INT: Studio.

Frasier: God I’m bored. Might have to shit through a pipe into Roz’s handbag again…EH?

Roz: You won’t be. Don’t get any ideas.

Frasier: Where the FUCKING HELL did you come from, titshit?

Roz: Stop calling me names.

Frasier: Allright, Ballholes. What do you fucking want?

Roz: What happened to you? You used to be a loveable dickhead, getting into farcical situations but generally coming out as the good guy.

Frasier: I don’t fucking know. Why do cats fuck in skips? Is that all? I want to get back to microwaving this mouse kidney for my fuckin’ dinner, broad.

Roz: Manager wants to see you about your little dog mask incident yesterday.

Frasier: FUCK.


INT: Office.

Frasier: Alright boss? Wanted to see me?

Manager. Sit down.

Frasier: Cheers. What’s this about?

Manager: You wanking with a dog’s face on your face. Do you even need to ask?

Frasier: I did not. Roz is titting well making it up the cunt…

Manager: Well, look at this.

(Shows CCTV footage, showing Frasier’s sick masturbation show.


Frasier: Fuckin’ modern technology.

Manager: What the HELL were you doing? Wanking with a picture of a goddamned Doberman on your face?

Frasier: It was a German Sheperd.


Frasier: Blimey, you don’t want to see what I did with the cat picture in the toilets then.

Manager: GET OUT. You are warned. Any more of this and you’re out, Crane.

Frasier: Cheers, Hammercock. Smell you later.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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