Surprisingly Down to Earth, and Very Funny: My Autobiography

by Limmy

because I tell my son I love him. I tell him all the time. He sometimes says, ‘I know, you’ve told me a million times.’ And I’m very glad to hear it. That way he won’t grow up wondering if his dad ever loved him. My dad never told me he loved me. Thank fuck. Imagine it. Your smelly fucking da telling you he loves you.

And what’s with this rat cunt here? He hasn’t said a word the whole time we’ve been here. It’s like you’ve got him under your spell. It’s like you’re some sort of Dracula cunt, hiding away here in this creepy wee club, with your wee rat henchman, some poor guy that you turn into a rat.

Take that, Dracula cunt.

I say ‘we’, but I don’t actually have my fingers on the mixing desk myself. It’s these other cunts that do it, who know a lot more about stuff than I do.

with ICSI you inject the sperm right into the egg. Which is perfect for lazy, shite sperm like mine.

All I had to do was go into a wee room in this place, and have a wank into a container. They had a wee folder of top-shelf magazines, and I had a wank over them. Then I walked out with my container, and a red face from wanking. What a funny way to bring a life into the world.

I tried helping by saying ‘breathe’ to Lynn, but she said, ‘Stop saying that.’ I had a feeling she would, but I wanted it down on record that I at least tried to help.

It just all felt strangely normal, with an undercurrent of worry.

People these days refer to things as being like something from Black Mirror, the way they used to do about The Twilight Zone. That was my big chance of being a part of that history. And I give him George Formby with a Rambo knife.

But maybe she wasn’t familiar with the telephone. It is Scottish, after all.

Look, I’ve made a cunt of this chapter. But honestly, try it.

I don’t think there’s anything that bad in here, but you never know these days. Well, it’s printed now. Fuck it.