We Need to Talk About Kevin

Dear Franklin,

To be honest, in our heart of hearts, we've always known that Kevin is a glass short of a tasting flight. In retrospect, the signs were always there. Trainspotting. Body odour. A predilection towards chunky cable-knit cardigans.

Remember that time he came home late, smelling of crystal malt? We should have said something.

And now, it's happened. He's been to a... craft beer bar. Some poor bastards spontaneously combusted at the very sight of him.

We know he'd break. Walking into a world-class beer establishment then demanding shite-weak brown bitter. The punters in there never stood a chance. Reports say he stood at the bar, brandished his CAMRA card and yelled "DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!!! MY KIND ARE YOUR FUCKING SAVIOURS!!!".

The end was bloody, abrupt but at least no extraneous carbon dioxide was used. Which is what he would have wanted.

He TwitPic'd me beforehand. I just hope the sniper didn't take his bobble off...

Massive loves and huggles to @lupulucy for turning me into a big, fat, living Knitted Character. And a thousand apologies to Lionel Shriver for taking the phizzle just a little bit.