Apparently saying “It is very sad. I can’t imagine someone having 17 children, I bet she is glad of a rest” means that I was making jokes about the six children dying. I received comments like “shame on you Dean for laughing at the death of these children”, “You are the worst type of human for making jokes about dead kids” and the lovely “I hope your children die in a more horrible way”.

I argued back that I was not making any jokes about dead children; I was merely saying how I could not imagine a woman giving birth to seventeen children and raising them. If I had made any type of faux pas then it would be that I assumed that his wife was the mother of all of his seventeen children.

But the women had their pitchforks out and they were adamant that I was making jokes about dead children and every time I tried to politely explain that I was wasn’t it just fuelled their mind that I was making even more jokes about dead children.

After an hour of solidly trying to politely tell them that they were reading something that wasn’t there I had had enough. Enough of them trying to twist a perfectly innocent sentence into something else. Enough of their “I hope your kids die in a more horrible way” comments. Enough of their insults and prodding me with their metaphorical pitchforks. I decided to be Dean; I decided to be a cunt.

You cannot argue rationally with idiots, the kind of people who fly into a rage at the drop of a hat. These are the kind of people that would be out in front at witch-hunts or chasing people out of town with pitchforks back in the day. (I love the pitchfork analogy  )

So when they started replying to me I started to respond in a sarcastic & irritating tone. Calling them “sweetheart”, making sexist comments (“shouldn’t you be doing the housework instead of being on Facebook?”), insulting their intelligence, and generally anything else I could think off to get their blood boiling.

A typical comment from one of them women:

Go fuck yourself. Done. You poor fucking excuse for a fucking man. Who says. It is very sad. I can’t imagine someone having 17 children, I bet she is glad of a rest. you know what you fucking meant thats why you got so fucking defensive about it you cunt.

My rebuttal:

I’m afraid I’m not nimble enough to fuck myself. You finally produced my comment, now please go ahead and produce the bit where I made jokes about dead children. What you have done here is you took a quote and twisted it to try and mean something else. You are a deluded fool who needs to get the housework out of the way and get herself laid, it might loosen you up a bit. See, I can throw insults as well, sweetheart.

Then some of the women got their daughters to wade in as well. I had a 15 year old girl, who has two children by the way, threaten to come to my house and burn it down with me and my family still inside if I didn’t stop PICKING on her mum, obviously not seeing the irony in making that kind of threat.

My friend then came along and deleted the post to stop it. Some of the women then turned on her and said that because she didn’t come in and attack me with them that this meant she took my side and they all deleted her and told her they would never talk to her ever again.

This left my friend in tears, she was busy working, looking after her children, and disabled partner to fart about on Facebook all the time. In fact me and another friend had to spend the good part of a couple of hours trying to calm her down as she was really upset by what they had said.

I know I should have walked away but it irritates me how these people act not just on Facebook but in real life.

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What am I meant to do with that? Am I meant to turn around and say something along the lines of “Oh thank you, they are my best feature.” He then went on to insult me even further by saying that I wasn’t even tall enough to have feet my size. So not only do I have massive feet but I’m also a dwarf.

I was rather taken aback by this, not a lot of people have the balls to walk up to me and insult me while standing 3 inches away from my face, he was either very brave or very drunk. Normally people only become that insulting to me when they are safely behind keyboards on their computers at home.

And no I did not make a joke about people with big feet having big cocks. I stopped making that joke back when an ex of mine said “considering I’ve seen your cock, would you like to rephrase that?” Bitch!

For the record I have a massive member,

Of course for the rest of the night I had that bastard Reiss making clown feet-related jokes

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I got up about 12 and got myself ready to go to Highbury & Islington to meet Francesca as we were going to watch the Swansea/Arsenal game in the pub next to the station. I’m not sure why she travels from Oakwood to see the game there, I know there are nearer pubs showing it as we have watched them in them before.

I was late, I know I was late because as I stood in the pub looking for her I could feel her glaring at me and when I turned around I was met with “You’re late!” I pick up on the little signs very quickly.

Again it was a rather fun couple of hours which were only cut short because she wanted to go home and get an early night. Having a highly demanding job, a money-demanding 19 year old son at university and a cat who likes to attack her at 4am, she is looking incredibly tired these days.

When I got home I did have a look online to see if there were any tips on how to deal with her naughty cat, the poor cow gets woken up by him attacking her face or feet at 4am every morning!

She lets him out but he goes around terrorising the neighbourhood. He goes into the houses nearby and eats the food they have left out for their own cat. One of her neighbours does home massages and he attacks her clients through the hole where they put their faces. He has had his balls cut off but that just seemed to make him worse.

Oh Nero, what is to be done with you!

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Tonight I went to watch Custom House (one of the teams I train with) an away game. They seem to be slowly coming together, if only they didn’t have to go 2-0 down to start playing then they might actually get something.

Half way through the first half I had to pee. All the toilets at the ground were locked so I went off to find a bush or a tree at the far end of the ground to relieve myself behind. I found one eventually and after making sure nobody was around I did my business.

It wasn’t until I was zipping up that I heard someone yell “Oi!” at me. I turned around and across the road was a woman looking out of her bedroom window with a pair of binoculars, she had seen me pee behind the tree and was now yelling things like “you dirty filthy cunt!” at me as I waved at her and walked back to the pitch.

I love how someone spying on people in a park can suddenly take the moral high ground when she was doing something I’d consider much worse. I know pissing in a park isn’t nice but I was desperate and all four toilets were locked. What was I meant to do? Tie a knot in it?

After nipping home for a quick wash and change of clothes I headed out to Watford, I had agreed to mind the door for some friends who were holding a joint rave-themed birthday party. I got paid £100 for two hours works and as it was an invite only event I got to say “your names not down, you’re not coming in” more than a couple of times.

I only stayed about an hour after I finished working the door, I got a call from my friend Julie who lives in Watford and when she found out where I was she insisted I come over and have some beers. I jumped into a taxi to her place where I was promptly attacked by one of her vicious cats.

It was a nice couple of hours, we sat on her bed watching Live At The Apollo, drinking beer, insulting each other and playing music from our youth. It was like being a teenager all over again! I only had to leave when her boyfriend got upset that she had a male friend in the flat and said he was coming over.

So she quickly booked me a taxi to the station and ushered me out of the flat fearing her fella might turn up and kick off. As it turned out he never came over, he just said it to get her to get me to leave.

Why do all my female friends have boyfriends who are so fucking insecure?

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As I approached the shouting mound of pillows and bedding my sleeping brain was still trying to figure out what had happened. I eventually found him and pulled him up and then went back to bed for about 30 seconds before I heard a crash.

He had forgotten about the broken bed (despite only getting out of it 30 seconds earlier) and had sat on it to get dressed and fallen through it again. Later on when I had a look at it I found that he had split the long piece of wood that ran along the middle of the bed holding in the wooden slats.

The day got worse, I went to the Post Office to pick up my dad’s money for him, while I was in there I paid his rent as well. I stupidly wasn’t paying attention and it wasn’t until I got home that I realised I was £120 short.

I kept recounting it and wondering if I had left some money in another pocket but I hadn’t. I then thought that two things had happened:

1. I had paid £120 on the rent card instead of £12.00.

2. The old man at the Post Office short changed me by £120.

When I go to the Post Office for him I always ask for a balance first and then I take out what he asks me to so I then have two receipts to give to him, one before I take the money out and one after. I don’t know why but I didn’t watch the old man count the money and I forgot to ask for a receipt to prove money went on the rent card.

I won’t know for sure until I have phoned the council tomorrow to check. I phoned them today but they told me to phone tomorrow as the transaction hadn’t gone through yet.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings now…

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Merry bloody Christmas!

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At 10pm I lit a cigar and had a glass of brandy. I have done this little ritual every year since my friend Will introduced me to the pleasure of doing it one Christmas. It was a nice way to end a perfect day of slobbing and eating.

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Her son (who is called Reece) was very excited when I walked through the door, before I could enjoy the nice warm feeling of having someone pleased to see me she shot me down when she told me that he was high on chocolate. Bitch!

I gave him a helicopter (I bought a couple because I thought a few children would like them that I know) which he seemed to like, it took me 30 minutes to get it going and when I managed to get it to fly his mum screamed and ran out of the room.

We went outside to have a cheeky fag leaving him to play with his new toy, a flashing dancing truck, when we came in we heard it making a noise in a cupboard. It had annoyed him and he didn’t know how to turn it off so he stuffed it into a cupboard.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could do that to people? Someone irritates you and you lock them in a cupboard until you are ready to tolerate their bullshit again. In practice this would be awesome but in reality I’m sure there is a criminal offense linked to that and I’m even more sure those pesky do-gooders would have something to say about it.

When I got home I was starving, thankfully my siblings and their pack of rascals hadn’t completely eaten us out of house and home, they left me four small sausage rolls and two cocktail sausages.

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The side effect to this though is that by about 4pm I was flagging hard but as we all know, nothing is 100% foolproof – even the best medicines in the world have some dodgy side effects. I didn’t need this tiredness hitting me now as I was due to meet my main man Reiss at 6pm.

Thankfully a 30 minute nap had me back on track which was great because I don’t get to see him as much anymore so I really didn’t want to have to phone him and cancel. It might have been a while since I last saw him but we hadn’t forgotten our ritual Friday nights.

Things have changed though, when he came towards me he handed me a poncy beer that had the flavour of a rose wine and he now drinks ale just like me! This means that my beers are no longer safe from him on nights out. Reiss is one of those people who regularly misplace their pints and will taste other pints until they find theirs. Oh how I miss the weird face he would pulled after mistakenly sampling a pint of Black Sheep followed seconds later by a very high-pitched ‘Ewwwwwwwww!’

We went to Angel for a quick pint at The York where I split my attention between listening to Reiss and observing (I don’t perv) the barmaid with her tit hanging out. The Mucky Pup was calling us. There was hardly anyone in (something I’ve been told is a regular thing down there these days) but it was still an enjoyable night.

Someone (I think his name was Kevin) was in a very generous mood and bought a load of us two rounds of jagerbombs, the night got even better when Reiss told me he was not going home at 10pm as he had been instructed. It was an old fashioned Dean & Reiss night out, only without the violence.

We stayed until chucking out time, Reiss was weird on the bus, we got food on the way home and neither of us had sex. Oh I’ve missed those nights out.

I hope we can do it again, if his missus refuses to allow him out more often then I shall have to go to her home and steal her shoes again. Don’t call my bluff, Emma! I’m just crazy enough to do it.

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My mum said he looked like he was trying to get up and sent me over to ask if he was OK. As I approached I could smell the unmistakable odour of cheap white cider in my nostrals (the kind of cider that has never been anywhere near an apple) and as I got to him I saw a puddle of blood on the pavement.

It was obvious he had fallen in his drunken state and had smashed his nose into something. I offered to get him an ambulance but he said he didn’t need one so I pulled out a pack of tissues to mop up the blood from his face.

And that was when one of my exes turned up.

It turned out that she was a friend of his so I went on my way leaving Tracy (why do I date a lot of Tracy’s? I’ve dated three!) to phone the ambulance that he didn’t want or need. He had a bloody nose for God’s sake.

My mum then gave me a stern lecture that when we get home I should thoroughly wash my hands because I had some of his blood on me.

No hero medal for me then? No reward? Those packs of tissues are not cheap you know, and I’ll never get the blood out of this white jumper that I’ve had for five years but only worn twice because I secretly dislike it.

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