Irvine Welsh - Filth (seven)

Stuff yourself with Racism Vindaloo ‘til your intestines burn and you can’t feel your gums. Wash it down with a pint of Perversion’s lager and a 12-year old Scotch misogyny. Snort a few grams of white power up your nose and rub the remains into your already numb gums. Let nature have it’s course, then go to the bogs and shite out the fermented and degraded contents, mingled with your own personal flora of bacterial disorders, out of your system and watch the worm-ridden sludge up close. This, is FILTH.
For the last week I’ve had voices in my head. Or rather A voice. A superior, aggressive, Scottish voice, badgering me to utter obscenities at the world I observe around me. I see a good-looking girl and my mind snarls “that’s some quality fanny”. Annoying, slow, middle-aged cashiers are branded “daft cunts”. Anyone else is a “spastic”. FILTH seeps into your consciousness and reading it could be bordering on mental self-abuse. But in all this it still is a compelling, fascinating and high-class novel, that I recommend, but only to those who are strong at heart and stomach.