Phone phobic
Me being horrible to you does not begin to make any sense
Rot in some fucking backwater of hell you nauseatingly socially grubbing worms you oily consciously fucking messed up troglodyte with your twitching sweating gonads and slathering tongues. How can you have the nerve to feel superior? We have a good arrangement. He makes the weapons, I use them
I don’t trust chance as much as you seem to. I require a meeting for conversation
The authoritative approach clearly failed, I have to give up
I’m leaving it all to you because clearly things have to be on your terms
Hermits like you said
Tell the story…you know the one, about the tin opener
I was talking about the surrey hills. You made me into a fool
Don’t allow the momentary glitch in your considerable capacity to charm get in the way of being joyful and belligerent
Too sweet, fuck you
I bought you some tins of mackerel
Do you remember Robin Hood?
Maybe he has fallen down a mineshaft and become a deaf mute, maybe his fingers were bitten off by chipmunks with vicious appetites or a crackhead who mistook them for a morsel of heroin rendering him unable to text
Don’t suppose you’re up for an all nighter in Brixton?
Very poetic. Punctuation needs work