Take this down, Brother Slycup.
Beggars can be choosers. The procedure is very simple. Apply to the skin a generous layer of fatty soap, sprinkle with vinegar, wait a minute or two, and, tantara: there it is – as any mirror to hand will confirm: your face is a veritable mass of yellow pustules. Then all you need do is develop a graveyard wheeze, adopt a drool, take up trembling, swivel the ol’ eye and speak a little bedlamese. Trust me, hearts will move, stones’ll weep.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – No Mean Mercy by Geraint Jonathan”
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