Russell Brand ate my tortoise
Russell Brand ate my tortoise.
The socialist fiend broke into my flat while I slept. I’d been at The Taxman‘s Christmas party and, as usual, I’d been drugged by the music reviewer, Monty Silverman. Thankfully, someone had put me in a cab home before Monty had a chance to take my trousers off. Anyway, I was out of it. And Russell Brand knew I was out of it.
Brand must have got Anonymous to hack into my security system and disable it. Then I guess he probably donned one of this Guido Fawkes masks to look inconspicuous as he made his way inside. And I bet he kicked down my door using his bloody chest hair.
The Greggs Bakery Che Guevara tore off Timmy’s shell using a wrench and a chisel, just the kind of tools you’d expect a hypocrite to use if you ask me. Timmy, still struggling to escape, was yelping in pain. But Brand has no mercy. He began munching away, biting off each foot one by one, followed by the torso and finally the head. There was blood all over my carpet. At this point I was still unconscious, but I could hear Timmy’s screams even in my sleep.
The crafty comedian has always wanted to eat a live tortoise. He’s been planning it for years. I guess he knew about Timmy from reading my weather forecasts. I should have been more careful. But how could I have known rampant Russell would take his sadistic tortoise-eating fantasy this far? He could have bought one from a pet shop; but no, he had to eat mine.
Oh God, it’s so awful. Damn you Brand! Damn you and your hypocrisy! You say you want to help the poor, Brand, but who’s going to help save poor innocent tortoises like Timmy? Tortoises have rights too! More rights than the poor, I’ll have you know. I’m going to make you pay for this, Brand. I’m calling the RSPCA on you, damn it.
I am the owner of an eaten tortoise. And I will have my vengeance!
So Timmy’s turned up. Apparently I’d left his cage open and he’d been on my balcony this whole time. Still, what I said about Brand is completely valid.