fifteen: not so bloody keen
[a string of incoherent expletives is being recorded in the delectable Alex Drake's voice as Gene jumps out of bed faster than the bloody Road Runner escaping a plummeting ACME anvil, knocking the journal for six in his wake as he makes a dart for the mirror. The vocab choice is not like Alex at all. She's usually all plums and p's and q's and fancy pants words where simple ones would suffice. Still, if you've ever spoken to Gene, it shouldn't be too hard to work out whose brain is powering her immaculately lipsticked gob.]
Jesus Christ in a friggin' tutu, I swear to God if my 'eads as full o' candy floss as this soddin' bra is bursting with the joy of the Pointer Sisters, I will not a happy posh bird be.
Fuck, I need a wazz too. I refuse to sit down and piss like the soddin' Queen Mother, Bolly's directional control 'ad better be 'as fine tuned as bleedin' Mozart's favourite piano or someone's bollocks will be getting the sharp edge of my new found bitch heels.
Jesus Christ in a friggin' tutu, I swear to God if my 'eads as full o' candy floss as this soddin' bra is bursting with the joy of the Pointer Sisters, I will not a happy posh bird be.
Fuck, I need a wazz too. I refuse to sit down and piss like the soddin' Queen Mother, Bolly's directional control 'ad better be 'as fine tuned as bleedin' Mozart's favourite piano or someone's bollocks will be getting the sharp edge of my new found bitch heels.