You swan around here like you aren't an infected anus, and you parade your trophy girlfriend in front of our very faces as if we need reminding that you're punching above your weight like Vern Troyer taking a swing at Giant Haystacks. Surely it'd be less hassle to actually grow a real beard than to go through this 24/7 gay charade of maintaining a metaphorical one. Maybe it's time to pass the fucking ball mate, ya feel me?

In the meantime, have a lovely - and preferably chaste - birthday.

Yours,
the undersigned. And me, Paddy.



STEVE FOR THE WIN!