Coutta’s Cut: Coutta’s Cut (by Lynne the Ruthless)

Gidday Crimpy, Lynne the Ruthless here. I’ll just mention now he doesn’t call me that to my face. He’s not quite that stupid. Why are you hearing from me? Well, the bastard has done it again. This isn’t the first time he’s left me to write his article by the way. Before a far less prestigious publication than The Fishing Paper got sick of his impolitically correct writing and moved him on, which was a nice way of telling him to piss off, he’d bugger off duck shooting leaving me to deal with his monthly contribution if it could be called that.

The thing that really got up my nose was the editor still put the money into his account. Not only that, but once he went on a fishing trip for a few days forgetting (yeah right) to tell me he had ordered two tons of firewood. Just after he left it got dropped in the middle of the driveway and I couldn’t get my car out to get to work. I spoke to a friend who was in the police with the lazy bastard at the time and he reckoned if I could have got hold of him and strangled him, any Judge in the country would have let me off with a discharge without conviction. Anyway, I flew into print and wrote an article about how useless he was and what I was going to do to him when he got home. The bloody editor paid him for the article! I know he’s only got 500 words here so I can’t tell you a fraction of the shit he’s got away with since the time when I must have been horribly drunk and said, “I do,” by mistake.

I had a quick squiz at his last month’s article, where his subject was dogs. When he says he likes dogs more than most people, he’s not bullshitting for a change. Having said that, if he pats me on the head and kisses his bloody dog one more time, he won’t know what’s hit him. I think his problem is he’s spent way too much time around dogs for way too long.

He even tried to convince me his police dog knew how to drive the dog van.

I almost believed that due to the condition he often rolled in the door after having a few too many at the police bar. He couldn’t have managed to drive it home. Having said that, his police dogs saved his sorry arse several times so his affection for them was understandable.

For the past 10 months though, I have taken a back seat to a bloody black labrador pup. He paid more for it than most of the cars he’s bought for me and before he buggered off for opening weekend with it, all it was good for was stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down.

I do, however, hope she does okay because if she doesn’t, he’ll probably give her away as a pet and retire from hunting. That means I will have to put up with him around the house doing stuff all except pissing me off from May till the end of August. Sorry, but nah.

You may hear from him next month; in the meantime I’ll email you my bank account number.

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