I. Lo. Very lo, about as lo as you can get.

II. The LORD who existeth not art a right spiteful petty bastard, for he letteth NOT his prophet shag. Yea, since before the skies were darkened by the fall of winter hath His prophet not laid any pipe. Perhaps He hath made his prophet smell badly of piss or armpits or something, I don't bloody know, but His prophet simply cannot pull a bird for the life of him.

III. HEAR ME O LORD (who existeth not). GIVE UNTO ME A BIRD FOR CHRISTS SAKE OR MY BOLLOCKS WILL EXPLODE. Let her be young, yet worldly; beautiful yet not sickly sweet; let her breasts be jumbly whoppers and her parts wetter than the ocean. Let her thoughts be bright and her conversation sparkling, yet let her know when to shut the fuck up for ten minutes if I'm watching the telly. Failing that just give unto me any old slapper prepared to open her legs for I art fucking DESPERATE.

IV. And the LORD doubled his curse saying 'O Prophet, thou knowest that the more desperate ye get the less likely the birds are to fancy thee. When thou hast a bird all the other birds falleth over themselves to get into thy pants, yea, though when thou hast not, even that little that ye hath shall be taken away. See that funny looking English bird ye liked? She would have been all over ye if you had a girlfriend already. It's only because you were so fucking desperate for a shag that she giveth ye nought'.

V. 'Hmm' sayeth the prophet. 'What a bastard. Oh look it doesn't matter. Buggery and shite, best not think about it eh?'

VI. Anyway, the prophet of the LORD who existeth not went comfort shopping last night and buyeth he him a smart pair of ravey davey gravy trousers and a deadly Adidas t-shirt thingy. Oh and some socks. Birds. Who needs 'em? I'm just going to rent Titanic and watch it with a bucket of chocolate ice cream and a packet of kleenex. So I can whack off over Leonar... Kate Winslett...