The Fart Of Fiction No. 21


I'm not there. You won't find me in London or Burlington, Ontario. You'll find me in London, England. My two week plan takes me back to my new home in Bollington to read to sheep. Good writers write every morning, drink a cup of Clipper tea, talk to sheep and brag about living in a country with loads of castles. Just saying. Alright I have no clue what I'm saying, but carry on. Keep calm, and I'll keep on residing in the UK; where it's business as usual with giant headphones and a hangover that won't go away. Trust me. I'm a writer, pleasure expert and toilet connoisseur. Shit, now I've rambled, and dribbled a long paragraph that should've examined the art of writing. There's unedited stories or these absurd blogs about flatulence.



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