
As an outward indicator of rampant inner lunacy, wearing a faux-vintage T-shirt promoting a fictional brand of motor oil has to be up there with dancing around in your dead mother’s nightie while you scoff back cat-poo after cat-poo.
Oh, no, wait – I stand corrected: there’s a great big 48 on there. Now it all makes sense.
Yeah, the 48 totally saves it! Ha-Ha
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