I haven't blogged for a while but that's because firstly, there was nothing to blog about and secondly, because Ross McTavish a little rodent cunt of a man that worked for the local paper started sniffing about my previous blogs and had the brass neck to imply I was racist. Guess you don't need a degree to write for Aberdeen Journals then?
Well, I have something worth writing about now so fuck Ross McTavish. I have info to good not to write about. I have the info that everyone wants. I'm the fly on the wall with the hard on while Katie Price is getting gagged and reaching desperately for the Mace. That's right folks, Alexasks is exclusively revealing who raped Jordan before the tabloids even have it in print. It was................................Former olympian and record breakers presenter Kris Akubusi and here's how he did it.
Akabusi scaled the walls of the £756,000 Sussex mansion with all the stealth of a gekko on a Mallorcan shower wall. As luck would have it the window was open. He dropped in and slipped out of his dungerees and let the cool air caress his polished ebony skin.
The house was quiet. He looked into one room and saw the sleeping Peter Andre - without the wig and wax on his face he was rather beautiful. But Akabusi wasn't into arses. Not today.
He heard a noise coming from the bathroom. He ran along the landing, his giant cock swinging in the air like Saddam on Youtube. He looked into the bathroom and saw a mad little fucker, big as a barrel and blind as a bat leaping up and down in some boiling water.
"Akabusi!" said a voice behind him. "Stop looking at my son with your cock out". Akabusi slowly turned around and saw Katie Price in front of him - wearing nothing but a Juicy Couture camisole and the slightest glistening of her ample clunge.
As ever Akabusi's cock became harder than the Guardian cryptic and proceeded to bang her tits off as Harvey ate a bag of Prawn Cocktail crisps off the floor that Akabusi had brought just in case.
Before Akabusi left he wiped his now dying cock on Harvey's afro, bent down to the prone Jordan, who lay liked a painter's radio in the moonlight, and whispered "Awooga" in her ear before patting her on the fanny and sleeking off into the dark, dark night.
I'm only joking, it was John Leslie.