It all seems too good to be true at first doesn't it? You finally find a British woman that doesn't seem to run on gravy rather than blood. You trap her, take her home and find that you can bend her into all sorts of shapes without giving yourself a hernia hauling her fat wobbling mess all over the bedroom. The problem is, they are shite. They refuse to eat, ever and throw up after they have one piece of soreen for dinner. They get wasted after half a glass of wine and can't even uncork the fcuking bottle because they are piss week. Not only that, but they are all mental. The downy armed, toast rack ribbed cnuts will kill you for no reason at all if you turn your back for a second. My last skinny bird tried to kill me constantly, fortunately she was easily subdued due to being weaker than a biafran orphan. The final, hilarious straw though was when she broke her pathetic little arm on the bannister whilst trying to throw a pair of scissors at me for being non-commital over which pair of shoes she should wear for a dinner. She once also randomly declared that I loved my armchair more than her and tried to throw it out of my 11th floor flat window, but she couldn't lift it so just grunted and strained whilst snotting and weeping all over it. Has anybody else endured a skeletal psycho?