Two questions arise. Who produces this webpage, and then who reads it?

I says like this : listen you money-hungering server owners and bloodthirsty porn purveyors, that bleeding FHM website is full of lies and the lassies in it are all bollocks. It is high time they lassies realised what they were doing and put their faith in more sensible employment, such as working in a record shop, or selling programs at the game, and then you shopkeepers with your middle to top shelf nasties, would be put to shame.

And then I says to them, that LOADED website is worse, and everyone that reads it dies after a short illness.

But the police get wind of this, and they’re onto me like a dollop of brown sauce on a bacon butty. I mean the police are round and they baton charge me and push me in a pigsty, and then it’s into the back of the panda. After the panda I gets put in a police car and that is where I gave my confession, on the way back to station. I said in my confession that I had spoken out against the wholesale corruption of the newsagents with sexual pron sites and broad-sheet newspapers, and I finished off the confession by emitting something warm on the back seat of the police car.

So then I gets taken in to the cop-shop by the bobbies and charged with denial of God, baptism in lager, blasting of corn (whatever that is, but I think it was something to do with what happened on the car seat), music and copulation, and building a sheddie in which to wank on the side.  And my shed is taken away and used in evidence against me like, forasmuch as it is a bad shed and lined with pages from books that the police can’t understand.

And the police rattle of a string of cliches about how it is the right of women to appear in whatever websites they like, and then the chief of police draws towards me and he places his hand between my knees, and begins to touch me, saying that I am far too prudish.

And the curious epilogue of all this, was that when they let me out of the cop-shop, after serving me with a prison meal of cream pudding, butter, cheese and bread, I’m called upon by the league of webservers to judge their new websites, which they’ve improved for the local market.

So I opens the improved website like, and what do I see? A monstrous bear stooping on this boy’s face, and underneath it says THIS MUTE AND MALGNANT BEAR LIKES NOTHING BETTER THAN TO SHIT ON PASSERS BY, and I see that the guy can’t breath with this bear’s arse on his head. And this is the least of it! says the shopkeeper, and he’s got this other website in which I discover a cow’s bottom.

And I said to the league of shopkeepers : two minutes with this website is sufficient to convince me of the fact that you have no idea what the public desires. So the arch webserver appears and opens this final website which features pictures of the Home Affairs Select Committee being savaged by panthers, and prison governors copping squats on each other at gun point, and on one page I see an article about how Captain Bronster sailed his ship around the country, giving lasagna to the needy, and I said : this is the website we need. This is the website that you should promote, and give these poor models a break. This website is a sensible reflection of the despair and childishness all around us.

And that is the story of peterburnett.info.