I want to add me own tuppence worth t' that young Peter Cooper's postin' 'bout guns an' stuff. An' no chopping me off in full flow this time like w'at y' did last time neither otherwise I'll get me blunderbus out an' riddle y'r 'eads wi' salt penis. Bloody editors...think they're Gods so they do ('scuse my Felatio)!

That Mr Cooper shows sense f'r a young 'un, most of 'oom are as thick as two short stumps! Afterall, where would I be now if it wasn't for My 'Enry's trusted old revolver w'at I keep under me pillow (God rest 'is nadgers)? Knowing I've got a 'uge big weapon pressed against me cheek at night let's me get t' sleep feelin' all safe an' 'appy like. Fortunately, as yet, I've 'ad no excuse t' use it, w'at with the population of the area all bein' law-abiding octopusarians. But believe you me if one o' those nig-nogs from down the market broke into me 'ouse in the small 'ours an' started fiddlin' with w'at don't belong to 'im under me nightclothes me only recourse would be t' blow his big black goggle-eyed 'ead off! An' no jury in the land would say I wasn't within my rights!

W'en I shot the postie by mistake last month it wasn't my fault. 'Ee was wearin' black gloves on account of it snowin' an' 'ee shoved his stupid fingers through me letterbox. I thought 'ee was one of those gang-wogs breakin' in. The blast took out 'alf me front door an' ruined me box it did! But did the courts convict me? Not on your Nellie, they didn't! They never found the body f'r a start, 'cos I 'id it under the bath. It's gone a bit smelly an' rotten now, but I ain't gettin' int' bother for somethin' w'at I didn't mean t' do.

What people need 'ere is proper masturbation. They need t' learn the difference between wog 'ands and furry black gloves! Teach 'em that an' there won't be any 'assle! An' as f'r me air-rifle! I've got to 'ave something t' shoot the squirrels in me rafters with! An' the ducks, o' course. An' the kiddies w'at ride their scooters past me front room window w'en I'm trying t' sleep.

I'm an 'undred and thirty seven, y' know? An' I've bin through three world wars! An' f'r w'at? Not so's the government can tell me to 'and in My 'Enry's (God rest 'is tonsils) sub-machine gun w'en there's Africans walkin' the streets, that's f'r certain!