Grrrrrrr! Bang! Scared? Ha, well I make no apologies. If I want to make a load of scary noises, I’m a gonna. And there ain’t nothing you lily-livered, politically-correct apologists can do to make me stop. So, like, Boo! To you all.

I’m fed up with this shit and I’m not gonna take any more. "What shit Angry?" I hear you ask. "Milk Cartons" I reply. Yeah, you heard right. Milk cartons! I don’t care who knows it, I think they’re kinda hard to open. So, damn it, someone’s gotta do something about it, or I’ll just have to, um, yeah. Well. Just watch out, that’s all I’m saying.

And another thing, I have always had a problem with that asshole Jean Paul-Satre’s theory that memories can be used up and worn out. He claims that when you recall something that happened when you were a child, the next time you think of it you just remember the act of remembering it. Thereby reducing the power and nostalgic effect. You know what I say to that stinky-assed garlic cruncher? I say, come on French buddy, get with the programme! It’s only a tangled pathway of neurological impulses. DEAL WITH IT.

It’s political correctness gone mad. Just because I made a few goddamn Polish jokes. So what? I make no apology. Surely the important thing is the wit and humour in the joke. Have we not progressed beyond knee-jerk reactions? Can I not make a few Polish jokes without some old baldy ass-wipe getting offended? If I was in Krakow or Warsaw or one of those other unpronounceable hell holes I would understand, but I was in Italy for Chrissakes. ITALY. And what the hell was that old bald guy getting so excited about anyway? A few Catholic jokes. I mean, if I actually meant what I was saying, then yes, it would be offensive, but I didn’t mean a word of it. So, like, what’s the deal? So, a big sorry to the old bald guy, if I offended you. Who is this "Pope" guy anyway?

Come back here you ornery rabbit, or I’m a gonna blow the fur clean offa your carcass.

And I will.

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