Pigs f*cking arse!

Rude-boy Rupert’s rapscallion rip-off merchants have done it again, and for the second day in a row I’ve been robbed by a Wu Tung Klansman and a goddamn gypsy Bear, the pair of whom have once more pinched my hard work and my material and relabelled it their own, with neither an acknowledgement nor a simple polite request.

They’ve made the fatal mistake made by many before them this pair of lazy, intellectual copyright pair of thieving c*nts, and made an assessment of the Butterfly as merely a mad moron, albeit one whose material is so sh*t hot that it’s worth stealing.

Silly, silly, silly boys.

The left hand of the Murdoch empire clearly doesn’t know what the right hand is doing, and Messers Wu Tung and Fozzie obviously don’t read the Sunday Mail – who could blame them really – and therefore don’t know about the propensity of an aggrieved Archie to sue and win.


Well they are about to find out, because unfortunately for them there is a trail from the News Room door straight to Butterfly Central, and they have left themselves bang to rights for a claim of plagiarism and breach of intellectual copyright, both of which are about to be made, along with a complaint to the Press Council, and if the pair of thieves think we are joking then clearly they know us not at all.

Or as well as they know their own Editorial Policy and the Journalist’s Code of Ethics anyway.





The dynamic duo are about to learn the core principles of both documents the hard way, and don’t you worry about that.

Who the hell do these hot-handed slugs think they are? Fair dinkum investigative journalists or something?

Ha f*cking ha!

We’ll see about that, and we’ll see you in court boys, unless of course uncle Rupert decides to cease playing Texas Hold ‘Em with Ms Jerry Hall for a second and save your sorry arses.

Don’t hold your breath fellas, that’s my advice.

You might as well take it too, ‘cos it appears clear that you take everything f*cking else.