HQ, Fuck All That

Si & Paul's head office will be no more come New Year's Day. Paul's house where he lives with Jim and Winston is being 'taken over' by an unkown entity who has links with the council and a dead relative of Paul's. One thing we can confirm is that whoever is doing this to our poetry champion is a total cunt and we mean to track them down and get all On the Buses on their arses.
What a bunch of cunts.
Ok, it is/was not the most fetching of abodes, but it was Paul's home and some of the press' greatest moments have come from the bin linered window front room, whilst in the throes of drunken, coke-fuelled and poppers taking xtc (if their really is such a thing in Penge).
The press will miss the balmy evening walks down Newlands Park towards the shrine of modern journalism that is/was Paul's gaff. The tree lined avenues, the friendly people, the rubbish bags and beer bottles on the door step, the fag stained and greasy mittened door frames, walls, ceilings, light switches (well everything). But most of all we'll miss the luxury toilet and bathroom. Broken peach cement and china, chipped tiles, a mouldy piece of soap, which could well be from the jurassic age and a bog that doesn't flush properly.
In fact, if you put it like that, it sounds like Paul's getting a good deal, the streets sound safer.
Jim has already decided that they'll never take him alive (just who THEY are is very much a grey area) and he'll be fucked if he'll give his house up to coons(DISCAIMER - NOT THE WORDS OF THEFUCKALLTHATPRESS).
'I'll take them all on' Winston screamed, to nobody but the bin linered curtains, 'Where are ya, show yerself yer cunts' he added and then did what Winton does best; fell over and dwelled in his own shit, piss and sick for nine hours.
thefuckallthatpress' 'Last Night Of the Wrongs' will be held at the HQ for one last trip down shitville, date to be confirmed.