Wasp collection - Offer to Chris Hong. If he doesn't want them then lob them into the canal.

Heart, Lungs, Fur, Claws, Guts, etc - Leave outside Jeremy Paxman's camper van in a bucket as per his request. 

Brain - Place in envelope and post to a hospital (abroad). 

Kettle full of cocks - Auction at Christie's and give profits to Sexy Chris. If it doesn't sell then point and laugh at Sexy Chris. Make him feel absolutely dreadful. Encourage him to take his own life. 
(Hand him a gun / mallet).

Donald Trumpet - Return to parents. (I think they live in Epping now)

Bags of soil - Send to my cousins (Timothy and Invisible Richard - NOT Greg. Greg gets nothing)

The mice - Destroy them all. (Except Nigel Philips. Let him live. Send him back to his filthy nest. Let him tell the rest of those bastards what happens when you fuck with old Gus).  

Um Bongo cartons - Bag up, label, place in chronological order and archive in museum.  

Testicles - If they're still attached - which I fucking doubt - then slice the buggers off and hurl them through Martin Clunes' velux window.

Bomber Jacket - Return to Keith Rice. Tell him I never wore it. Tell him it's shite and that you'd have to be a right cunt to even be seen dead in it. 
(n.b -  Don't let me be seen dead in it)

M-Cat / Gin - Give to Double Denim David if he hasn't popped his clogs first.

Swords and guns-  Leave in playground (St Matthew's Primary)

House - Burn to the ground. (Before Cwis Packham can get in there and inspect my stools live on the Beeb)


stuff about 


Believe it or not, drug use is a practice that dates all the way back to prehistoric times. Archaeological evidence suggests that humans have been getting mashed out of their tiny little minds for the last 10,000 years. Basically, your evolutionary process may not have taken quite so long if you lot hadn’t spent quite so much time sitting around naked in caves and hallucinating about giant, golden mammoths made of wind.
However, this relationship with narcotics isn’t strictly limited to humans. A number of animals consume various psychoavtive plants, other animals, berries and even fermented fruit in order to start seeing sounds and hearing colours.
It probably won’t come as any surprise to anyone to learn that being an animal is an absolute bloody nightmare. Your average urban beast will usually spend the entire day covered in rain, eating dicks and bollocks and narrowly avoiding being bummed and murdered every couple of hours before plodding off back to their filthy, muddy pit to spend the rest of the evening crying and shitting at the same time. The entire thing’s about as much fun as eating soil.
 Everyone needs a pick-me-up every now and again and the options available to us all are vast. From a glass of red wine in the evening to an intravenous skag hit behind the bins, the drugs menu is a vast spectrum of strengths and flavours with new ones being created every day. And guess what. We’ve come up with a few that you probably haven’t even heard of. Keep your eyes peeled for these cheeky little customers.


ALIAS – Quack, Daffy, 
WHAT IS IT? – My mate Double Denim David invented this. It basically consists of licking a duck’s eyes. (It works best if the duck is elderly).
EFFECTS – Gives you an erection. Also makes your head feel like it’s full of mice. It’s pretty good stuff.

hoxton hero

ALIAS – Ian, Bingo Biscuits
WHAT IS IT? – Not sure. Found it in a tub inside Ian Botham’s garage in Hoxton. It’s white. It looks a bit like emulsion paint. That might actually be what it is to be honest.
EFFECTS – Pretty heavy stuff. Me and my mate Vile Clive did this last week. You snort it. It makes you travel through time. I got so wasted that I started hallucinating. I had a dream that me and Pat Sharp started a long distance lorry driving service. It was off the hook. (When I woke up all my claws had fallen out which is a downside).

stinky peter

ALIAS – Pete, The Stench, Funky P
WHAT IS IT? – I found this in a toilet near Kings Cross. It’s not very nice. It’s like some sort of revolting clay.  
EFFECTS – No effects really. Made me a bit giddy I suppose. Just made me feel sick more than anything. I spent the evening vomiting out of my nose whilst weeping and shuddering in the fetal position. Not sure this was a drug actually. Not sure at all.


ALIAS – The Hump, Kicks, Corden
WHAT IS IT? – This is pretty popular in the fox community. It basically consists of drinking Castrol GTX. You can find it in most garages. It tastes like the end of the world.
EFFECTS – Great stuff. My mate Glen Cake did this a few days ago and got so wasted that he ate his own legs before trying to climb inside his own mind. Not long after that he got the Rizzle Kicks (a sort of convulsive fit) and died. It’s a great drug. Great fun. You die about 70% of the time though which is a bit of a nuisance. Last time I did it my eyes went black and Des Lynam ordered me to start a war on PC World. I certainly had a funny five minutes. 

wood lice

ALIAS – Louse, Cheese, Bongo Biscuits
WHAT IS IT? – Wood lice.
EFFECTS – Can’t champion this enough. I know drugs are bad but you have to try this. Stick a few wood lice up your arse. It’ll change your life. Magical stuff.


If you’re the kind of person who spent all Christmas sat on your own in front of the TV with a loaded gun on your lap, trying to pluck up the courage to blast your own brains out, with even the Miranda Christmas Special failing to tip you over the edge then GREAT NEWS! The most depressing day of the year is just round the corner to give you the inspiration you need to splatter yourself into oblivion. Januray the 23rd is the day. See you there.
Traditionally, by the time that the third Monday of January rolls round, everyone’s fully immersed in that post-holiday comedown, blinking back tears as they stare up into a grey sky trying to remember the official name for that big orange ball that used to hang in the sky. Outside it’s colder than a whore’s heart, no one has a penny to their name and this year – as a special treat- everyone will be sweating and weeping on the toilet thanks to the norovirus. The only thing to look forward to is the sweet, sweet kiss of death.
To compound the misery, many people think that now’s a great time to stop drinking which will usually result in them feeling sh*t because they’re either struggling with abstinence or feeling guilty because they f*cked it up after about three days for absolutely no reason other than a lack of will power, usually reserved for homeless meth addicts.
This year however, I’m showing some restraint. This year I’m joining in and attempting a dry January, and as a fox who likes nothing more than gin and MCAT it’s a f*cking massive challenge let me tell you.
A couple of weeks ago I was chatting with my mate Sexy Chris (an owl) and he told me that I looked like I was going to die based on the fact that most of my hair had fallen out and I was lactating blood. I decided to sort my life out. See if I can’t squeeze another few months out of my wretched existence.
I started by swapping gin and Castrol GTX for water. Because I’m not a poof I haven’t had a drink of water for about 3 years. It’s disgusting, particularly the water available to me in Regents Canal, which is usually full of crap thanks to all the sh*t you lot hurl into it - the other day I almost choked to death on a pair of Ghostbusters underpants. I’ve also been drinking a lot of Um Bongo.
One of the other problems with going dry is going out. If you’re anything like me then a typical night out will involve getting leathered in a tunnel before wandering up the canal and finding a few swans to have sex with. Since I’ve been sober I just can’t seem to get the same kind of kick out of activities like this and all I ever want to do is stay at home in my filthy pit and read. At the moment I’m reading an autobiography by a wasp called Ian Hedge. It’s absolutely crap. Definitely not a page-turner. I’m basically bored to tears and, when you’re bored, it’s hard to stick to the programme. It’s tough.
It’s also difficult to find support from your mates through all the bravado that goes along with the drinking culture that dominates our society. The other day I was over at my mate Cwis Packham’s bungalow and I told him I was off the sauce. Typically Packham started acting the giddy goat and calling me a bender. The evening ended with him pouring an entire bottle of red wine over my back before shoving the bottle up my a*se which is the sort of thing I could really do without at the moment, to be honest.
Ultimately is it really worth the hassle? As soon as it’s February the 1st all of us abstainers will go out and drink so much that we’re vomiting out of our eye sockets and our health will plummet back to appalling new lows. Makes you wonder what the point is. It’s depressing.