I’m about as happy as blind poof in a hotdog factory

I’m about as happy as Pig in shit

I’m about as happy as a termite in a lumberyard

I’m about as happy as a beatific bundle of blissfulness.

I’m about as happy as a nun in a cucumber patch.

I’m about as happy as a crack addict

If Paris is the city of love then Hull is an alleyway bukake session with your mum...

If Paris is the city of love then Hull is the arsehole in the dark of the valley of the shadow of despair long past the cliffs of misery and the abyss of regret

If Paris is the city of love then Hull is the city of bowl movements

If Paris is the city of love then Hull is the city of love (between brothers and sisters, fathers and daughters etc)

If Paris is the city of love then Hull is the uncomfortable revelation that your dog actually has the voice of a beleaguered David Dickinson

If Paris is the city of love then Hull is an AIDS infected rectum, festering in a congealed pool of pity & hopelessness..