Fag Hag Diary

Everybody needs good neighbours. 


The Fag Hag was sitting in the FH drawing room innocently minding her own beeswax the other day when she heard a loud thump. ‘Oh Christ, that’ll be the Geordie neighbour giving his mistress a good going over again,’ I shrugged and attempted to put the sorry business out of my mind whilst I watched my very own form of porn – that gorgeous cutie Jon Snow delivering the news headlines.As I was just gathering some Jon images for the wank bank there it was again – thump, thump, bang. Oh god, I do hope he’s not shoved a table leg up her bum and smashed a ceramic ashtray over her head, I thought. I can do without a Jane Doe in the building.

Finally there was a third bang – maybe that’s her lifeless corpse making its way down the fireplace, I reflected whilst tasting the mushroom risotto that was simmering on the hob. Twenty minutes later Fag Hag had incoming on her mobile. It was the other nice neighbour from downstairs sounding rather upset…

‘I’ve just come back – there’s been a break in and they’ve taken everything,’ he said.  Well I’m sure you can imagine exactly how I felt right then. Two men in hoods had broken into my block. They had taken computers, mobiles and passports. And yet they hadn’t even bothered to lay on the finger on the Fag Hag. ‘The bastards!’ I cried.

And I meant it. Well, no one insults the Fag Hag vajayjay like that.


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