Where the fuck to start.

The moving rectum shites, and having shit, moves on.

Well, that's what I've got down for my book so far. Sounds pretty fucking poetic to me!

Met up with the cunt from Scat Monthly and did the fucking interview. He asked me a load of cuntish questions, and asked if he could take a few pics of me shitting for cash. Well, I do it for free all the time, so it was nice to make a few bob. He wanted to go to the old cunts house, the one who's dog I 'tamed' the other week, so I could shit on her doorstep. well I went one better. I knocked on her door, and when the cunt opened it, I started shitting on the step, and the guy started snapping away.

He liked my ideas for reaction shots, so next, it was a trip to the park where I shit in the sandpit infront of a couple of moms with baby buggies, by god did they fucking scream, but they weren't like the old cunt, these slags went for me, and I had to defend myself with the newly produced turd. That got rid of the cunts.

I couldn't shit anymore after that, so the cunt asked me a few more questions and told me he had sorted an agent for me, and he'd be in touch, then he fucked off, leaving me 150 quid better off, cunting great!

Got a 3 litre bottle of good old W.L. and drank it in about 20 minutes, then I must have passed out. Next thing I knew, I came round to the sound of wings flapping, and I was sure it was that angels had come for me, to carry me aloft and take me from my sorry plight, but it turned out to just be a bunch of fucking pigeons some cunt was keeping in the garden next to where I was at rest.
I hate fucking pigeons, so I climbed over the fence, and got in and strangled as many of the cunts that I could. I stuck one in each pocket of my coat, so I could cook the fuckers later.

I stink so fucking bad that I'm going to hospital later to use the showers. I'm sure no cunt will notice me.