First off, a big fucking cheers to Alan for letting me have a go on here. Far as I'm concerned, there ain't enough blogs about grit. Especially Brit grit, which is a fucking menace. I got some in my eye once and it took about a day to get the fucker out, and I had a big red scratch on my eyeball the rest of the week. Mind you, it did make me look even harder than I already am. But I'm all for alerting folks to the dangers of grit, so this place is alright by me. I ain't here to talk about grit, though. I'm here to talk about justice, mate.
You might be wondering who the fuck I am. Well, the short one is that I am Royston Blake, former head doorman of Hoppers Wine Bar & Bistro (and only former because the fucking place got leveled and a shopping centre built atop it). You already know that, like as not, cos I am a bit famous in the Mangel area. And I bet you're already aware of my three volumes of memoirs, them being DEADFOLK, FAGS AND LAGER and KING OF THE ROAD. I wrote them with the help of someone called Charlie Williams, I might as well mention, but all he really done was the typing, which is woman's work anyhow and I don't do that. He did also come up with the titles, though, I suppose. But they're pretty shite if you ask me, all except the last one. I mean, Fags and fucking Lager? You can't call a book that, can you? I personally wanted to call it THE JOEY HAS LANDED, but he went behind my back and changed it at the last fucking minute, before sending it off to the publishers. He got a slap for that, I fucking tell yer. But not half so hard as when I wrote memoir number four (entitled WRONGUN) and he came back to me, tail between pins, saying they weren't gonna print it.
The fucking wankers had rejected it.
Saying that, the publishers ain't really fucking wankers (I wish I could recall their names... "Snake's Arse", or summat). They put out my first three volumes so fair fucking play. But they'd got it well wrong here. Based on the fact that one or two cunts out there amongst the general public had failed to shell out for the last couple, they'd decided WRONGUN weren't worth a punt. Which is pure fucking bollocks. And I'll tell you for why it is that:
WRONGUN is the best fucking thing I ever dictated. On top of that, it's all true (like all the others are).
So what we're doing now, right, is that we've started this Facebook campaign to make Snake's Arse see where they fucked up. Don't ask me what the fuck Facebook is, but we've set up a sort of gang wossname there and you are hereby invited by yours truly, Royston fucking Blake, to join. It is called FREE THE MANGEL ONE (that is me) and the link is below. (What the fuck is a link, though?) If we can get enough of you decent folks joining, Snake's Arse will see the light. They will see that I got a right to get my stories out there, and that folks have got a right to read the fuckers. But I need loads of people joining, so you might wanna put up a thing to it on your page or blog or whatever the fuck as well.
Been quite nice talking to you, I gotta say. Cheers again to Mr Alan, and I want all you out there to watch out for that grit, and make sure none of the fucking stuff gets in your peepers.
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