Stanislav's second cousin, thrice removed (part 1)

Over at the Kitchen, I found this in the comments:

Welcome in the hillside: a misery memoir by Sperm Lewis, it is.

I was born in Rhondda Cynon Taff of parents and we lived in this cottage, see, and it were 'ard, Dieu, it were 'ard. Our mam eventually got pissed off with making everybody's tea, see, so one day she just got up and walked out. And after our mam walked, out our dad thought we were missing her, see. So what he used to do at teatime was to put on a our mam's dress and our mam's wig and serve us our rarebit dressed as our mam to remind us of our mam, see. Only he'd just come back from his shift, see, so his face was all black and he was wearing our mam's wig, so us kids weren't fooled for a minute. Mind you, it was a nice thought and our auntie Nesta said there's lovely. But then one day, our dad must have got pissed off with making everybody's tea, see, so he fucked off too and us kids were left on our Jack Jones for a week cos there were no social services in those days, see. Anyway, eventually auntie Nesta found us roasting the dog and thought we were missing our dad, see. So she used to come in at teatime and go upstairs and come down in our dad's dungarees and our dad's Humphrey Davey with the light full on and serve us our rarebit, dressed as our dad see, glaring around like a fucking cyclops she was ...

I figured it was too good to remain languishing in the comments. I hope spermy doesn't mind now.