Actually, Max, you may have to tart this all up a bit, given that I just cobbled
it together from some crappy press release, the truth being that there's something
a bit wrong with the old kishkes, I've been feeling like I was about to plotz
all day, could be the absinthe-style foot lotion Derek Pumpship brewed up in
his bath, or on the other hand it could be the Doner Kebab I bought from that
blasted stall, you know the one, just down the road from the Jolly Pervert,
run by the chap with one leg and a wheeze, looks like an orang-utan... you must
know who I mean. Nasty skin rash. Got closed down by the Health Fascists
last year for squirrel offences. Don't see why myself, nice fresh things, squirrels,
I mean what could be more organic than a bloody squirrel for heaven's
sake. Anyway, it could be that, I suppose, because there was a nasty greasy
sort of sheen on it, a bit like sort of septic Brylcreem, and I thought at the
time it smelt a bit funny, like a very old, unhealed---

Excuse me a minute.

Okay. Better out than in, that's what I say, though it can't go on much longer
like this. Been at it all night. Never mind that tricky last bit of diced carrot
even when you haven't eaten any; I'll tell you what, Max, I thought I saw a
kidney in it earlier today. One of my own. I mean, you can't bring up your own
kidney. Can you? Now I'm worried. I'd better ask
the doctor. Anyway, what with one thing and another, I'm not entirely myself
today so I thought, here's this crappy press release, I'll just change a few
few of the more obviously moronic, self-serving bits of PR-speak and bung it
in. Obviously they'll never notice.

P.S. Don't mean to nag, but for God's sake be sure to delete this before you
put the damn thing on the site. You know what happened last time; Mandi Thring
still isn't speaking to me, but what do you expect from someone who not only
dots her "i"s with a little circle, but does smileys in the air with
her finger while she's talking to you?

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