solipsism

The awful truth

So, as most of you know, two parasites turned up at my house on tuesday demanding food and fine wines.
They're still here.
If you've ever read/seen Gulliver's Travels, you may remember those tiny, foolish Lilliputians struggling to scrape up enough food to slop into the gaping mouths of the expectant giant. Imagine two giants. One of which hunched possessively at my computer, and the other langorously spread across the chaise barking out commands: Snogis, roll me a cigarette! Snogis, get more wine! Snogis, bring me your dog (not a euphimism) now! Snogis, did I say you could talk? I fucking think not - and that goes for crying too, you long-haired whinging scrunt.
I would say 'no', but she's just so... commanding. ooooh.
While she  basks, he glowers, silently. His (very) manly jaw (foozled in a manly beard) remains clenched.

However, I think the tide turned a few hours ago... After a particularly  bountiful chinese meal, we led our kidnappers back to the house and stuffed them with all manner of oozingly rich desserts and filled the gaps with various intoxicating grape seepages.

Hosts 1 - Guests 0.

At present one of the parasites is stretched out in the guest suite pondering how to have sex with a ghost [sic] - a pursuit he seemed terribly interested in. And the other is luxuriating in my sweet bed, safe in the knowledge that after she threatened to wee in it I dare not post any of the photos I now have of her. All prime blackmail stuff, I assure you, but I must wait until her bladder is a few hundred miles from my mattress. 
One of my favourites shows the strumpet attempting to swallow a barbecued sardine whole, head first. The smile on the sardine's face is purely coincidental.

I suppose the only reason you're reading this (if you're not actually one of the two feckless ingrates currently eating my house and fogging my bathroom) is for gossip. You want to know their dirty little secrets and what horrors and dark lusts lurk beneath their suave and charming exteriors. You want to know everything about them. You loooove them, you want to hoooooooold them, you want to kiiiiiiiiiss them...
Well I do know. I have seen... and heard such terrible, terrible things, God help me. I fear I may never be clean again. But, of course, I am sworn to deathly secrecy (upon several statues of Mary, Jesus, and pirates with monkeys on their shoulders).
Except... maybe, I can say that he wants a gecko tattooed on his 'ring clench' by strange women, and she wanted to buy a three-foot long 'back massager' in the shape of a swan - specifically its head and neck, and curved like a giant fish-hook. Be a-fucking-fraid.

They're now bound to hurt me in awful and gunctious ways - but first - we're going to the zoo, hurrah!

(PS - Heathen, Tartlet: there is still an enormous bowl of chocolate mousse, two thirds of a banoffee pie, chocolate muffins, plain muffins, scones, biscuits (of various denominations) and homemade soup left! What's the matter with you - is our food not good enough?? EAT! If all those bowls aren't empty tomorrow, and if you don't need to check your bellies in as extra baggage on the flight home, we'll consider it a deep, personal and particularly vicious insult. You cannot win, you cannot leave, you're my bitches now....)

12.10.06 03:11