solipsism
safe warm place
I are moved
to here
I'm fairly crap at updating that blog as well, but it's the one I am officially crap at updating, rather than this one where I just forgot to say ciao.
ciao.
But do visit the new place - I may even write something in there that's not about larks.
what's at 73?
This is curious. I've been missing in inaction for weeks and weeks, and without even posting my humble glob jumps from 95 to 22.
Is today a special date that I have callously forgotten? Did I promise free booze and boob shots to all visitors on the 2nd? I fear you may be disappointed. There is no free booze.
Thank you for you inexplicable interest.
( . ) ( . )
sado-grannies
I was invited to a BDSM party in Lisbon last weekend.
Though I was curious and, for some reason, vaguely flattered, the English in me rose to the surface and said 'gosh, how awfully exciting - thanks ever so, but I haven't got anything to wear, you see, and I have a bit of a cold...'
Cowardice and germs versus a night that would, I'm sure, have been 'blogging gold'.
But even more terrifying than hairy, sweaty people in pvc is the dinner-party-extravaganza that granny is planning for this weekend. I have a photo of the last one:
But this time there'll be thousands of oldies crammed into her bijou apartments, all trying to get a spoonfull of fish whilst sweating in tight-clothing.
In my delerious and germ-filled head, the two weekends are blurring into one unholy event. I wake up from nightmares with visions of granny's friends in pvc, flomping themselves about to rave music and eating fish.
God help me...
Going dental
I've already had the fun of disgusting a few people with my gums-of-horror story, but cannot resist globbing it.
I had to go for a bit a 'little surgery' at the dentists to sort out a pea-sized hole of eeeeeeeeevil that was trying to corrode the inside of my face and my entire skull, all from a badly done root-canal five years ago.
So my dentist and his work-experince teenage Igor got to work chopping up my gum, peeling it right back until they reached the spinal column, then stitching all the flappy bits back together with rusty wire.
This would be a particuarly good time to flash someone a winning smile as all my teeth ooze blood.
And for those who'd prefer a diagram...
BEFORE Dentistein
And after.
Who wants a snog?
The bland spam
Like a slow leak in a rice-pudding factory, there seems to be a new strand of ultra-banal spam oozing across 20six.
But don't take my word for it, just go to the 'recently updated' list and try a blog whose title consists of two names without a space. Chances are you'll find a spam post so tedious you can't even work up the energy to be annoyed. (Unless you hit ten of them in a row).
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....)