Waking up to kippers, green tea, a fresh fruit platter, eggs benedict and two bottles of overproof rum, I take up my paper and am intrigued to learn that the chanteuse of note Sheryl Crow has advised her fans, not to say humanity as a whole, to reduce the number of squares of toilet paper they use, in order to avert ecological crisis.
F***ing right! Go, Sheryl! Go, Sheryl! And so it came to f***ing pass that temperatures cooled once more, the ozone layer stitched itself back together and the polar caps reverted to the iciness of yore, and all because one American f***ing singer-songwriter had the courage, the heart, the bravery and the vision to find the f***ing solution that had confounded scientists for years – more judicious f***ing arsewiping! You featherheaded waste of f***ing flaps! Every time you open your f***ing mouth it’s one giant f***ing methane emission! You seriously, earnestly, stopped and thought about this, didn’t you? You let the thought rattle around your empty f***ing skull for all of five minutes of pure, ethereal gormlessness before letting it roll off your f***ing tongue! Listen, you stupid f***, it isn’t about f***ing toilet paper! Unless we revert to a quality of life you wouldn’t wish on a f***ing scarecrow, starting about 15 years ago, we’re utterly f***ing f***ed! One square, one f***ing telephone directory, humanity’s down the f***ing toilet anyway, you clueless c***!