Suspect Parcel

A man with a moustache came to the house the other day with a parcel for the bloke at No.10. I've left notes and taken it round, but still there it sits, on the stairs - unloved and unwanted. I'm beginning to suspect it contains pornography. Of course I have no evidence for this, only the 'facts' I've garnered about the man at No.10 ...

His Garden's A Shitheap

...because he's probably too fucking busy wanking away to do a bit of weeding, y'see? There's always something suspicious about an unkempt garden. The owners are usually either paedophiles or murderers.

He Lives On His Own

I read a statistic once that stated that 98% of men who live on their own do very little else other than sit in the dark watching women take it up the arse. They are also 30% more likely to keep a woman's head in their fridge as some sort of ghoulish trophy.

He Never Opens His Curtains

And why doesn't he eh? Because he's paranoid the world out there might be staring through his dirty windows watching him have one off the wrist. The filthy bastard.

He Works Nights

Sex shops are usually open between 8 in the morning and 8 at night. By working nights, he has a full twelve hours of browsing time at his local perversity emporium (and plenty of time to hang around schools taking photographs, to boot).

He's Gone Bald And Wears Glasses

Perhaps the most damning evidence of all! Every picture I've seen of a rapist (or catholic priest) shows a bald man wearing thick-lensed spectacles. Is this a coincidence? I think NOT!

So what to do? I could take this suspect package to the police if I thought it'd do any good. Sadly, all that would happen to him is a slap on the wrist and a period of 'rehabilitation' at Her Majesty's Pleasure (or 'Barbados', as it's known nowadays). I can't allow this to happen, so this is my plan:

1. Start up a whispering campaign against him amongst local mothers

2. Tip off the News of the World that a predatory beast lives amongt us
3. Spray-paint 'NONCE' on his door when he's out

4. Drag him out of his house and beat him to death with a brick

5. Dance around his bloodied corpse and laugh and laugh and laugh

And it'll serve him right for not being in when his package of filthy literature turned up on my doorstep, I say.

B P Perry works for Classic Rock Magazine, The Daily Mail and The British National Party