The Office Christmass Party

Like any other organistaion we have a Christmas party and just like any other organistation we have a boss who's a cunt.
Jim MacMarran will be hosting the Christmas party for thefuckallthatpress at our HQ in Penge (Paul's shit-pit of a family abode- ha ha ha ha).
Jim will be laying on all the treats, Winston, Simon and Paul will listen to music, smoke tabs and watch films in a bedroom covered in fag stain. Jealous?

This will probably be the last party at Paul's place, the home of the greatest underground writing revolution since... Er, oh fuck off.
Any Ol' shit, you, our biggest fans, our hardened followers, our readers, are all invited!
Meet the stars of underground journalism, see Paul the miserable poet and wonder why he is rolling around drunk on the floor laughing when you thought he'd be slitting his wrists (no such fucking luck), meet Winston and be totally confused by his African descent and wonder how come all his jokes are racist. Meet Jim and dodge his whiskey throwing spectacular. Upon meeting Simon, you'll say 'I thought you'd be taller, and what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this, I thought you were a father, go home, now!'
The contributors from over the years Matt, Nnamdi, Two sheds, Dean...Wont be there.

So how could you miss a big night like this to spend with your heroes?

How could you say no?

What do you mean, no?

Well if any of you good for nothing cunts are coming, bring booze, fags and booze and some fags and then fuck off and die, we hate you leaches, you dirty two-bob fucking dirty skirt cuntlappers. Go fuck yourself in the forehead, fucko and a very fucking merry fucking christams fucking cunt to you too.
Fuck Jesus.
Fuck the press.