A Poem.

Stuck at the junction at Severn Tunnel,
Sitting and Picking my bumole,
Wouldn't be so wrong,
If I was doing a beer bong,
But unfortunately I don't have a funnel.

Serin and Tom is a brilliant idea.

I went to see the T-dog for the the first time in pretty much 2 years. We swam in the sea, got drunk, played frisbee and won.


Pernarianththssithapnttotottt beach. (Everywhere in Cornwall begins with P and contains the same letters in a slightly different order.

Crab.

You're in Cornwall now handsome.

ChillBombardment.

We cried and wanked. (Only polite).

Found the ice room in the dance music club house, got locked in and passed out, woke up, snuck back it etc etc.

Took me 2 hours to make the 1.6 mile journey back to Tom's house, during that time I got a taxi most of the way with some douche groins I found on the street, the taxi was £11 so I chucked them £1.50 and ran the fuck away I also rang Tommy D for ages (£8 worth of credit) who tired to google map me home.

Did some super extra walk/chill/reading while T-dog was at work.

Now check out why Serin and Tom is a such a good idea. When placed together, our joint unfathomably high maturity levels manifest themselves into the following display of remarkable natural talent and grace.

Big bum wank crease holiday fun day.