Clay Boy: Streak of piss, ill-nourished, noisome, combats-clad benefits
and "Got a point-two-bag?" junkie scrounger
Dwelling: lean-to / caravan
/ cowshed in field near struggling clay-mining shitsplat satellites of St Austell. Can be reliably spotted in town Thursdays when the IncapBen goes out, though a goodly number lack the wit to claim fuckall. Especially JSA - a laughable concept in these inbred
windswept toilets anyway. So they'll happily admit they're junkies to get the Cripple Cash.
Fond of dog
: stringed/banned/crippled/pestiferous, matters not and likewise inversely enamoured of manipulative alcoholic sub-menopausal fat cow (kids - oh yes) who maintains necessary facilities in the local pikey
estate (see Bugle).
Sean: HM King Clay Boy
I in a plywood wagon. How many "busts" must you stage before your equally fuckwitted dealer works out you had the lot wasted during one of your 30-Valium benders? Dealer however tolerates such 3-Bears because alternative is to deal with your sort on a daily basis. Which no amount of narcotic can alleviate, so you are almost worth the occasional 3-Bears flapdoodle. "But I always bury it near the cowshed." Right you are.
mate, you are such a clayboy!