When a man loves a woman.

Ok here’s the deal PAL. Here’s the way it is MATE. Here’s the low down BUD. The thing is I’m working on finishing the last draft of my book at the moment so all my writing ‘skill’ is going in to that. Lukat don’t have time to write you an original and thought provoking blog so I figure since I’ve only been putting my blogs back out there for a few months now then chances are people aint read this shit anyways. So instead of making any effort with you subhuman scum then I may as well reach back in to my blog archive and rehash a blog I wrote a while back but with a fresh and shiny twist. Also I have learnt when to appropriately use 'there, their and they’re' now so it’s a whole different ball game. Like ‘soccer ball’ or ‘basketball’ or ‘balls’. I can’t remember when I wrote this one since I spend all my time moaning about you ‘chicks’ so I think it still stands the test of time, as does all great philosophy. So anyways you get what you’re given, while I’m doing my real, adult writing you punters can read my profound words of the past.

So here it is…I give you Lukat’s guide to women.

‘I’m sorry women but now you’ve gone and done it again, that’s right, I hate you all. Now don’t get me wrong I’m clearly not a raging sexist, demanding that you should be in the kitchen making me some form of bread based meal and remarking that you have small feet so you can stand closer to the kitchen sink, no of course not. I'm all about equal rights, it's why I have no problem having a fistfight with a lesbian.

Having said that though, you birds, you’re a load of hassle aren’t you. With your love of putting different amounts of kisses on each text, trying to confuse old Luka. Now you even take it a step further with your cruel mind games, where talking lower and upper case kisses. Surely this isn’t a random selection, who would do such a thing as to summarise our relationship by making a mockery of punctuation? It’s just not reasonable, your homosexual pals get ten kisses but I your loving boyfriend only gets two, If I’m to bring this up I’m clearly some kind of animal, a jealous freak who can’t handle his woman even being in the same room as another man. You torture me and hit me with the one kiss, a warning sign that if I further my disgusting behaviour that you will have no choice but to take away my kisses completely. Culminating in the hideous act of ending a text with a single full stop, like a kick in the throat…of love.

I mean I try to compliment you, I compare you to fat birds I have previously had drunken relations with and say that you’re much better, yet you take this as an insult? What kind of lunatic wouldn’t want to be put in the same category as overweight people I used to have sex with? What’s wrong with you people?

Then I decide to have a few drinks, maybe pour some lambrini down my pants, call your friend’s chunky and have a few fistfights and you take offence to this? So what if I get my penis out in public every now and then, am I not allowed to express myself anymore? Well I am sorry for being myself; I thought this was an honest relationship?

Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m in the wrong?

Maybe if I understood the needs of women more then I would be the modern day Romeo that I always claimed to be. But what is it exactly those women want? Well I’ve conducted some tests, drawn up some pie charts, sent out a questionnaire to every owner of a labia in the universe and I feel I understand now. (Sadly I’m not allowed to present any of my scientific research here due to pressing legal reasons.)

They want someone sensitive, someone who will treat them like the delicate creature that they are. Someone who will buy them beautiful flowers (preferably not daffodils as legend has it that they are the official flower of urine, or is that dandelions? I forget). Someone who will take them for walks in the park that don’t result in getting arrested for public nudity charges. Someone who will make sweet love to them instead of spending the night vomiting in to the toilet and sobbing about life’s injustices.

Yes they want someone who will turn up outside their window at 4am dressed in a kind of Shakespearian outfit with tights, frilly shirt and buckled shoes, playing a harp and singing terrible love songs that you wrote yourself. Send her lovely cards with snugly little puppies on them and the phrase ‘I wuv you’. She needs to know you care and are in touch with your feminine side. If she doesn’t hold your hand in public then throw a wild tantrum on the floor, kicking your legs about and screaming. At the end of every text end it with a sad face to show what a brooding and deep character you really are : (

However they don’t want a pussy do they now? You’re over emotional, she can’t handle it, she wants a real man, and you’re crowding her personal space with your sickening levels of affection. So maybe you should back off, give her some time, and ignore her for a little while maybe? It all seems very reasonable, no?

Wait a minute now, why are you ignoring the woman you love? Do you not care about her feelings? Her wants? Her needs? What are you, some kind of insensitive bastard with no heart, is that what it is pal? What happened to the flowers? The harp? What the devil is wrong with you man? Sort it out at once before she leaves you for someone better looking and more successful.

That’s ok though help is at hand my friend. You must prove your love to her by writing her enchanting poems about how you would like to comb her hair , flirt with her grandmother a little so she knows you want to get to know the family, a breast grab should do the trick. Maybe you could try self harming to show that you really care? Carve her name into your arm then post the pictures on facebook so everyone can see, that’s sure to win her back. If that fails then call her very late at night sobbing down the phone and threatening to kill yourself if she doesn’t touch your penis? It all seems very level headed to me.

Sadly now she wants someone a bit tougher, a hard man maybe who can protect her when you’re out and about. You’re going to have to show her that this man is you and if ever there was a time that actions would speak louder than words then this would be it. The answer here is obvious, you should find her weakest, most feeble male friend or possibly a disabled family member, and then you should really give him a beating. That’s right just really wallop the shit out of him. All the girls love a bad boy, you take no shit, and you let your firsts do the talking. You’re a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks and you don’t take no shit off nobody. Yes you really did a number on that cripple; watch her fall into your arms. You proved what a man’s man you are and now she feels real safe.

Ah I’m afraid that didn’t go so well. In fact you could say it seems to have backfired. You are now a violent psychopath and possible woman beater, how could she ever be with you? You’re worse than an animal, you need help and lots of it, and the police also want a word with you but its quite alright, help is at hand.

You need to get her trust back but it’s not going to be easy. You’ve blown your chances for the time being of it being a romantic relationship so we shall switch to plan b, that being friendship.

Its simple, just tell her you want to be friends, go shopping with her, share a joke with her mother , give her your opinions on outfits and let her tell you all about the ‘cute guys’ she’s seen (while of course hiding your seething rage behind a kind of retards smile and nodding). It’s all going so well I must say; your back in her life just waiting till you can once again become something more to her.

There’s a slight problem here. I hate to break this to you but she now thinks you’re a homosexual. Not that there is anything wrong with that of course, each to their own. It’s not quite working for you though since you were hoping to touch her nipples. She sees you as a very good friend now, far too good a friend to ever ruin that relationship. She’s going out with Dave now, he knows how to have a good time, he’s a failed 3rd division footballer, owns an Astra with them fancy lights underneath and has one of them very trendy eyebrow piercing. So I’m afraid you’re all out of luck.

You’re going to have to take things up a level. You’re going to have to crank up the voltage and really take matters into your own hands now, its all or nothing. What you need to do is drink lots of very cheap cider and find out which club she will be attending at the weekend. Make sure you are carrying the stench of alcohol and you have slightly pissed on your jeans due to poor aim in the toilet. Now is the time to strut over to her doing your best John Travolta impression, and then force yourself upon her. Yes that’s right, women love a bit of penis don’t they now, it’s what there after of course, it drives them wild. So just gently undo the fly of your pants and let your member hang out, very subtly but not too obscure as you need to make sure she has seen it, possibly by winking at her and nodding towards your crotch region. If she’s still not taking the bait then maybe you need a bit of verbal persuasion, just something short and sweet that will send her the right message, maybe something like ‘Ere…I’ve got a rubber Johnny in my pocket babes?’ This should do the trick.

Wait a minute what is that she’s pulling out of her purse? It looks like a torch of some kind, or a dispenser of chewing gum possibly? Oh wait no it is in fact a rape alarm. Yes you are now a registered sex offender and could be spending some time in prison being sodomised by large African men. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you but better luck next time and you’ll surely be out of prison in 8 years or so, plenty of time for romance then.’

Burnley woman, stay away from me.

Another day, another dollar. That opening phrase is in no way appropriate since I’m poor and pretty sure that Ramzan at the corner shop doesn’t accept American currency. He does however accept high prices for out of date confectionary so I think we can all benefit from that. I believe today is a Tuesday but who’s keeping track? I spent the weekend entertaining my kid with a dinosaur hand puppet and now I’m back to my day job which is basically cutting my own hair with blunt scissors and begging for a job stacking shelves at B & M bargains. Burnley after all is the home of bargains; we have more pound shops than we do hospital wards, boasting the likes of The 99p Store, Poundland, Home Bargains, The Pound Emporium, Poundstretcher and briefly the famous ‘Poundshrinker’ store which actually implied that they devalue your money, which is always a good business strategy. But who am I to point these things out? I’m but a simple buffoon with no sales experience or knowledge so how bloody dare I have the arrogance to reveal these basic spelling errors, such as the rather large banner in town advertising the ‘Chicken Cottage RESTUARANT’ which I am sure is a fine eatery. It’s also good to know that when applying for a job as a proof reader, which for those who don’t know is checking over documents to ensure that they are grammatically correct, I got the following reply.

‘We regret to inform you that you WAS not successful in your application to the job as proof reader.’

Oh I see I WAS not successful well that’s fair enough maybe I WAS be successful next time ‘mate’. Now either this is some kind of ironic grammar based joke or the people working there are producers of books for the illiterate, which I’m sure is a great market. Maybe in hindsight I should have offered a more appropriate covering letter.

‘Aye wood like two erply for da job I hop I was be gud fore it farnx.’

Not that I’m bitter or anything? Nor is it the first time my writing has come in to question over the past month with me receiving an email from a Ms Claire Munday who appears to not even be able to spell her own name correctly (it’s Monday pal) telling me that my c.v. only scored a measly 19/30. A soul crushing defeat which must also mean that the 87’000 word novel I just wrote is totally useless and I should burn it at once. Or maybe I should send said novel off to Ms Monday* asking her to give me an overall score out of 30 in it’s effectiveness as a piece of literature. Also notable is the opportunity they offer of rewriting your C.V. for a cheap as chips £15 which I’m sure has no relevance in sending the email in the first place. I expect a redrafted version of the manuscript returned to me by ‘Munday’ please. I’ll send it off after I reply to these Viagra emails which inform me I have earned an 80% discount. It’s hard to be hard.

Speaking of the book I’ve just finished the 3^rd draft and am now in a position to give you a few lines of it for free, I apologise for the plot spoilers.

‘I found her getting finger fucked in a back alley.’

‘She sucked my flaccid penis for around ten minutes.’

‘I stared at the fat bastard as though he was a mythical beast.’

Truly inspirational words from a modern day poet. I hope you will all send me your cash now to order this instant classic of a book which has been quoted as being ‘the feel good hit of the summer’. Quoted by me…just then. For people expecting any light-hearted humour then you will be sadly disappointed but then again who the hell would expect that from me anyway? What it doesn’t have in ‘fun’ and ‘laughs’ it more than makes up for in blood, vomit and drinking oneself impotent though, so be ready for penetration from my quarter mast dick. All metaphorical of course, I don’t want to fuck any of you disgusting mouth breathers. Now THAT is how you address your audience.

Can I also just say that I am truly disappointed that the News of the World have never tried to hack the Lukat's phone considering my superior social standing? I am putting it down to the fact that my phone is so cheap and old that it doesn’t even have a camera. I’m presuming the technology they have currently is not able to hack such a primitive device. The phone does have a torch on it though which I am sure to show off to anyone I meet whether the subject comes up or not. If they did hack my phone however they would be very disappointed since most of my texts are from the phone company and me attempting to flirt very badly with women. I am a stud after all.

SUCH A STUD AM I …that I use the winky tongue face after everything I say… ;0p...So so cheeky.

SUCH A STUD AM I…that girls sniff my chair when I get off the bus just to feel physically close to me.

SUCH A STUD AM I…that to seduce women all I have to do is gently edge a condom out of my pocket and nod to it suggestively before porking her next to some bins.

Huhuh bbz I’d lyk 2 c ur shewz on ma floor lol bbz lol winky winky cheeky face look I’m flirting isn’t It obvious I’m flirting lol look I’m typing lol I’m funny and personable lol lmfao I’m literally laughing my arse off...my fucking arse at that …cummon bbz lol ur r well fit..I WUD..WINKY FACE…I WOULD*..WINKY FACE..I WOULD*…LOL I WUD RUIN U LOL LOL WINKY TONGUE FACE…I WUD ; 0 p flirty flirty flirt flirt WUDNT KICK YOU OUTA BED..HAHAHAH..HAHAHAHRGHHHH…LOOK I’M AN IDIOT..I’M A FUCKING IDIOT LOL..LOOK LOL..I’M TYPING LOL BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING OF VALUE TO SAY SO SIMPLY USE LOL AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR SAYING SOMETHING OF INTEREST LOL LMFAO ROFL BBZ KISS KISS..xxxxx oooooh smoochy smooooch xxxxx..smoochy smooochy smooch smoooooch xxxx lol winky face…winky sad face? ; p ( I’m flirting but depressed…I’m masturbating and sobbing uncontrollably lol…that’s cool right?…look I said lol after so it must be a joke…how are you lol…wuu2 lol…I would lol…shoes under my bed lol…they are literally under my bed lol…I want to feel your soft tender nipple in my heathen mouth, dripping with the spittle of animal lust lol…lol..lol…lol…lmfao…lol….I want to split you in two with my 1.5 inch erection…would you like to take some painkillers beforehand lol…lol… lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol…

…anywhere where was I?

Oh yeah me being somewhat of a stud…a player…a ladies man…a jack the lad…the proverbial fanny rack.

I would hazard a guess that I’ve slept with as many as 3-5 women but who can even keep track anymore? I just can’t crunch the numbers. Excellent news though. I think I may have just found the next ‘notch’ on my bedpost whilst browsing the dating adds in the Burnley express (to pass the time of course).

’52 year old woman seeking someone who does not experience sexual attraction’.

SOLD.

I will snap that up right away, this woman truly sounds like a catch. Judging by her language and request that she find someone who is not attracted to women whatsoever or whom would even consider having sex with her I am filled with optimism…I can tell she is a very beautiful woman. This is the confidence I’m looking for in a lady friend. Please ignore my hideous face…please…don’t look at me…DON’T LOOK AT MEEEEE….I AM THE ELEPHANT MANNNNNNNN. (Sorry John)

The Burnley express is the only source I trust when finding a possible soul mate or sexual partner. I love Burnley so much that I will date ONLY women born and bred here like prize cattle. I am not able to become physically attracted to anyone born elsewhere so if that’s not the case just stop wasting your time right now. I love the thick maroon skin of the mature Burnley stunners, like a faux leather handbag left out in the sun all day. I love the tangerine Burnley chubsters getting their fanny out on a Friday night, squatting in public to take a piss. I love the scraggly Burnley meth heads, all wired up and wrestling with security guards on a shoplifting spree in TK Maxx.

Once I saw a Burnley woman who was so beautiful I wept and broke down right there a beaten man. A man so hollow I could barely draw another breath. There she was, hoisting her mighty frame through the town centre. Her mighty thighs rubbing together, her features lost in a mound of orange flesh and chins. Whispy little boyfriend at her side in his unwashed sportswear and I could of killed him right there out of jealousy. She took my breath away and she also left with a piece of my heart. I watched her greasy lips kiss out words of profound beauty. She said in her husky, cigarette worn voice...

‘EY ...EY I’M NOT FOOKING GOING UP THERE…I’LL GET BLOODY RAPED UP THERE…GET FOOKING RAPED UP THERE I WILL HEHEHRGHHHH’.

Oh lost love, one day I will find you again and maybe then I can find some form of contentment. Maybe then I can learn to live with myself for not taking a chance, for being a coward. Burnley rose you smell the sweetest, you smell of home…piss…and Dove body spray.

To be fair though I think even the sex offenders have a little more class than that and if confronted by this ‘page 3 stunner’ would be shaking their heads in shame and pity.

Burnley women. I love you.

I however am that desperate.

SO DESPERATE AM I…that I approach the charity collection people in town and force them to engage me in long and drawn out conversations even though I can’t donate any money.

SO DESPERATE AM I…that a guy from safestyle u.k turned up at my house the other week and offered me a job as a door to door double glazing salesman because HE felt bad for me.

SO DESPERATE AM I… that when I went in to Burton to look at clothes I couldn’t afford I talked to the salesman at the counter about the different grains of fabric and perils of matching a black suit jacket with black pants in painful detail even though I had no intention of making a purchase.

So desperate am I that once again I have wasted several hours rambling on with no real intent or purpose other than to avoid working out and hoovering my kid’s dinner off the floor. Sadly now the time has arisen for me to go and lift large chunks of stainless steel in order to look like I’ve been inflated with a bicycle pump. The things I do for you people. I will now end this blog with the winky face to make it feel as though you have some kind of repore with me. Let us share this common ground.

; p ( lol

Lukat.

This is what happens when you have to watch daytime TV

BLAH BLAH BLAH OH LOOKS IT’S THAT STUPID BELL END MOANING ABOUT BEING ON THE DOLE AND NO ONE TOUCHING HIS TODGER AGAIN. BOOOO BOOOOOO…WHY DON’T YOU JUST BLOODY FUCK OFF LUKA…WITH YOUR STRONG POWERFUL CHIN AND LOVELY LOVELY SOFT HAIR…YOU DICK…YOU STUPID DICK…BOOOOOO….GET A BLOOOODYYY JOBBBBB….GET A BLOOOODY GIRLFRIENDDDDDDD BOOOOOOOO NO ONE GIVES A SHIT WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAYYYY WHY DON’T YOU JUST DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..

Alright mate, cool your jets it’s not like I drone on and on and on and on about the same shit all the time is it? By the way this blog is about being unemployed and not getting laid.

Day 459 of my unemployment odyssey. Is it? No probably not but I can’t be arsed working out the dates just to satisfy a bunch of blog reading chumps. No offence like? Notice when someone says no offence they often use it just before saying something quite offensive. Like saying sorry before you set a bird sanctuary on fire, not that I’ve ever done such a thing. I have no problem with winged creatures unless they decide to defecate on me, which just shows the arrogance of the animal community thinking they can take a shit on people without any consequences. Anyway no offence but I believe we should gas anyone who isn’t white to create an Aryan super race. No offence but I just had sex with your deceased grandmother. No offence but I’m Olly Murrs. See my point? I’d like to think so.

Anyway I paid a trip down to the old dole house just this past week only to discover that my new ‘advisor’ had once spent a heroic EIGHTEEN MONTHS on the dole. Now maybe I’m wrong here but when I’m putting my employment chances in the hands of this stud who has single handedly devalued my epic dole record by trouncing me by a whole year then maybe It’s time to look elsewhere for help?

…and who better to help me…than myself. Or I as I sometimes like to be called.

Since my last business ventures never really took off due to the general public being a bunch of buffoons and cowards then I have decided to come up with a few more consumer friendly opportunities for you to wrap your disgusting, sausage like fingers around. That’s just me though, I love to help. Some of you might be saying ‘...b-b-b-but Lukat…sir…no OFFENCE but you’re a jobless loser sponging off the government, how the hell can you help?’ Well that may very well be true but for what I don’t have in ‘money’ and ‘skills’ I more than make up for in bitterness and a love of ruining other peoples fun.

So that got me thinking, what do people like? I wouldn’t know as I’m not considered to be an actual ‘person’ but if I was I’d assume it would be things like…quality of life…health…entertainment…education. All kinds of wonderful stuff that doesn’t involve watching repeats of Judge Judy in a pair of shorts I’ve had since I was 14. (Due to the wearing away of the material in the crotch area these shorts are no longer suitable for public use.) So how can I provide this kind of ‘useful’ service that people may even enjoy? Because really, learning can be fun. Especially when starting fires during class time, I didn’t both make and burn an effigy of Richard Gere just to be heckled on youtube. I did it for the benefit of humanity.

Behold my concepts. Cherish me. Tickle the Lukat's whiskers and stroke his luxurious fur. Purrrr purrrr…REEEERRRR.

Lukat’s 100% British Zoo

As an animal lover and long time fan of containing things that are weaker and less intelligent than I am in confined spaces then it would make sense that a zoo would be an exciting business venture. Now if you’re like me and sick of all these pompous foreign animals coming over in their banana boats and stealing the work and accommodation of good British animals then fear no more. I, 'The Lukat' am going to put an end to this and open a zoo of fabulous creatures which would usually not get the recognition they deserve. Behold the wonder of Lukat’s Zoo. ROLL UP ROLL UP people of all ages, come see Lukat’s zoo located in the car park of a condemned pub in the beautiful rural area of Burnley.

Come see the world famous Spider shed. We have collected a range of beautiful house spiders from various asbestos soaked abandoned council houses and have brought them to you in one magical place. Does your child have a birthday party coming up? Maybe you want to do something truly special for little Billy and his schoolyard chums. Well I offer you an exclusive package which allows your kids a whole 4 HOURS in the spider shed. We lock up to ten kids in a dark, spider infested second hand shed so they can interact with the friendly creatures, letting them crawl on your Childs face, underneath their clothes and lay eggs in their hair.

‘MR LUKAT PLEASE…I’M SCARED...PLEASE…I WANT MY MUMMY…PLEASE MR LUKAT THE SPIDERS ARE BITING MY LEGS’

‘Oh little Billy the spiders aren’t biting you, they’re giving you kisses. Now stop your sobbing.’

It will be a birthday your child will never forget. But the fun doesn’t stop there, oh no. We have a range of other attractions as well which are simply unmissable and are all included in the original £20 fee on entry.

There’s the wasp tent. We have filled a rather small Argos tent with about 50 wasps, all of which were raised with British passports. Not only do you get up close and personal with the furry little critters but you also get an exclusive gift bag including damaged sachets of brown sauce, a 2 litre bottle of Netto orangeade to share between you and a blob of antiseptic creams for any ‘bites’ or other small injuries which may arise. (Disclaimer-Lukat is not responsible for any incidents which may arise in the wasp tent) The wasp tent is not just for kids either, maybe grandpa wants a day out to experience the unique interaction as the angry wasps sting his frail body.

‘MR LUKAT...MR LUKATTT…IS GRANDPA OK...HE’S SHAKING...MR LUKAT PLEASEEE THE WASPS ARE HURTING HIM’.

Oh little Billy don’t worry about grandpa, the wasps are just tickling him, he’s having the time of his life.

You want more? Well we got more. Come climb under the covers of the woodlouse bed. Come on kids get all nice and cosy and come play with your new creepy crawly friends. We have picked up a knackered old mattress from the tip and then covered it in a community of household woodlice all with unique and endearing personalities that your children will simply fall in love with. There’s Uncle Duke Louse with his zany ideas and crunchy outer shell. There’s Pappa Louse and Mumma Louse creeping around with their lovable kids, covered in filth and disease. Not to mention big buster Louse who is twice the size of a normal louse and known to nest in the hair of little girls. Come see the whole family in Lukat’s Woodlouse bed, you’ll never want to leave.

That’s not enough? What about the bluebottle bins? We lock you in a wheelie bin filled with giant flies. The fun never ends.

Or the slug lift? We pack you all barefoot in to a lift and let you ride to the very top floor of a block of council flats, all the while enjoy the company of the charming and gooey animals.

VISIT NOW. LUKAT’S ZOO. TICKETS ARE AVAILABLE NOW. JUST SIMPLY SEND ME YOUR BANK DETAILS AND LET THE FUN COMMENCE.

Lukat’s dole enhancement course

Have you recently signed on the dole? Maybe you got a degree in fine art or forensic science and realised no one will employ you? Well help is at hand with The Lukat’s dole enhancement course. I will not help you find a job, far from it, I will simply advise you on all aspects of the dole lifestyle. Including how to correctly fill out your little dole booklet with lies and tall tales to get you out of the job centre quicker. I will show you how to stretch your money by purchasing subhuman foods from home bargains and Iceland. I will provide you with a list of alcohol prices to determine what brand of supermarket bitter would work out the cheapest. (Currently Asda which offers the fantastic opportunity of 8p a can). Do you have too much pride or self esteem that is getting in the way of you effectively completing your time on the dole? Maybe you find it degrading to be advised by people who are much less intelligent and less useful than yourself. Well never fear, we will completely strip you of any pride you have by getting you wasted off white ace and making you sleep with hideous, orange women. GO ON LAD.

Our team of experts will beat you with a sack full of spare change and urinate on you to prepare you for all the upcoming humiliation you will receive at the hands of the job centre. We have mock interviews set up where we hurl abuse at you and make you eat dog food off the floor in hope that it might get you a job. COME ON…YOU USELESS BASTARD…YOU WANT A JOB DON’T YOU…EAT THE DOG FOOD.

DOG FOOD…DOG FOOOD...DOG FOOOOD.

It’s not all hard work and elbow grease though. To make learning more fun we have designed a whole new version of dole monopoly. Pass go and receive your £52 a week benefits. You can play as a variety of characters including…the stinking le coq sportif cap…the knackered old fiesta…the can of special brew…or the used condom. Go to jail for not paying your TV license. Chance card…pay £80 fine for urinating in public. Buy a cheap council house in Nelson and charge your tenant extortionate rates to get rid of the musty, damp smell and yellow stains on the wall. THIS IS DOLE MONOPOLY.

Sign up now for your dole enhancement course available at all credible places of learning.

Lukat’s street workout

Are you sick of going to the nice, clean gym and having to share the equipment with a bunch of ponces wearing their boat shoes and cheeky novelty t shirts? Do you crave a more manly, rugged workout which will actually cause more harm to your body than it will good? Well come take part in Lukat’s prison workout. I have set up a series of objects in my back yard which need smashing up and taking to the tip. Work all day with no food or water breaking up old washing machines and feel the benefits of a real mans workout while I play you rap music and beat you with a large stick every now and then.

Cardio? I got your cardio…we go for a run in the roughest areas of Burnley wearing skinny jeans, cardigans and carrying expensive laptops…run for your lives as unwashed youths chase after you on bikes to steal your possessions and kick your head in.

Engage each other in daily knife fights. Build your own shiv from rusty nails, old toothbrushes and razors and battle it out to improve your conditioning. Please avoid any actual stabbing/sticking with the blade though due to recent fatalities during the workout. Just cut each other a little, we need to think about the health and safety after all. It’s political correctness gone mad I say.

Work on your speed by playing games of chicken on the motorway. Who will show their fitness superiority by not getting crushed by a Farmfoods lorry? Who will have the mental resolve to live when others die in the name of a good workout? The guys down at the gym are too busy flexing on the rowing machine and staring at attractive girls to know what it takes to be a real man. There are no attractive girls here. Just a whole bunch of pain and insurance forms. Enter Lukat’s street workout. Enter the 4^th dimension of health and fitness.

Yours for £10 an hour and a few tinnies.

Well there you have it. I’m not sure exactly what IT is but I assume it is something that was evident in the blog otherwise there’d be no point writing it. NO BLOODY POINT WRITING IT HAHAHAHAHA…THERE HAS TO BE A POINT...DOESN’T THERE? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN...JUST WORDS…JUST TINY STUPID WORDS…OH MY LIFE HAS NO MEANING…COME ON MATE GIS’ A JOB…GIS’ A JOB…I’LL SUCK NUTELLA OFF YOUR FINGERS…COME ON BABE…COME ON MY MUMS NOT IN AND I’VE GOT SOME OLD CONDOMS…SOME OF EM’ MIGHT STILL BE IN DATE…PLEASE..OH GOD PLEASE…KILL ME…KILL ME...KILL MEEEEEEEEEEEEE I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

I mean…cool…thanks for reading.

Lukat.