[ whatever anon wanker suggested this – challenge fucking accepted, right? And for future reference, if you're going to troll me, you need to get up very early in the morning. You need to get up last night, the way your mother knows you couldn't, if you think you're going to troll me, sunshine.]

Well, rub me down with lighter fluid, there she is.

Selling her fucking story, no doubt. Feminist icon does for big bad patriarchal wolf. Fashion-forward canine crusher single-handedly brings back capes.

But let me tell you a little story now. The only fairytale going on round here is the one she just told whatever soft-cock G2-sidebar-interviewer spotted what a good thing looks like. Killed a wolf? Oh, aye, sure, with her bare fucking hands, her soft, skinny hands that've held nothing more dangerous than an iPad in all her oxygen wasting days, aye, yeah, that's exactly what she did.

Bollocks.

Up until last week there was a burly, axe-wielding Geordie would've took offence at hearing a story like that. But he mysteriously came into a small fucking fortune not one week ago and he's in fucking Thailand. That's a bit handy, isn't it, with all these lies about to come out on the front page of every paper.

Crimson avenger traps predator. The fucking Sun are going to be all fucking over this. They'll have her on page three next week with only a severed wolf's head to hide her utter lack of modesty.

Here's another part of the story that won't be on the News at fucking Six. Here's words you'll never hear out of George 'yeah, he's black, but it's okay 'cause he talks posh' Aligayah – it wasn't a wolf she never killed either. It was a fucking chocolate Labrador belonged to her next door neighbour. And it never tried to bite her; her and the Geordie axeman (who, by the way, was in the act of shagging her brains out when the decision was fucking made) just wanted it to shut up barking.

But these are the joys of getting your story in first.

Next week, one distressed former Labrador owner will be taking to fucking Points West or whatever regional sewage outlet services her, telling how she came home from picking up little Timmy and found two stoned neighbours at it doggy-style amongst the remains of the family pet. But it'll be too fucking late by then.

My advice to that poor single mother – you sue, love. You go right a-fucking-head and you sue the Scarlet Cunt-woman over there, because by then, it's not going to matter. By then she's going to be so fucking loaded off the back of this she's not even going to fucking notice. So you sue, you go right ahead and sue for all of it, before she snorts it all up her snout like Henry Hoover.

You get little Timmy a decent fucking psychiatrist while he's still young.

[A/N - At TSH - Lestrade will get done at some stage, hon, but I really don't want to work through the casts of Sherlock/DW/Hustle/Spooks etc so quickly. I want to have a bit of craic with this along the way.]