I don't like to do this. To betray a persons trust is about the lowest thing you can do to another human being (unless your name is Q in which case it comes naturally...) But a man needs help, and that man is called Santi. He is a 31 year old male from Argentina and he listens to the music of Robin Thicke.
I have been corresponding with this... man, since 2009 when I got my doctorate in dealing with utter cunts from the Sawtooth University, and even to me, his behaviour lately seems shocking. I've never considered anyone beyond help, but as you can see from our last exchange 27 minutes ago on MySpace, the guy is fucked.

Me: How are you Santi? It's a beautiful day here, I think I might go for a run to get my endorphins working, and then make some gazpacho soup!
Santi: Fuck you, I am a man, I live with my Mother and always will, but I am a man you worm, a man!
Me: Calm down, I'm sure when you lose your virginity you'll gain a sense of rationality and self worth that escapes you all the while you exist.
Santi: Clown! My Mother say's I am handsome, Jega said I was handsome! I have had sex lots of times!
Me: With your Mother and Jega? 8|
Santi: Clown! Yes! Fuck you! Do women eat shit? Cum shots! ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!
Me: I think we should leave it there Santi, you've obviously become upset.
Santi: Clown! I listen to the music of Duran Duran! Murder is my default setting! I am a MAN!!! PETER NORTH!!!
Me: Jesus, are you ok?
Santi: My penis is like an acorn! I came on my own face!
Santi: I must call mother.
Santi: Fuck You.
Santi: Bye Bye.

You can probably see the reason for my concern. If this man doesn't leave his mothers house and get his dick wet, I'm afraid he might try to kill someone, and if he does, who's going to be there to scrape his oily yellow/brown face from the pavement after he's sustained such a massive and well earned beating? Me you're wondering? No. I have other responsibilities.

Has anyone ever heard of a guy called Jimmy?

Ok.

Well it finally happened, someone from Winmx is hunting me down, and that person is called Santi.

I became aware of the situation Thursday night, I was just about to walk through the door of my local pub, the Jolly Taxpayer, when a deep feeling of foreboding came over me and I stopped. Where are the cars I thought? Why are the street lights off? Where's the jazz-fusion-pop-punk blaring out of the shitty Goodmans speakers? I open the door and look in...

"Mary, Christ! They came looking for you..." Said the landlord Mike.
"Stop crying you mushwitted bellend, tell me exactly what happened." I said soothingly.
He began. "There were three of them, I recognised one... It was Peter North. He was being jabbed in the side by a big nosed hairy little cunt that stank of meat pies. There was some thing else with them, something ancient and evil... It was hunched over and cloaked in a burlap sack, its tongue kept lashing out, the little hairy one kept calling it Mahdda."
Well, fuck I thought. "I know who these people are Mike, it's an Argentinian called Santi, the crone is his mother, he never leaves her side, and as for Peter North, that poor bastard's being held against his will, forced to ejaculate on a whim for Santi to measure and compare with his own wad."
"Mary, I hate to do this, but you can't come back here any more. You've been one of my best customers, and I've never seen a man drink that many apple sours in a 4 hour period without going blind, but you have to understand I'm trying to run a business here! My customers aren't going to come back if they have the threat of Peter North spraying a fantastic amount of man fat into their beers!"
"I understand this Mike, there's only one thing for it. I'm going to hire a friend of mine to take care of this situation, you might know him, he told me you banned him from this very pub because of aggressive flatulence."
"You can't mean..."
"I do."
"But how will you contact him Mary? I was told he never leaves the computer and his life has become consumed with pornography and death metal?"
"Well yeah, that much is true, but with the right motivation I know he'll take on any job anywhere."
"What will you motivate him with?"
"I'll tell him that once he's freed Peter North, and stomped Santi into a quivering mass of piss and sick, he can keep the old woman to do with whatever he wants."
"And you think he'll go for this?"
"Yep, he badly needs someone to mow the lawn in his garden, she'll be perfect. Plus he mentioned something about 'anointing the gibbet cage' the last time we spoke, but I didn't want to press him for details, he tends to go off on wicked tangents."
"Ok Mary, get this done and I'll let you back into my Bar."
"You'll have to let us both in..."
He pauses... lets out a deep sigh...
"Tell Sprink if he takes care of this Argentinian paedophile that's obsessed with his mother and Peter Norths legendary jizz tank, I'll unban him."
"Consider it done."

It's Saturday now, or maybe Sunday? Who the fuck knows, or cares. But the wheels have been set in motion.
Peter North can't stop us, Duran Duran won't deter us (although it would over a long enough period...) We have unlimited broadband. a meat cleaver, and an electric bugbat. There's £36 in the war chest, and the will to use it. The next time he shows up at one of my local haunts, we'll be ready for the fucker.

Ok.