I once met Grumpy Cat. He was pleased to

I once met Grumpy Cat. He was pleased to see me. So pleased that he

I brought him his normal packet of smokes and liqour.

But he just lay there on his dingy mattress in the corner of the warehouse, scruffy, wan, perhaps forlorn. Unwashed. A user? I left his smokes and pickle juice

But he just splashed on more Eau de Cornichon Fumė in lieu of washing. He left the house accompanied by a couple of stray dogs never to return, I hoped & prayed. He was back a coup

d'état later. Now as the head of government and accompanied by an inquisitive entourage. I was not impressed. The only thing I could think of was the stench of

the head of government. It's a foul thing. The head of government is riddled with puss boils and liver spots. They keep the head in a jar full of mayo. The hair was patchy.

I had a wet dream about haggis once.

But only once, I swear. (I was lying, of course. I've been addicted to food porn for at least 10 years.) I lowered my eyes, pretending remorse, but haggis were dancing in my mind.

Filled with trotters & tripe & offal ever so ripe, that's what my food porn dreams were made of. Father Handsy heard my salivate and rasped "Take this wafer thin mint as pennance."