Quentin Clapper. Less a man, and more a reindeer. Or maybe a moose. The reason for this blog in the first place. Let me explain....
It all started so well. I had fled Liverpool after local cops were under the mistaken impression that a string of arson attacks in the area may have been down to me. Utter bollocks of course. Just because I think that Twiggy's a stupid old cunt with a saggy turkey neck doesn't mean I'm gonna take my anger out on the local branches of M&S. So anyway, I fled Liverpool and arrived at Bristol, aka the UK's number 1 shit-hole. So I moved in with some gays who let me use their place to make my award-winning Fanny Factor videos, reviewing hit ITV show The X Factor.
And then Quentin moved in.
Quentin & I... or should that be me & Quentin... whatever... anyway we hit it off immediately. That's to say, I hit him immediately. He wound me up the wrong way. The little fucking tosser. Pissing me off when I'm filming the Fanny Factor, getting in my face, and so I beat him. But then he started fighting back. Drugging me, attacking me with baseball bats, you know the usual stuff.
Due to our constant fighting I was amused, happy, abso-fucking-lutely delighted when he was lost at sea in a wind-related accident. At first. I may be a masserkist. A masocrist. A... a.... oh fuck it, I may be someone who likes bad things happening to me(?) but I miss Quentin. I need him there to argue with, and to fight! My life is just not the same without him.
So if you're reading this Quentin, come the fuck back you little twat. And if someone else sees this who knows his whereabouts get in touch with me ASAP! I promise a reward! (A signed picture of me).
Cheers ma dears! SQUUUUUAAAAAAAAAKKKK!
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