So I'm hiding in my office cupboard. I'm here with my laptop thing (which I think is broken, by the way. When Philpot sends me links to pictures and sites he thinks I'll like, my computer says "restricted" and "not available" and shit like that. I told Michelle - who bought me the laptop and set it up and stuff - and she said I wouldn't like those sites anyway. But how would she know?) ... anyway, I've got my broken laptop on my knees, and I'm typing totally quietly. I've even taped some kitchen paper to my fingertips to make less noise.
It's the white guys. They're after me.
And I've explained to them: I'm like, "It's the whales, dudes," but they're like, "you have to wash, sir." And so I say again: "It's the whales!" I tell 'em how I ain't gonna wash no more coz whales need the soap more than we do.
Basically, it started when I was watching Heroes then, during the ad break, I flipped over to Discovery and there was this thing about fish and whales and stuff, all swimming round, happy and everything. Then it said something about soap and how there's this problem with soap and whales... I didn't properly catch it. But I think whales might eat soap. And we shouldn't use soap to wash coz otherwise all the whales will starve.
So I stopped. No more soap for your man B.O!
It's been just over 2 weeks since I last washed.
And I think that's cool, admirable even (even if I do say so myself), but the white guys (and Michelle) have got this problem with it. They're like, "If you want to meet foreign dignitaries, you gotta wash." And they're not listening about the whale problem. They keep going on at me to get in the shower. But I'm not having it. No way. I'm hiding out in this cupboard with my stockpile of soap.
I tell you, dudes, the first thing I'm doing when I'm in next year is shipping a load of soap to the sea so whales can chow down.
FEED THE WHALES!
Peace out.
B.O
p.s. I'm no prude but I think this dog should be a bit more demure.

