Dear Mr. Pete Doherty,
I'm watching you on the television, I am. I didn't realise you were so gay (although, let's be honest, anyone who waggles their penis around inside Kate Moss probably likes fucking young boys.) The fact that you come across so gay actually makes me rather...
...noooooooooooooooo!!!
...AaAaAAaaaAaAaaaaAaAAgh!!!
...I can't say it!!!!
Shit. It actually makes me rather (gulp) like you.
You've broken my blog.
Cunt.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Reinventing the lost fucking art of letter writing.
Blog Archive
-
▼
2005
(45)
-
▼
February
(25)
- Dear mountains,
- Dear consumers of fast food,
- Dear hot caffeinated beverages,
- Dear road grit,
- Dear William Faulkner,
- Dear Camden,
- Dear Sainsbury's,
- Dear cancer,
- Dear Mr Munky,
- Dear my former roommate,
- Dear snow,
- Dear Special K,
- Dear Mr Munky's shit trousers,
- Dear Mr. Pete Doherty,
- Dear boys who hit on me,
- Dear Brett Anderson of Suede/The Tears/heroin fame,
- Dear the London 2012 Olympic bid committee,
- Dear Cosmo,
- Dear leather,
- Dear awful bloke in Café,
- Dear today,
- Dear Camden Council,
- Dear Mr Munky,
- Dear Kentish Town,
- Dear Amy Winehouse,
-
▼
February
(25)
About Me
Friends
- Bwil loves nasty hookers. (Brian)
- G loves boobies. (Gary)
- Hannah loves hot man-on-man action. (Hannah)
- Jeff loves coffay. (Jeff)
- Jess loves beers. (Jess)
- Ryan loves Jess. (Ryan)
- Shad loves nothing. (Shad)
- Shelly loves me 'cause she's my sister. (Shelly)
- Steph has an unnatural love of trees and gets naked on the internet because she has low self-esteem (Steph)