Riddled with the clap?
It happens to all of us. Or does it.
Ya see it's only your fault. You should have used protection. You should have protected yourself. And I don't mean just using a condom, oh, hoho, no, you imbecile-esque twat.
Nah, you knew that the estate slapper has slept with more men than you have literally had hot microwave dinners from the "Mace" store round the corner from your crap house with your nagging petulant wife and your six screaming snotfaced kids, three of which aren't even yours. But no, in your 15 pints of sh*t lager induced wisdom at your dank flat roofed local, you had to succumb to her leering omnipresence and tarty advances, hey you even made a few advances yourself... a few being several dozen awful chat-up lines that she lapped up like your salivating dog "Tyson" devours his Pedigree Chum (or the alternative version).
Then, up against a wall with bad graffiti, your drunken sexual needs were finally rewarded with 5 minutes of typical premature ejaculative (word?) style sex, with her sounding like a distressed rhino with a muffler in her mouth, stubbing her fag out on your crap "Giorgino Armanini" jeans. And then after your sordid affair you go back to your hellhole to find your nagging wife in bed with Chris from next door, but you're not that bothered because you probably arranged for him to shag your wife in exchange for borrowing his Orbital sander.
What a stupid arse you are.