Much has occurred since my last insertion – I was the VIP guest on the Disability Now, royal podcast and I took great delight in airing my grubby haute couture on the government’s decision to remove the Independent Living Fund in 2015.
I don’t really care because I’m a bona fide fake – if I wanted to skip jump run and defecate unaided I would – but I choose not to – it’s great fun having minions performing mundane tasks for one such as charring the cabbage, scrubbing the bedpan and promenading the pair of bitches every hour on the hour.
Then there is the Assisted Dying Bill – thank you Lord Falconer – what a delightful beautiful man you are – I want to dribble all over you and as a severely disabled defect dyke I am turned on by your sweaty brow and your eagerness to see the likes of me guzzle back barbiturates and depart once and for all. Let’s just do it, no need to worry about the sixty second diagnosis, I’m terminal, your terminal, we’re all terminal, exterminate.
Unlimited thrust an immodest amount of sterling into my limp twisted motionless little mitts to perform the Dinner Party Revisited at the Southbank Centre in September 2014 – so I kneel to the Grim Reaper and order him to keep his filthy paws off my silky drawers.
If you’ve been hearing rumours the commission was a fix – you’re absolutely right, the power of SickBitchCrips is insurmountable – together we rule the world!