Lord Layard! Lord Layabout, more like. Kindly take your fucking happiness campaign and shove it up the gaspipe of a pissed-off honey badger. No, I'm serious. If some twatting fox flange comes up to me outside Sainsbury's and says "Have a free hug to increase your happiness quotient" I will probably retort "Have a bunch of fives up the snotbox in order to increase my happiness quotient". I do not need a Lord to tell me to be happy, nor do I need a cunting fuckstick of a The Prime Minister to measure it. Give me a pipeline from the Balvenie distilerry to the Great Hall of Larrington Towers, and a Ferrari, and I'll keep out of your face. I am a BRITON and therefore reserve the right to be a miserable fucking gronk about the weather, the deplorable sho by the mcc a lot of rabits, the state of popular "music" and being at jbex and terminally arsed off when I'd rather be at home in bed with my Imaginary Friend.I need one of those LWB Binz E-class hearses as you can't fit a half-ton of cross ursine in the back of a Roomster. All donations gratefully received.
