i am not a damn DJ.
I considered pissing on his chair and ripping a dick-shaped hole in his Delegate Pack, but then he asked if I "could play YMCA, ha ha!" and I exploded in fury and punched him through the window.
then I found his address from his driving licence - that I'd slyly lifted while my fist was making contact with his wind-pipe - and traveled to his house, where I put fireworks in his dog and touched his daughters inappropriately. his grandma was visiting, so I filled her with heroin and put her in the basement.
then I re-tuned all the channels on his TV so they were in the wrong order and set his sky box to record every episode of X-factor.
now I'm on my way to the primary school where his wife works with a bucket of goldfish and a funnel.
I also have plans to get in touch with his old school bully and get him barred from Sainsburys.
I am not a pricking DJ.
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