planning to invade Earth (this planet)
My reaching out to them has been rewarded via an email containing detailed plans as to the intended ‘take-over of your planet (Earth)’.
They have chosen Egyptian hieroglyphics to convey this update. (I knew aliens built those pyramids. Humans are too stupid to build big triangles in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason. Even today, it couldn’t be done).
At precisely 18:00 (BST) the aliens will arrive at Horsell Common, in Surrey, and it will all kick off.
I have, clearly, ingratiated myself with these ‘visitors’ you lot, however, are well fucked.
I, for one, am looking forward to it.
Prepare Ye for THE END OF THE WORLD:
“Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us”. – Fucking hell
There appears to be a misunderstanding betwixt Her Majesty’s Honours and Appointments Secretariat and my good self.
I sent them a couple of grand. I’m not disputing that – it’s a fact.
I think the words “Bribery” and “Corruption” are a tad reactionary.
The wad of cash was intended as a contribution towards all their hard work.
Prior to my meeting with the authorities, if you could rescue me by contacting them and saying shit like: “Sywwow is fucking great, give him an MBE you bunch of twats”. I think it would help immensely.
If they get enough people contacting them, they’ll have to give me an MBE, drop all this ‘investigation’ nonsense and, perhaps, give me my two grand back – a sort of win win win.
My list of innovative solutions to problems that don’t exist has a new addition thanks to a chance conversation.
I had cause to meet up with some dangerous & nasty pals. When I arrived, they were deep in discussion about “bumping a grass off” and “disposal at sea” – what scallywags. I assumed they were talking about gardening but all went silent as soon as I appeared.
Anyway, we were talking about face masks and the difficulty they perceive will arise for, in the process of robbing a bank, they won’t be the only ones there with face concealment. This could lead to confusion. Even a scenario where no-one realises there’s a robbery under way in the first place.