Beards, pornography and other tales of failure.

Another blog… another bastard blog. A sign that I am neither employed nor getting laid currently. My boredom has become so severe now that for the first time in my life I have decided to commit to growing a beard. An act so offensive and vile that it takes a certain kind of man to pull it off. Sadly I am not one of these men and currently have a sparse collection of white/blonde hairs spread around my face, like a pre pubescent boy trying to get served for alcohol. Speaking of which the last time I tried to get served for a case of Carlsberg (which is wrong on every level) the ethnic gentleman at the shop looked at me so suspiciously that I began to question if I was in fact of legal age to buy alcohol despite being a grown man

’How old are you mate?’

ERRR...ERRR.WELLL ERRR...I’M 23 HONEST PAL…DOGS HONOUR…I’M 23…THAT’S OLD ENOUGH ISN’T IT? I HAVE MY I.D LOOK IT’S ME I WAS YOUNGER BUT ERRR...IT’S STILL ME...BUT IN THE PAST…CUMMON MATE... A GUY JUST WANTS TO BUY SOME CARLSBERG...I WON’T BINGE DRINK MATE…OR USE IT TO SEDUCE MINORS…PLEASE MATE…CUMMON MATE…MY BIRTHDAY IS ERR...FUCK FUCK...IT’S ERRRR… I’M SORRY PAL...I’M SO SO SORRY...I’LL JUST GO

…fleeing the shop in tears with my ears bleeding and leaving a ten pound note on the counter for compensation of my act of deception.

So what’s new in my life…well other than ‘the beard’ then I’d have to say absolutely nothing. So what’s this blog about? I have no fucking idea, I never think these things through but luckily for me I can talk pointless shit for hours until people leave the room shaking their heads, both furious and full of pity, not being able to comprehend their own emotions. That emotion is simply ‘Lukat’. Lukat is not a man but a force of nature, a ray of sunshine on a hot summer’s day. The twinkle in an old mans eye as he sees his flowers spring to life in the British bloom. The anger in a girls face as she looks at me with disappointment and hatred as I offer to ‘finger’ her as compensation after drinking myself impotent. These beautiful feelings are all part of the true essence of Lukat. A true poet of our modern times, but enough about me.

Actually I have nothing other than me to sell, it’s all about me…me… me… me…fucking me. Oh yeah read my stupid little blogs and my opinions …oh look at me with my stupid tattoos and muscles which offer no practical use other than for posturing in filthy night clubs to seduce big boned, drunk chicks. My life is a series of heroic events that embody words like dignity and achievement. Sadly this doesn’t seem to come across on my C.V which has been rejected so many times I’m starting to wonder if I’ve smeared shit on the paper or wrote some subliminal message on it in a moment of madness… ‘FUCK OFF…STUPID BELL END…DON’T WANT JOB…WILL FUCK FOR COINS’. Sounds reasonable to me anyway.

So if my C.V is no good maybe that’s because the potential employers can see through my web of lies and faux politeness. Maybe instead if I was more honest about my achievements then they would realise that I’m a pretty great guy and they should let me use the company toilets to wash my undies in the sink. Cool.

Lukat C.V

Profile

I am a bitter, hate filled man who lives at home with his mother. I have never had a proper job as I believe that I am better than most people however I do have many useless qualifications in art based subjects which will be of no use at all to the position I’m applying for. I have no criminal record but that does not mean I don’t regularly commit crimes, ranging from urinating on public landmarks to fighting with bald, drunken oafs in the street. I have many bizarre tattoos’ including the naked torso of Iggy Pop and some text from American psycho as I only seem to be able to relate to serial killers. I enjoy working out in front of a full length mirror, mostly naked, mainly because I find myself so attractive that I could get an erection over the sight of my own body. I hate small animals and other peoples kids and have a secret agenda to tear down society and revel in a kind of post apocalypse where the general public are all slaughtered like the dickless sheep they are. I am totally wrong for this position and will most likely mock you via my facebook and twitter accounts and post blogs detailing what a total wanker you are because I have no respect for you or anything you have ever done or will do in your pointless existence on this earth.

Work experience

None. I was forced against my own will to do some work experience in a warehouse when I was about 15. I had to ride around in a fork lift truck with a chap called Windy which I can only assume is because he had experienced some notable success at being flatulent, most likely farting on people down at the pub. The rest of the staff told me he was a sex offender but not until I was a good 8 feet in the air with him alone, to which they shouted ‘PEEDO PEEDOOO’. On my lunch breaks they let me sit in the office and look at pornography, some of which they had sellotaped to the roof of the building so they could look at ‘tits and fannies’ as they were working. It was a professional environment and my input was non existent as is often the case when I’m bored and surrounded by halfwits. I did however get a free mug and some samples of shampoo and toilet cleaner to take home with me but I have never actually cleaned a toilet as I have no work ethic. During my time they allowed me to attend a health and safety course where an angry red faced gentleman explained the dangers of the warehouse by sticking a bowing ball on a stick and saying it weighed as much as our heads. I am still unsure of the moral here as it is very difficult to adjust the weight of ones head, especially in the short time I was on work experience.

I did work in a bar for about 4 hours but I was so terrible at it that the customers became very angered. They were ungrateful bastards if you ask me, it’s not my fault I poured them a half pint of froth and charged them more than the actual price. Many of them were old so I just assumed that they would be senile and be happy with what they were given, but that’s the elderly for you…just a bunch of nob heads aren’t they?

Education

I have all my GCSE’s as when I was younger I was a quiet mute who would sit in the library on my lunch breaks with other social outcasts. This allowed me to achieve a pass in all my exams as girls didn’t actually consider me to exist so I had no distractions. At college there was much of the same until I discovered alcohol and started drinking heavily, I still managed to pass but that was mainly through my skill of lying and pretending I’d done work when I’d actually just handed in the same project several times. This is a testament to my laziness and on a few occasions I was asked to leave the premises due to me distracting other members of the class. One time I head butted the power switch off to the entire building because an associate had slapped me on the buttocks as I was crawling around on the desks for a laugh. Sometimes I would go in wearing shorts and pull them up to the crack of my anus which gave the impression that I was naked, I enjoyed playing sports but mainly in the classroom, sadly the teachers seemed to have on objection to me booting a football around a room with delicate art supplies but they are stuck up faggots if you ask me. I also had to take a life drawing class which involved me standing in a hot room for several hours and sketching an elderly woman’s vagina with charcoal. She was hoisted on to a mattress which was spread out on some tables, often with a step ladder as she had just had a hip replacement. Due to my ineffectiveness with women seeing her pussy at the age of 16 was the first sexual experience I ever had. This was a blow to my self confidence but luckily I managed to go on to Uni, the only Uni that would accept me of course as I was rejected from most of the major universities after turning up at the interview with a portfolio of naked dolls which I’d torn the heads off and put them in the woods to replicate rape victims. I would often turn up late to lectures after drinking my cocktail of vodka and cider but refused to take any notes and would coast along for three years passing by handing in my old college work and sponging off others. Luckily I am now £21 grand in debt from my time in education so everything worked out for the best and I am sure all this is relevant to the job I’m applying for as…telesales clerk

Software/system skills

I am fully computer literate and often use this skill to download illegal music or watch pirate copies of new films released at the cinema as I’m too poor to actually go myself. I also enjoy making offensive Photoshop’s of people in my spare time, often cutting and pasting their heads on to pornography. Speaking of pornography I am able to access this online but have found myself bored with the more traditional stuff so now tend to look for more extreme options such as Chinese women urinating on each other and beastiality.

Well that all seems above board to me so hopefully after I send this off to a few people then I’ll be in full time employment some time soon. If you will excuse me I just need to go and ring the job centre to see if they have a lost and found box as I seem to have misplaced my dignity there. Let God bless you all and by God I mean the vengeful Old Testament lord who would smite you for being a homosexual or disabled and have his boy nailed to death on a cross to punish us for our mistakes. Smell you later you bunch of fucking nobodies.

Yours sensually,

Lukat.

Here comes success...here comes my chinese rug.

Alright fellas, there was no blog last week as I had no sense of humour so wasn’t quite up to the task of mocking my life. Swimming in a sea of my own despair. No worries this week though, luckily for my readers my existence is getting more pathetic by the second, which is always good comedy value.

I think this is around day 227 of my unemployment odyssey, which is way further than I ever though I’d get without throwing myself in to the canal wearing a concrete duffel coat (like I could afford concrete). For all those street cats out there who know the jive talking, ol’ Lukat has finally reached level 3 on the dole. For the less educated people out there that means I am really...really fucked.

After 6 months of ‘enjoying’ my work shy holiday I now have the opportunity to work...FOR FREE. That’s right now the government has decided that instead of having all these scumbags stealing their new yacht collection money why don’t we just send the smelly bastards out to work full time for their droppin’s. Now that might sound all fine and dandy to the working folk out there...you know how it is...bloody wasters...paying for them to have bloody kids...bloody tax payers expense...bloody pint of union jack please mate. Well I’d agree maybe it would be nice to get some work experience and hopefully get a job at the end of it, after all you guys were kind enough to fund me for my internship in watching daytime TV and masturbating twice a day so why don’t I get out there with my tub of elbow grease. Well you see the thing is I have really been trying to find a job but sadly no one really wants to employ a fine art photographer/writer of erotic literature so I pretty much have the proverbial thumb…up my literal anus…or is that the metaphorical thumb up my mythical anus? Anyway I’ve been running around like a half man half wolf trying to find any shitty job that would take on my slick anus...(woah woah too many bum references here. Let’s clean this right up). To the extent that by the end of last week I was stumbling around one of the roughest areas of Burnley wearing a tight fitting shirt, Cuban heels and a man bag/satchel begging for employment. I was the only white man within a mile and looking like a waiter at a moderately good Italian restaurant, trying my best to pull the traditional ‘don’t stab me bud’ face only to arrive at the destination of my ‘interview’, which was actually some plumbing supplies shop down a back alley where they took my C.V and told me to do one. Here comes success.

I’m pretty much starting to think I am unemployable now. I went to an open interview for a telesales job dressed in full business wear thinking SURELY compared to my fellow dole scum I am a more attractive prospect. Oh how wrong L-Kat was. So I go in there reeling off a list of my educational victories only to be passed up for a chap wearing jeans and trainers who looked like he’d just smoked about 200 cigarettes. PLEASE SOMEBODY…SHOW THIS MAN TO THE HEAD OFFICE…WE MUST EMPLOY HIM AT ONCE. Truly a better man than I, for he had sales experience. He’d worked in a shop for a while so obviously that makes him more able to speak and communicate than the guy with a DEGREE. No worries, not like I’m bitter or anything. I mean it aint like I’ve resorted to begging for terrible jobs that I don’t actually want…out of pure desperation…then still getting rejected in favour of crack heads. It’s not like I’m 21 grand in debt after going to Uni to try and get a decent career…only to find that once I graduated I can’t get a job hassling old ladies on the phone to buy insurance. I mean that wouldn’t make a guy bitter at all, the worlds a great place. La la lahhhhhh.

So basically now if I don’t find a job in the next few weeks they are probably going to ship me out to do 100 hour shifts working in a slaughterhouse. Handling offal with my bare hands for what works out to be 0.0002p an hour and getting a weird skin disease that makes my hair fall out.

But ey…that’s ok...that’s just fine pal. Fine and dandy. You don’t kill of L-kat that easily, the foul stench of despair that I am, surviving purely out of spite. I don’t think making me work for free is bad enough, I think that’s too good for me. I want something worse...I want to sponge bath old people and clean up their faeces for weekly rations of beans. I want to be used as a test subject for dangerous new chemical experiments and I don’t want any compensation when my penis falls off and my blood turns neon green…I’ll be glad for the experience…something to put on my c.v. So so grateful.

Here’s an idea, why don’t you send all us dole scum out to solve the conflict in the Middle East. We don’t even need equipment or any training, it’s not like we’re real people or anything. Just stuff us all in to a big crate then drop us in the middle of the war zone. Might as well put us lazy bastards to some good use, no more sponging off the taxpayers. Now we’re out fighting a war with our filthy, bare hands. We’ll just get some of the bigger lads together and rush the enemy shouting ‘DOLEY DOLEY DOLEEEEEEEE’ and hope they retreat in fear. Watch the terror in their eyes as a bunch of poorly dressed idiots charge them down pounding them with bin bags full of spare change we collected off the floor. We’ll have our dole booklets stamped in blood. If we capture a prisoner of war we shall break him simply by talking about our lack of employment till he crumbles and reveals enemy secrets. ‘ERRR YOU SEE WHAT IT IS MATE..WHAT IT IS..I JUST CAN’T GET A BLOODY JOB..HALF OF EM SAY I’M NOT EXPERIENCED LIKE BUT HOW AM I MEANT TO GET EXPERIENCE UNLESS I GET A BLOODY JOB..IT’S HARD WORK MATE..THEN I’M OVERQUALIFIED FOR HALF OF THESE BLOODY JOBS MATE..YOU KNOW.’ The stench of our cider breath too much for even the toughest of soldiers to handle. Sure some of the weaker job seekers will be brutally slaughtered and ripped in half by gunfire but at least it stops us sponging off the government. Kill us...why not eh...would be a few less expenses then for old Davey Cameron.

If that’s no good maybe the government could sell us to the human trafficking industry. We can be sold as sex slaves to the Koreans. I’ll go and work in a massage parlour giving hand jobs to big businessmen; it doesn’t matter, as long as I get my £52 a week then no worries. If people don’t want to fuck us due to the stench of despair then why not just make us all fight each other for entertainment. Get a TV deal with channel 5, send us all to a big field then have us compete in a fight to the death. It can be like the old roman gladiators, bashing the shit out of each other in chainmail vests with swords and spears. If that’s too expensive just give us a bunch of bin lids and steering wheel locks and we’ll beat the piss out of each other so the richer folk can have a good time. Look at those awful poor people, deary deary me. Maybe even introduce some pitbulls if things are getting a bit dull, there’s nothing that says entertainment like watching the unemployed get mauled by vicious dogs. It’s the laugh riot of the century. Earn your bloody keep mi’ lad. Maybe turn it in to a kind of unemployed big brother. A bunch of us lads off the dole get sent to a council house and each week the general public votes one of us out to go and live on the streets and die homeless. They can make it more competitive by introducing a series of tasks like...who can get the most rejection emails in one day or...who can drink the most scrumpy in the space of an hour. It is TV gold just waiting to happen.

Why not just send us off to concentration camps instead? That would be more cost effective, just get us all in a warehouse and gas us to death. We’re no better than animals anyway, it’s not like we have brains or pay any tax. Subhuman scum. GET A BLOOODYYY JOB…or die. Sell us all to Jezza Kyle for his travelling circus. His whole career is based on exploiting poverty stricken halfwits…ROLL UP ROLL UP…COME SEE THE FREAK…HALF HUMAN…HALF DOLE…THE BODY OF A MAN…BUT THE BANK BALANCE…OF A SPIDER. Good ol’ Jezza is always in need of inbred scumbags, if we’re not ugly enough just expose us to radiation and nock all our teeth out. We don’t need to eat or sleep; we’ll just live in his basement chained to the radiator till he’s ready for us. He can even get some of his high society pals round to kick us in the balls and burn us with cigars for a flippin’ good laugh. The possibilities are endless.

So I would estimate that I have about one or two more weeks left to live. I mean live in a human sense of the word. After the job centre has finished cutting off my testicles and making me swallow cocktails of my own pride then I probably won’t be able to exist in normal society. I will most likely dwell underground in the sewer, speaking to no one but people on my level such as sex offenders and ageing transvestites. Soon I will lose the ability to read or write and will become terrified of the internet and its modern technology. I will cast aside all that I am to begin my new career...using my own hair to mop up piss in the toilet of life…for free of course…I don’t need paying. Why would I?

Big business and more urine based fun.

I just woke up with no pants on and the hairstyle of a man who is desperately trying to hide his baldness. I’m not going bald by the way, that’s the one positive that still makes me slightly attractive to women. Once my hair is gone I imagine my body will disintegrate and gently float away in to the atmosphere. So anyway looking like a sex offender/web pervert reminded me that I should probably write another blog, since I presume that’s what those kind of guys do.

I think I graduated about a year ago so it looks like we’re coming up to the one year anniversary of my unemployment. I tell you it’s been a hell of a year; I’ve met some great people down at the dole office, some real characters. It’s been an experience. The good times don’t look like ending soon either, I just picked up an application form to be a biscuit packer in Nelson but sadly there is not enough room to write down all my art based qualifications which I think would have landed me the job. My search goes on.

Anyway to commemorate this landmark achievement I have decided to arrange an official competition giveaway to all Lukat fans out there. This is your once in a lifetime chance to win various prizes such as signed pages from my job seekers booklet, a binded collection of my rejection letters and emails and last but certainly not least, the opportunity to have a morning pint with me in Whetherspoons after collecting my dole money. You’re paying obviously. All you have to do to have a chance to win any of these great prizes is answer the following questions.

1. What are your bank details?
2. What is your national insurance number?
3. What is your mother’s maiden name?

Send all those answers off with a copy of your signature and you will be entered in to the official Lukat prize draw. Good luck you little bastards.

Now back to business, literally. Since I’m not having much luck in convincing people to employ me as some kind of ‘work based dude’ who could perform menial tasks in exchange for pay, I thought hey L-Kat baby you’re a resourceful man. Why not make your own luck and get started on some new and exciting business ventures. I am a man of the world after all, I’ve been on nights out in Burnley, Blackburn, Colne and Padiham after all, and my travels have brought me much knowledge, insight and also hangovers. Lots of hangovers. In fact just this last week I woke up with a tingling sensation in my legs after ten hours of drinking which I’m sure is a sign of good health in some cultures. If things go well you could well be seeing me in the dragons den, the Chinese takeaway not the TV programme, I always go there when celebrating a small victory (e.g. pulling ugly chicks or pounding on cocky youths).

Anyway here is a series of projects I’m working on and looking for potential investors, so prepare to be blown away by my entrepreneurial skills. I give you the official Lukat 2011 business plan. Now let’s break bread.

Who's your fucking daddy pal?

Well if you want, it could be me? Are you lacking a strong father figure in your life? Maybe your dad is a let down like mine and only turns up to throw guilt money at you about twice a year before vanishing off in to the horizon in his jeans and sport jacket combination. Maybe you find your dad embarrassing or he left town after your mum shacked up with a large Turkish gentleman. Who knows? These things happen. But you need not suffer for it, as I, the mighty Lukat am willing to be your father. That’s right, I have a whole host of fathering skills having passed on my seed at an early age. I can fulfil all of your fathering needs; we can play catch in the yard, share a joke about ‘the footy’ and go on weekend fishing trips. I’ll let you sit on my lap while I tell you anecdotes about when I was younger and read you bedtime stories. I’ll even let you call me ‘poppa’. The current packages I have available will cater to all kinds of fathering needs.

Do you need a drunken angry father? Maybe you invite some of your friends round the house or a new boyfriend? Drunk dad is having none of it, sipping on his can of lager and accusing everyone of being a bloody puffter. The fun doesn’t end there, he’s a super racist too, and maybe one of your pals has foreign blood or even a very nice tan? Drunk dad won’t like that one bit when he gets all hot and bothered about this country going down the shitter. Bloody darkies coming over here on their banana boats eating curry and stealing our jobs. Send them back he says. Send them all back. This is white man’s land. Drunk dad will ruin all your birthdays and moments of achievement. Drunk dad will even slap your mother around for no additional cost. The drunk dad package can be yours for a bargain of £5 an hour. (Alcohol must be supplied separately). BOOK NOW.

Maybe you need someone more stern and judgemental. A man of great morals and strong holy beliefs. Good Christian dad could well be what you’re looking for. His book collection includes two copies of the Bible and three separate editions of Jeremy Clarkson based literature. Church is on Sunday where he plays rhythm guitar in the lord’s band and blasts out numerous hymn classics like he was taking care of business at a status quo gig. He wears stonewash jeans and crocs, he’s the casual man about town and he will frown upon you socialising with friends in a non Jesus based manner. Don’t push him too far though or he shall bend you over his lap and slap thy anus in front of stern onlookers and relatives. Christian dad will send you to your room and prohibit you from having any form of sexual relations until you are 30 years olds. For no additional charge he will turn up at a college house party in his dressing gown and furiously drag you out by your ear telling you how very ashamed he is. Jesus wept.

Christian dad is yours for £6 an hour. TAKE IT. TAKE IT.

Maybe you’re looking for a much more casual father. Someone who barely notices you exist and makes you spend all your time craving his acceptance. He will sit around reading newspapers and watching TV mumbling at you whenever you come home with a big grin telling him all about your day. He’s deadbeat dad…and he don’t give a shit. Your momma wants child support...fuck her...AND FUCK...YOUUU. Deadbeat dad don’t care none, he’s too busy watching planet of the apes on TV. Ask him to come to your school play or watch you take part in sports, FUCK YOU. Deadbeat dad thinks you’re a nobody. For an additional booking fee of £10 deadbeat dad will appear on Jeremy Kyle with you to take a DNA test, refusing that you’re even his child as you sob away in your chair…sat there in his stinking suede jacket with yellow teeth. ‘ERRRR ERRR WHAT IT IS JEREMY…ERRR...WHAT IT IS JEREMY...I JUST DON’T KNOWWW JEREMY…HIS MUMS SLEPT ABOUT WITH ABOUT 50 OTHER BLOKES ERRR SO I’M ABOUT 240% SURE HE INT MINE LIKE BUTTT ERRR ABOUT 156% SURE HE IS JEREMY.’ Deadbeat dad just don’t give a SHIIIIIT.

He is yours for only £7 an hour.

Who’s your daddy? Lukat’s your fucking daddy…for the right price.

Want to kick my head in?

Well now is your chance pal because the good lord knows unless you’re paying to do it there is no freakin’ way you’re giving a man like the Lukat trouble. I’d stomp your feeble ass.

Do you hate me? Or know someone who hates me? Chances are that you do, due to my personality/looks/things I say or do. Maybe you’ve fantasized about punching me in my cocky big nose or pulling my luxurious hair. Well if that’s the case I am offering you this unique opportunity to beat the shit out of me for a small cash fee. That’s right. You can do it in a variety of ways depending on your financial income.

The bronze package.

Here you get to knock me around for a bit in private. It’s a one on one encounter, I will come round to your house and you can kick me in the balls for a while and get rid of all your Lukat based frustrations. To celebrate the event I will supply you with a signed certificate which commemorates the beating you just gave me. You can cherish it forever. Yours for a £2 coin.

The silver package.

For this deal you get to attack me in public, however I must be very drunk. I will take your abuse but at a later date I will deny everything by claiming that I was ‘wankered’ and have no recollections of the event hence belittling the achievement slightly. You still have the advantage of a small audience seeing you pound on me but it will be tarnished by the fact that I am too wasted to defend myself. There must be no attractive women present either or the deal is null and void and I shall have to boot your ears in as compensation. Yours for an astonishing five English pounds.

The gold package.

This is really a top notch deal you get here. Not only do you get to kick my ass in public, but it is during daylight hours and I am totally sober. You get to beat the shit out of me in front of pretty girls who will be laughing at my expense as you shout abuse at me and I cower on the floor pleading for mercy. You get an official Lukat photo shoot to commemorate the event including keychain and postcard. Yours for £10.

The platinum package.

You twat me in front of a large group of people…and I piss myself…literally. It’s that simple. I will urinate myself as you beat me…in front of the general public. You also get a full video clip of the event filmed by one of my associates which I will allow you to tag me in on facebook. Your charge. A straight up £20 and a clean pair of pants waiting for me at the bus station.

Event destruction

Are you attending or hosting a high brow social event and living in fear that you may perchance embarrass yourself or let others down? Do you want someone to relieve that pressure by giving you a guarantee that at any hint that you are experiencing discomfort, they will throw themselves in front of the proverbial train and sacrifice their dignity for your own? Well that person is me. Be it wedding, birthday party of funeral I am your man. I will get wasted and pick fights with your elderly relatives. I will strip naked and try to have sex with any female in grabbing distance. I’ll call your grandmother a bastard then throw a child through the wedding cake. I will interrupt speeches and make racist/sexist comments in front of a large audience before vomiting all over myself and being dragged out by furious family members. I will be your shame, for a price. That price is £5 an hour and as much alcohol as it takes to get the job done. Book now.

(P.S my elite funeral service is now available where I will physically drag the corpse out of the coffin and start an argument with it. This is for a limited time only, due to legal issues I am restricted to the amount of times I can fight the dead. Available for a flat rate of £50.)

The Lukat Love Experience

Do you hate your parents? Do you need the kind of boyfriend that would horrify and repulse said parents? Well Lukat is your man. Any conflict you have with your mother or father will quickly be swung in your favour when you introduce them to your new lover…me…L-kat. I’ll turn up at your house stinking of booze wearing a wife beater vest to give full coverage of my bizarre tattoos. I will mention in the first 5 minutes that I have a three year old kid whom I spawned as a teenager. I will tell them stories of my sketchy criminal past and then get off with you in front of them. I will be present as you tell you parents that you are pregnant after 2 hours of meeting me and you are now dropping out of college to mother my children and move in to a council flat with several Rottweilers.

Or are you an ugly bird desperate to prove to others that you can get a man? Well I could be that man. I give you the official Lukat Facebook package. I will pose as your boyfriend for a period of time including full agreement of the relationship status. I will poke you and leave sickening messages on your profile such as ‘LUFF U BBZ, OMG I MISS YOU, CNT WAIT 2 C MA SEXY BAYBEHH TEE HEE HEE’ and ‘SHAGGIN U LAST NYT WER PROPA GUD HUN I LUV UR FANNY’. I will even use my infamous photography degree to Photoshop intimate pictures of us together which you can then set as your profile picture. You will be respected by your peers and enemies alike, most of whom will commit suicide due to the debilitating jealousy they feel that you are having relations with the sensual Lukat.

Here are the rates.

Stunners- will do free of charge in exchange for a breast grab

Moderate/plain birds- £5 an hour and a drunken fumble

Ugly birds/fat birds- £10 an hour, no touching. I don’t do that anymore.

Oh Lukat you terrible sexist…shame on you…shame on you indeed.

Ladies and chumps if you want to take advantage of any of these stunning offers then apply now. If I get a job in the next week there will be limited sessions (HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH). No really on a serious note now send me your fucking money; I’m getting poorer by the second.

Yours passionately.

Lukat.