Apocalypse Cow sure ain’t wot he used to be. In fact he ain’t even a cow. He’s a cross dressing bull. And there’s contraband in them there udders. “Get ya treats from ma teats” as he likely to say. A lot.

The boy is ex army. SBS. Special Bull Service. Played a prominent part in the Falklands. Advanced surveillance ops. They weren’t cows on those hillsides. They was SBS.

Anyways, Apocalypse did a spot of service in the desert flying a copter gunship. And then, like all good special forces, he went a bit rogue and started moving contraband. That’s where the false udders came in handy. Takes a brave boy or girl in Customs to glove up and squeeze them.

Me and the Cow have been mates for many years. Can’t tell you how and why exactly. It’s officially secret. If I told you I’d have to kill you. Or he would at any rate.

Safe to say though that the Cow is now semi-retired. He’s moved down to Brighton. They like big butch cross dressers down there. He does a bit of work on the door of a place called the Bull’s Dog.  An’ if he takes a shine, he’ll give ya ‘a treat from one of his teats’.

Good news.  The Cow is comin’ up our way later this week. We’re going to some posh burger bash in good ol’ Camden Town. Apocalypse wants to test that the beef is really top notch 100%.

And let’s face it, he should know.