Violent Jimmy, Jimb to his mates and “Aaarrghh!” to his victims, were let out of prism like the air escaping from the nearly flat tyre of a long-abandoned bicycle, that is, without any fuss and nobody noticing.
“Off to the DIY shop for me, oh, yes!” were him first words. Did he thought about nothing hells but the aisle of drills for the best part of eight years?
Oh, dear me. Whatever necks?