That’s it. I’ve had it – right up to, well… here. I. Don’t. Want. Your. F’ing, Newspaper! I really do not understand why you can’t walk 5 feet in London without being assaulted by some utter scumbag shoving a paper in your chest, while at the same time making you deviate enough to end up off the kerb, into the gutter, or worse into the path of a rabid city woman with her bingo wings swinging in the breeze.
Fuck off. Both your papers are rubbish, little more than re-hashes of the morning’s Metro with a sprinking of extra pointless D-list gossip stolen from Heat interspersing the already sparse content. If I want a paper, I’ll buy one, but please just keep the fuck out of my way with your pointless, environmentally unfriendly litter rag, or god help me one day I’ll shove your paper where the sun doesn’t shine.