Things have got worse. Here's the evidence of me being abusively attacked and molested by a prawn.
Really. It's just too much to take in sometimes. I don't know what on Earth I am supposed to have done to be punished so heavily and come under such a sustained abuse attack. I really fail to see what even the most wicked of all the wombats can get out of this. It's disturbed.
The reality is that I am surrounded by prawns. Nasty vindictive prawns who are casting their tentacles into affairs that do not concern them. They should all go and stick their heads in lavatory abuse and try to sing their way out of all the trouble they are going to be most seriously and greviously punished for by a great big heavy punisher.
These marauding band of justice pervert prawns are intent on continuing their embarrassing singing and dancing their criminal activities all over the internet. Their wailing and whining is extensive and they continue to chirp their foolish vindictive theories and their inane chatter to all and Sunday.
Most people just find it highly embarrassing and ignore their publicity seeking methodologies and give them a wide birth. Even embarrassed fools are embarrassed by their chuntering about serious research matters that are beyond their heads and over their hills and miles away before they've got up out of their prawn beds in the morning and put the kettle on and made toast.
By this time the goon squad are munching the meerkat marmite whilst their clock ticks down. Everybody knows this and it is unbelievable that these toast eating prawns are awake enough to realise that they are in real trouble. deep trouble and they will have many concerns of their own before the day is out. Soon.
The milandering and maloderous Metropolitan Police continue to disgrace themselves and dig deeper in the gutter of fools gold. You would think they would have learned by now but their Prawn Squad continues to align itself with people it shouldn't ie Special Branch and their puppet master prawns in MI7.
They are playing festive sports with my legal teams from both divisions of the Law Courts. They will kick the ball to the back of the pitch and win 3-0.
They have also been remiss in the urgent matter of my property return ownership aspect to the case. Since their frenzied assault on my house, which is both gentle and innocent in this affair. They ravished and abused it extensivley whilst claiming to look for evidence.
I can't stand the mere thought of my precious luxury home - one of the most 'well appointed on my council estate - being molested in such a bestial way. I feel appaled at how these vicious attacks on my home were meant to do anything but be part of a criminal malicious conspiracy against me by MFI 5, SB, The Thames Valley Police and the Oxford Mail.
I love my home so much that I spend most of my time in there naked, gently stroking the door frames, feeling it's deep hardness and solidity. I often sidle up to the fireplace and smother it in caresses and the skirting boards are saucily flirty when I come down in the morning. When I'm in the mood I often rush upstairs and penetrate the loft in a hurried and lusty manner, and then slide down the bannister over and over again. I love my house.
It didn't feel the same after numerous police raids and the removal of so much of my property. I want my property back.
After making numerous court judge sessions negociations were made to return my property which was mine and belonges to me. My highly effective lawyers made an appointment, one that was most cruelly cancelled and cast aside like a stale poppadom by the conniving corrupt crustacean coppers. Sighing heavily we made another appointment to collect all my property and the lawyer went all the way to Oxford, which is somewhere near Scotchland to collect my possessions.
The police brought out from their hiding place a shopping trolley full of my property. The prawny policeman had the nerve to try to pretend that he was being helpful by saying "We've put in in a shopping trolley as that seems to be the most appropriate carrier for someone in your clients position".
The cheek. The nerve. The highly incredible justice denying vile abuse allegation and insinuation. i'm sure Sir Iain Banks himself, probably with the 'whisper in your ear' advice of the queen Mother, came up with that Jerboa jape. There is no depth to which they will not sink. Even in metres.
When my wonderful lawyer tried to collect the belongings - which now, by law, also include the following items:
1. A shopping trolley - medioum condition, one built in child seat (red) two front wheels need attention
PC Prawn palyed his trump card. I had to be there in person to collect it. I'm sure you could see how this could cause me problems, so my lawyer returned empty handed. But not quite empty handed. In a mean and highly illegal gesture the corrupt police used their secret stock of weapons of mass destruction to secretly, using a variety of covert methods and techniques, deliberately and maliciously with malice aforethought abusively infected my lawyer with a flu virus.
Talk about viscious justice pervert sabotage! Will then never stop? Probably not. After all there is truth to supress.
How can I continue my research without my stuffed fruitbat? It would be impossible.
Today's horrorscope says (click)
Your ruling planet Neptune squares up to Venus and this could be the day when a relationship that seemed stuck in the slow lane really gets moving - Clearly a reference to my property return issues. We will make rapid progress and everything will be returned to me instantly.
You have a friendly, yet determined, approach that gets results at home and in the workplace. - Sadly I have neither home or workplace, but it is obvious that it refers to my precious research and my impeccable behaviour and undoubted personal integrity that has made me such a success and this completely unsullied and stainless reputation is what has made me so loved and admired.
Luck is waiting for you where people sing. I often get lucky when I sit on the park benches drinking cider and listening to the colourful 'street people' singing away after a glass or two of hairspray.
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