Did you read the one about Joe Writeson who ripped me off?
'Yes, I think so.'
Joe Writeson was a cripple.
And he actually helped me.
Whereas you, you fucking dirty dog, you only brought on the bad trip.
The only enthusiasm he could muster was towards the tracks I was laying out for him.
His poetry meant the world to him.
He used up the sound engineers in Cambodia.
No one wanted to touch the guy.
Not only did he thieve your money, but he also thieved your time.
You were always the fucking best, while producing for him, but a fucking asshole if you asked for your money back.
I said I never loaned money to people I've never met.
You debonoir English Lord.
You cut a great image on social media.
In the flesh,you were afraid to look at yourself in the mirror.
Jodric Plinth, what a fuck head.
You played me along.
Even while I was escaping Evil Eric, who was going to rob me of my savings with his high rents and magical electrical meter maid, you were still my support unit, feeling your way, wondering when was the best time to bight me for another $500 bucks.
Your fake praise and hollow concerns.
All part of the con.
First I deal with fucking over Eric.
Then it's back to you sunshine.
I warned you, don't fuck with me.
You are against censorship but your mode of operandi is censorship.
I love to have pet projects.
Jodric, I've recently acquired you.
Expect a visit from the men in brown.
Once a charge is laid, they must act upon it.
He thanked me for the transfer:
Many thanks for the Western Union transfer, pal. That takes off a lot of pressure, domestically.
And, like I said, feel free to send me the manuscript you want me to work on.
That's certainly a very fair exchange, and I'm looking forward to starting. You are a star and much appreciated.
Now these distractions are aside, expect to hear more from me today about your latest track edits.
See, the dog only cares about me doing free edits for him.
I've paid the cuntard cash.
He's drinking cheap Thai whiskey and smoking weed.
Life is grand.
The great pretender.
When you stop feeding him cash, the clown gets angry.
'Homework,' I wrote after the Western Union Transfer, 'get to Pong, score some weed, fuck the Mamasan. Or buy yourself a Mic.'
His buoyant-fucked-up-on-weed-and-cheap-whiskey response was, ' You're right, it is time to get fucked up on crack at The Star of Love, see you in a few days. If I'm out of contact, don't panic, it means I'm fucking my crack whores at a room I rent out just for that purpose.'
Rosie isn’t impressed that I wired him money.
‘He’s living in Thailand where it’s ten times cheaper and he is on an English pension that is double your payments.’
She hasn’t finished yet.
‘And next time he asks you for money, tell him to pawn his brass balls.’
