Friday, 30 March 2007

Pub Crawl Massacre: Part Seven

Bunny sat on the toilet. She remebered the claim "Fast acting relief" from the box. Due to the finite capacity of her Louis Vuitton bag she'd only taken the blister pack. Could you take these in conjunction with alcohol? She couldn't remeber. Unfortunately she was already drunk and this presented her with little recourse.

As she pulled out the blister pack she was surprised to see that several tablets had already been taken out. She necked two herself.

"Not long to wait now I hope" she thought, gazing round at the graffitti. Maybe she could relax and enjoy herself later if she wasn't so backed up. After only about three minutes her bowels pulsated. She was most surprised. Far from reducing the tablets actions it seemed that alcohol had a positive excitatory effect. Within a few seconds powerfull contractions sent the contents of her colon shooting through her flacid sphincter.

A little taken aback by the suddeness of this normally carefully controlled proceedure she shook herself, cleaned up and got up to join the others.

The first thing Bunny noticed was Penny and Felix carefully coming through the front door, Felix simultaneously feeling Penny's bottom.

"Where have you two been?" she asked, beginning to feel better and wanting more drink.

"What'av you been doing in there?" interupted Benedict before anyone could answer.

She blushed.

Drunk Girl kindly explained that they were playing truth or dare.

She heard a boastful but concise account of the successful assault on the road sign by Penny and Felix. When pressed for further details they'd got back to tongueing eachother.

Bunny now gleaned that Drunk Girl was about to flash her ass through the pool room windows as a forfeit.

"Hey has anyone taken any, er, tablets out of my handbag?" Bunny enquired of the table.

This time it was Toby's time to blush. Only briefly though. He was a master of maintaining a straight face. He wondered what he had dropped into Drunk Girl's glass. The guilt arrived fractionally too late; he was on the verge of asking Bunny when everyone errupted into laughter.

Matt and Lex looked at eachother as the particularly loud peels of laughter cut through the room. Then from the bar they followed the direction of almost all eyes in the pub.

Through the pool room window Drunk Girl was mounted on a pool stool. Her peachy, young posterior was barely hidden by a luminous pink thong, displayed for all to see. Being a natural extrovert and further fuelled by the booze she was having quite a good time.

Then it started to happen. Something ominous suddenly stirred deep within her bowls....


Wednesday, 28 March 2007

Pub Crawl Massacre: Part Six

Well Meaning Flatmate was getting sweaty palms. He had run out of tobacco. A combination of stomach acid and crap television had prompted him to hunt this bounty at whatever cost. He was going to get a cigarette. Michael smoked. Well Meaning Flatmate quite logically reasoned that there would be tobbacco in Michael's room.

Nicotine withdrawals made him feel edgey as he oberseved Michael going down the road to the shop.

"Now's my chance" he thought to himself.

He considered himself to be Michael's mate. He had spotted Michael numerous cigarettes and reasoned that Michael shouldn't really be that bothered.

This was true but he was aware he was breaking and entering. Afterall your room is private. Nonetheless he opened Michael's door. Stale tobacco odour met his nose.

He scanned all obvious surfaces. No tobacco in eyeshot. Being a sparse room he reasoned that there couldn't be many hiding places for the desired to be stashed. Ignoring the wardrobe and the desk he instictively made for the top draw of the bedside table. He opened it. A laminated spread eagled princess greeted him.


He wasn't expecting the porn stash. Still, nevermind, he could drops subtle hints later and maybe borrow one.

No tobacco. Damn. He was about to open the next draw when he noticed them.



The implications of not taking medication could be enormous. That was why Michael was living there anyway. Well Meaning Flatmate had heard about the last time. Astonishment was replaced by panic when he heard a key in the lock of the front door.

Quickly he slunk out of Michael's room, bending his knees to absorb sound, tip toeing over the carpet. He quietly shut his bedroom door. He thought quickly. He should inform Joss but without Michael knowing.

What if Michael found out? He grimaced. Concentrate on the matter in hand. Surprising himself with his acting abilities he called out from his room;

"Oi Michael! Have you got a fag? I'm screwing."

"You what?" came the reply from the hallway. Footsteps and a few seconds later Michael's head poked round his door.

Casually "Bruv, you got any tobacco? I've run out."

Michael rolled his eyes, grinned and said "Aright you pikey!" and fished some out of his pocket.

Well Meaning Flatmate nervously laughed and took the rollie being offered.

"Fanks bruv. Er, I gotta shoot. Meeting a mate in town." He left abrubtly without looking at Michael. He ran down the stairs and slammed the front door.

Michael shook his head. Slightly bemused by the aggitated behaviour of Well Meaning Flatmate he began to make himself a cigarette. Cheerily he remebered that he had just bought milk and so tea was imminent. Mmmmmm.

Then absent mindedly he looked out of the window at the Star. He could see that the 'Sloan' student girls from the taxi were sat right there in the window. What the hell. Tea could wait. As he caressed himself his eyes glazed.

Well Meaning Flatmate had jogged down the street and collected his thoughts. He jabbed at his mobile. He swore. He jabbed more carefully and correctly dialled Joss.

"Hi yer. Yeah it's me. Ummmm.... Look there's something you need to know. I've just looked in Michael's room.... No, no.... I know I shouldn't be in there. Look this is important; I found a load of his pills. Yeah tonnes of them...."

Monday, 26 March 2007

Thought spagetti.

A sexual act between two men.
Morris dancing dwarfs.
A pirate ship with a cargo of exotic spices.
Terry Wogan.*
The long drawn out death rattle of a Yak with terminal flatulence.
Vast stretches of oaken forrests found in pre industrialised Britain.
The M25.
The M1.
And Simpson's beloved Griffter bicycle (rest it's soul).

Will not be mentioned in this.

* Exception. It is true that if you mouth "Wogan" whilst being photographed you appear at least 3 times as sexy. Fact. (I think the woman on the BT adverts must say Wogan to the camera constantly because she is stupidly sexy. You know the one, with kids from a previous relationship but now has a younger man with greasy hair who is the perfect dad. She likes to use the phone book to do everything and he likes to over come the difficulties of not being thier biological father by smiling a lot).

Thats right "spagetti". My mind is such a whirlwind, such a hot bed of creativity that threre simply isn't time for things like correct spellings. Actually someone told me last night that spaghetti has a H. Woops. I mean whoops.

Right. I've started reading "The Rik Mayall: Bigger than Hitler, Better than Christ". Cos I'm a fan of his. He is ludicrustly funny. The book itself is very much like the start of this blog. A bit random with many pointless asterisks and footnotes. It is full of pointless sexual references, like the rest of this blog. However once I picture him reading the words with his animated voice/facial expressions I find myself laughing like a 15 year boy and love it.

"You lurrrrrve him" I hear you cry.

"Why don't you get a room with him?" I hear Cakeyvoice jeer.

Well its cos I'm not a straight girl or a gay man. But I tell you now if I was I'd dooooooooooo it with Rick Mayall. (I assure you its not due to his tactic of using a cucumbers and pool balls for "trouser enhancement").

Anyway enough of that kind of thing. I need to thank Lex and Han for respectively recommending and lending to me the Wickerman. You were right. It was awesome. Awesome folk music sound track. Brit Eckland's side boob. And front boob. And sillouette of her front bottom. Wow. I don't just like it because of the boob aspect. But they didn't hurt. And that scene in the pub must have been inspiration for the pub in the "Old Greg" episode of the Boosch.

Now to darker tidings. My brown jumper was filched from the Star. This may have been done maliciously. A person or persons who will collectively remain unnamed have since promised to return the much missed garment. Apparantly she had one that was identical. Which is why he/she/they told Matt that my one was hers. (Ok it was She clearly). But I'm not at all bitter. Actually I won't lie to you. Lieing is bad. I am bitter.

I left the pub in a mood so dark that I temporarilly became a black hole. I began to suck matter into myself whilst thunder storms spontaneously formed around my head. Anyone else walking home may have chanced to hear me scatting in the fashion of Captain Beefheart just to vent spleen;

"Turgid porpoise, tears, spite oven".


Who am i kidding. I cannot scat like Beefheart. Nobody can nomore. Not even him. He paints pictures in the desert now.

Anyhow. Who wants to know where you can gets yer grubby paws on a good ole fashion hooker? Oh you do? Well OK, allow me. This next section reads like the diary of a village gossip but I've gone to the effort of scanning a newspaper cutting so I'm damn well including it now.....

You may or may not be aquainted with Jaquai and Curly who drink in the Star and are stand up, awesome and often drunk. Well Jaquai answered a newspaper advert for a receptionist job. Turned out the premises were at "X" Cherwell Drive. And the buisness was a brothel.

"I do have to tell you that we're a brothel" (Quoting Jaquai quoting them here; this is not primary journalistic evidence but I'm getting to that).

"We're the Kitten Club. The position has been filled but are you interested in doing any escort work?"

She wasn't.

This story was of direct interest to me because I live next door to the, er house of burlesque. It did indeed fit in with various observations. Lots of taxis there at night. Windows always wide open (even when its snowing like Siberia outside). Lots of sad looking, unappealing men that leave with glowing, beaming grins. And there was that large black and white note posted through our door. It said "You've got a brothel at number "X" Cherwell Drive".

I've never been there because I've never seen any pretty girls going in there. And I'm exceptionally skilled at masterbation and really don't think anyone could do it as well as me. I won't put the actual address because I realise this isn't very good press and don't want the Estonian mafia murdering me. If anyone does get murdered or deported because of this then sorry. I was born in 1982 under Thatcher and so I'll suggest the maxim "Any press is good press"! You seem pretty open about it anyway.

I still didn't want to believe it even in the face of over whelming evidence then my flatmates' girlfriend brought this round today....

One last thing.... how do you do those links to other blogs that work when you click on a word? I assume its some kind of HTML thang. Anyway they look cool and if Emma can do them then it can't be that hard.

Thursday, 22 March 2007

Pub Crawl Massacre: Part Five

Bunny wasn't really enjoying herself. Her toes had been sprayed by that disgusting bloke. She tried to join in the conversation with Drunk Girl, Penny and Lolly. She couldn't concentrate. The bitchin music that had just been cranked on was not suitable for her oral palette.

Accross the room she spotted that awful man from the gents. For a brief second he made eye contact and scowled. Then she thought the whole piss on toes incident wasn't an accident. She wanted to leave. To compound her misery she had been suffering from acute constipation for the last couple of days. She began untying herself from Jonty and Lolly.

"Where you going?" Demanded Jonty.

"I need to go to the Ladies" and she snatched up her brown and gold Louis Vuitton bag from under the table.

"That time of the month?" queried Benedict, demonstrating his razor sharp brand of wit.

Unnoticed, the expression of Toby's face flickered as Bunny scooped up her bag. It was the same bag he'd got the tablets from. It wasn't Drunk Girl's bag. Those tablets weren't Rhohypnol.

In the middle of this train of thought Drunk Boy came back from having his slash. He singled out Toby and sat nex to him.

"D'you do it?" he whispered to Toby.

"Yeah... but I think I...", he was interrupted by Benedict; "What are you two gay boys chattin about?"

"Er nothing. I wonder whats taking Bunny so long in there?" said Drunk Boy.

"Rivers flowing red?" responded Benedict, looking really pleased. He couldn't normally reply that quickly to questions.

"I'm bored" said Toby, "How about truth or dare?". He forcefully nudged Felix who was tonguing Penny, ignoring him.

To Toby's suprise all the participants expressed their desire to play.

"Oi Oi" shouted Bendict (affirmative), Lolly and Drunk Girl giggled, Toby and Drunk Boy winked at eachother. The conversation successfully steered away from their suspicious conduct.

Due to their resumed tongue action Penny and Felix were unaware they were being nominated to go first.

"Have you guys ever shagged eachother?" inquired Drunk Girl, prodding them and grinning.

"Is that the question?" asked Felix, a little coy.

"Duh?" responded Drunk Girl sarcasticly.

"We're not answering that" said Penny, rescuing Felix. "We'll take the dare instead."

Toby laid down the gauntlet; "Start small. Go kick over that road works sign at the top of the road."

They all cheered wildly as Felix and Penny got up, cumbersomely hobbled out the door, their ankles and wrists still bound.

At the bar Lex turned to Matt "Shall I ask them to keep it down?"....

Pub Crawl Massacre: Part Four

At the bar most of our participants were waiting. Mat and Lex were doing their best to keep up with the various demands. Penny had removed her Brookes hoody to reveal a grunge style T shirt. Matt wondered if Lex had been a bit hasty to hand out judgement when he had said

"Can you come and help me? There's a bunch of posh twats downstairs."

Penny and Felix (tied at the feet and wrists) replaced Benedict and Esther at the front of the queue. Suddenly Matt saw that in fact Penny was sporting a James Blunt T Shirt. Lex was vindicated.

After some pathetic hand gesturing, presumably to attract the bar staff's attention, Felix barked;

"Gin and Tonics."

Matt had almost reached the Bombay Sapphire when;

"Oi mate. D'you do Hendricks?"

"Nah, sorry."

"What about Tanquery 10?"

Matt looked blank.

"No. Sorry."

Eventually Matt and Lex managed to serve all of them.

"They piss you off too?"

"Yeah" answered Lex. "They all wanted to pay by card even though I explained to the first ones they couldn't - S.O.B.s."

Unaware of the petty gripes and insults being thrown around our participants had all gotten various large drinks and taken up residence on one of the sort after window tables. The table's previous occupants for some reason had taken leave when Benedict sat near them. Between telling Esther to drink faster he was proving his alpha male status by drinking two shots to her every one.

Blue Collar Workingman leant over and said something to Lex at the bar. Lex approached their table.

"Er, is it OK if you don't have ladies tied to you in the gents toilets? We've had complaints."

Drunk Boy replied "What-evs" and began unwinding the wire used to bind himself to Drunk Girl. "I need a slash", he explained to nobody in particular. Lex had already walked off in disgust. As Drunk Boy walked off towards the loo he gave a wink to Toby.

Toby was Drunk Boy's wing man and had been aware of the Rohypnol when the annonymous blisterpack had arrived in the post a few days earlier. He turned to Drunk Girl. After being temporarily freed she was conversing incessantly with Penny and Lolly. Toby realised that now would be a perfect opportunity to slip it into Drunk Girl's drink. Where had Drunk Boy put them?

None of their 'hilarious' pastel golf trousers had pockets. Despite the mess the last tequila had left between his ears he remebered they'd given their wallets and phones to their respective golf partners. Drunk Boy was with Drunk Girl. Surreptitiously he looked under the table for Drunk Girl's bag. The tablets must be in there. He spied two identical brown and gold Louis Vuitton handbags. He knew that one of them was Drunk Girl's.

He started rooting through the first one. In the dim light he used his fingertips to try and feel for the tablets. To his surprise he found what he was after reletively quickly. Within a few seconds he managed to squeeze two or three into his hand. He looked round. As he let them drop into Drunk Girl's glass nobody was playing the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing....


Tuesday, 20 March 2007

Pub Crawl Massacre: Part Three

The night was a mish mash of a 'golf' pub crawl and a 'three legged' pub crawl. That is to say the participants were tied to their partner(s) with some of the boys wearing psudeo golf gear. Well rugby shirts actually. But they did have a score sheet. And lots of money. Lots. Courtesty of the student loans company. Well daddy.

Each drink in each bar was a "hole". All the outward organisation was to mask the fact that by the end of the night there should be vomit or sex (or both in Drunk Boy's evil machinations). Our participants had been hard at it for about four hours.

They were pissed. And vocal. Vocal in the way that only rich students given their first taste of unsupervision can be. Pricks. Serious pricks. Another chorus of "Hey baby, Ooo Ah!, I wanna know wow wow wow, will you be my guy?" sporned from their table. Still 'singing' they took a large people carrier taxi to the Star. Judging from the expression of the driver's face they boisterously 'sung' all the way there.

Accross the road from the pub a pair of eyes flashed and curtains twitched as they got out of the cab.

The party managed to get inside the pub. This proceedure was hampered by the way they were tied to eachother for the purpose of hilarity. Their own hilarity presumed Blue Collar Workingman. Blue Collar Workingman was trying to take a slash in a very cramped urinal alongside Jonty attached to Lolly & Bunny.

Blue Collar Workingman had no compunction in unfurling his manhood and thought to himself;

"Take a look at what you'll never get bitch",

and deftly dribbled the last few golden drops over Bunny's toes. Blue Collar Workingman promtly left without attempting to wash his hands, leaving Bunny regreting her choice of flip flops and generally hating such lower class drinking establishments.

At the bar Lex was working. He was finishing a pint of Guinness for Guy With Deadlocks as Lambchop's mellow, melancholy vibes drifed through the smoke. Suddenly the door had burst open and instantly the volume in the room raised by a factor of 20. Our participants had arrived. Lex noted a guy tied to two ladies heading straight to the gents.

The others piled into the bar, each trying to shout over the other. Guy With Dreadlocks at the bar turned pale as he was jostled out of the way by a half cut Benedict.

"Ow" said Esther. Benedict had suddenly dragged her to the bar. The thin wire that bound their ankles and wrists together was proving uncomfortable. Now he was waving a golf score sheet in Lex's face.


"Oi Mate"


Lex was standing roughly six inches away. There really was no need to shout.

"Oi. Do you do cocktails?"

Lex thought "Fuck off mate, this isn't London" and said mildy "No."

"I'll av a shtella then. Oi Esther what d'you wan?.... An a double vodka redbull mate."

Lex obliged. His teeth ground together. Then he smiled serenely as a vision came to him.... all of them tied togther being sprayed with bleach. Ahhhh. Thats right they wish they weren't tied together now don't they? They tried to escape but were too slow and lumbering.

He came back to reality and frowned.

"Thats Eight pounds please mate."

Benedict put an american express in his hand.

"Don't take cards."

"What do you mean you don't take cards?" Asked Benedict incredulously; his face flushed red, the blood flowing through capillaries under high pressure. The drink seemed to make him unable to grasp this premis.

"Er. Don't have a card machine. We don't take cards." Stated Lex simply. The bar was now really busy and really noisy. He dashed off upstairs to ask Matt to lend him a hand....


Pub Crawl Massacre: Part Two

Drunk Girl was happy. She was always happy. She was always self assured. She was feeling particularly smug this evening. She had just purchased the latest Jack Wills joggers and knew that the others would be jealous. Having just showered she checked herself out in the mirror. Pretty blonde hair (she knew it was pretty) and the new joggers were nicely complemented by her suede boots. She gave herself a youthful smile.

The doorbell rang.

"Hi eeeeeeeee"

They had all turned up at once. She hadn't expected them quite so early. Bunny, Lolly and Esther had shared the taxi and all turned up together. Her halls were nicer than their's.

"I'll get the Bolly"

They weren't listening. The O.C. was on. She gave them all a glass of champagne and lay back into her black leather sofa.

"What time we meeting the boys?" Someone asked.

"Harts. About 7 o'clock I think."

"Alright I'll just do my hair" said Lolly. She dissapeared into the bathroom to emerge 15 minutes later. Each strand of hair having been painstakingly arranged for that just got up look.

In a room directly below them Drunk Boy was also feeling smug. He had recently procured some Rohypnol. He looked at the bottle "Flunitrazepam". Yep. Thats the shit. Tonight Drunk Girl would be his.

His sly mind was ticking over, deceptive cogs turned cunning little wheels....

Pub golf. Everyones gonna be wasted. Loads of chances for me to drop it into her glass. Giggaddy.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside his front door. Easy! They must be here and had a few bevees on the way over. Drunk Boy plastered on his fake smile.

"Oi Oi" greated him as he lifted the latch.

It was Benedict, his collar on his rugby shirt was turned up and spittle was flying from his gob. Jonty and Toby in similar attire followed close behind. Benedict was shouting. He was a big guy and Drunk Boy was worried he was gonna break something as he stumbled into the lounge. His big foot landed worringly close to Drunk Boy's new Kaiser Chiefs CD case. Toby tripped over his pink baggy golf trousers so that his 80s tennis sun visor plopped onto the sofa. Benedict promptly sat on it.

"Easy does it Dick".

"Lighten up dude, have some of this". He passed Toby and Drunk Boy each a can of ready mixed gin and tonic.

"Wheres mine you bastard?" demanded Jonty.

"Where are my manners?" said Benedict


Benedict opened another can of G & T, cleared his throat loudly and spat into it before passing it to Jonty.

"Wanker" said Jonty and looking Benedict in the eye downed it anyway. All of them pissed themselves with laughter.

"Best go and meet the girls in a bit."

They called a taxi to Harts bar.

Pub Crawl Massacre: Part One

Joss was having an off day. She was feeling a little philosophical and started questioning why she got into the profession in the first place.

"Its fucking ridiculous. How can I possibly care for people when i can only spend a few minutes a day with them?" She was thinking out loud. It was a bad habit of hers.

"So you're about to go are ya?" shouted Michael from upstairs. He could hear her. The walls and ceiling were paper thin.

"Yeah sorry. Have you taken your medication yet?" She tried to sound cheerful. She hadn't realised that she had been talking to herself. Even if she had she wouldn't have expected him to be able to hear her all the way upstairs.

"Yes." Michael tried to sound bored. He chuckled to himself very quietly as he placed both tablets into a draw by his bed. They rattled about next to his considerable teen porn stash.

Stressed and overworked as she was Joss cared about her patients. Michael had been making her uneasy recently. She marched upstairs to check on him before she had to leave.

"Mike you promise you've taken them?"


"Sorry Mike I'm going to have to count them. I got in trouble last time remember?"

"Whatever. Alright."

Joss tipped out the yellow tablets and the smaller white ones. The correct number were there and although a little sceptical of his expression she trusted that Micheal wasn't lying.

"Fair enough Mike. Alright well I better be off - I gotta see Cynthia in Headington at half past and I'm late as it is. You gonna be good? A couple of my friends mentioned you've been curtain twitching again."

For a split second she thought that his eyes narrowed.

"I'll be good." He replied calmly.

She didn't feel too bad leaving him. He had switched to newer medication recently. Although she was no pharmacologist she new that they had had a miraculous effect on other patients with his condition. Most people stopped having the delusions within a few weeks of switching and he had been taking them for three months. Anyway she was a professional and there were many others who were worthy of her care.

Michael watched Joss climb into her car and drive off. He noticed two pretty young student girls walking slowly down the road. He closed the blind, tore off a strip of toilet roll and reached for the draw next to his bed. He convinced himself that the new young post woman had been giving him love letters. He must have lost them. He lay down on his bed and thought about her. He decided to watch for her behind the curtain tomorrow.

Then he thought about the two student girls he had just seen out the window. Mmmm thats the one. Jack Wills joggers, pretty blond hair, suede boots and that smile of rich youth. His eyes glazed over.

Monday, 19 March 2007

Grinds my gears


Champagne is expensive.

It tastes like fizzy tramp piss. I imagine. I mean I know what champagne tastes like but I've never asked a tramp to urinate for me and then taken the trouble to carbonate it in a soda stream.

It gives you a strange, evil hangover.

It is usually only drunk by people who make me nauseous before I empty the glass.

I am running out of reasons to slag it off.... er the cork.... might go in ya eye - health and saftey?....

Its the summer and you attend a friend of a friend's garden party. The sun is out. You already feel a little uneasy as most guests
have turned up in big 4x4s planning to drive home later. Many of the guests are young people who have taken a shine to Jack Wills clothing. Boys in pink shirts bellow their blonde sticking up hairdos. The girls are in baggy, thin tracksuit bottoms (that have never seen a track). Standard footware is flip flops. Everyone is drinking free Champagne. Lots of it.

There is an outdoor swimming pool. More Libation. The strange effects of champagne takes over. The conversation is so purile that it makes the Daily Mail seem informative. Everything is so great becase.... er... well look at us; we're drinking champagne.
They've got a pool too! I don't mind missing the O.C. afterall because this is great.

At this point Drunk Girl is making her way past the pool to refill the glasses of the guests at the bottom of the garden. She is thinking to herself "Strange nobody remembered their swimming costumes. I mean, everyone knows I have a pool!"

Her flip flops have been chosen to complement her Jack Wills tracksuit bottoms. Fashion over function. She slips a little too near the edge of the pool. At the deep end. She falls but her reactions are impaired and hits her head. Badly. There is blood on the concrete at the side of the pool. There is blood seeping from a head wound, diffusing into the chlorinated water. She's unconscious and face down. A state of affairs that should not be maintained for a long period of time. A red halo starts to grow about her head.

Drunk Boy is loudly boasting about the size of the engine in his shiny new 4x4. He is planning to offer to take Drunk Girl skiing in it in the hope that she will have sex with him. He will then retract his skiing offer and boast about having had sex with Drunk Girl. And about the size of his engine.

Drunk Boy raises his sun glasses. Is that red in the pool? Its hard to tell with these custom red lenses in.


He fishes her out. Shes twitching, still bleeding. "Are you ok?" No response. Through his champagne euphoria he panicks with fear. He remebers basic CPR. This is attempted. She stops twitching.

Many people had gathered round by the time the local GP pronounced Drunk Girl officially expired.

A mighty shame. Those white Jack Wills trousers will be tough to clean. The pool water should really be replaced now. Which is a hassle. And strangely nobody seems in the mood to finish off the opened champagne.

Disclaimer: If you don't like this story because you feel "its a bit nasty" then sit in Oxford Brookes University cafeteria over lunch. I just have. I'm not in a charitable frame of mind.

Thursday, 15 March 2007

Look What Society Has Done To Us (By Paula & Kate)

Oooo new Paula & Kate.....

Climate change, kiss my arse
News at ten, what a farce
Another tax that we can charge
To stuff your income up your arese
Gas and oil is what we need
Have some solar and some wind
While we burn more than we need
Then we deny that we have sinned.
Call thecouncil and have a moan
Tony's disciples on the end of the phone
Drink too much and 'turtle head'
Shit my pants and wet the bed
Don't wash for days and dread my pubes
Caneston cream somes in tubes
Forty years out of my head
In a sandwich made of chessey spread
I knew I should have cleaned my sheets
'n' not looked like I live on the streets
Cardboard pants, they're nerves changed
My cunt has got the doggy mange
Dirty pants and unwashed hands
On every cleavage unleash my glands
I can't wait till Vorderman hour
Then I can release my special shower
A new look snatch from changing rooms
Looks like 2 rashers of bacon & a button mushroom
Smells like steak and kidney pie
Would make a grown man puke and cry
His knob is like a cheese bake
Parmasan Sprinkle 'the Italian shake'
A masterchef feast for scary Blair
He likes his meat lean & rare
He'll bend over for a cut of rump side
Give him firm meet, watch him oblige
He likes it rammed right up his hole
Careful: There's a conjestion toll.
His dirty cum stains on my shirt
Ole Blair has got the Clinton curse.

Serves him right.

Thursday, 8 March 2007


What kind of cereal defines you? I am approaching 25 and I feel i'm turning into muesli. I fit this (newly created) stereo type. I'm wearing a brown jumper. I watch countdown. Supertramp's "Breafast In America"?... like it! I'm single. (Maybe this is connected with the previous sentence). I'm not even Alpen. I'm a no added sugar museli.

I used to love Weetos and Metallica. I remeber the adverts for Weetos when they first came out. They made it look like you were going to get massive chocolate hoops. From the cartoon perspective of the advert one weeto should have filled your whole bowl. Ah the disappointment. It was like getting that "Cadbury's Creme Egg" easter egg only to discover it was hollow. I WANTED FONDANT GOD DAMMIT!

Sorry. This stems from the fact I know I'm going to have muesli for breakfast tomorrow. It is nourishing and dependable. Its the kind of cereal that you could take home to meet your parents and they would approove. Pop Tarts? It will end in tears. They will have a fling with a croissante and probably ask some Lucky Charms to watch. Dirty pop tarts; the breakfast swinger.

Wonder who I'm compatable with? Could go eitherway I suppose.... I could graduate and settle down with some All Bran. A fiberous pairing that would see my heart healthy as "The Logical Song" plays accross the breakfast table. If this happened I would almost certainly have a midlife crisis as a young upstart like "Optivita" catches my eye. I think I'm on the lookout for some crunchy nut corn flakes. Crunchy nut cornflakes are essentially a kids cereal packaged for adults. That would keep me young and I wouldn't look twice at the Optivita then. Mmmmm.

Monday, 5 March 2007

Super Scrabble

Today I purchased "Super Scrabble"!!!.... It should be called "The War On A Rack".

It is like normal scrabble but with a bigger board. It includes quadruple letter and word scores. My only dissapointment is that there are no score sheets like you used to get. They merely print one in the middle of the rule book with the words "please photocopy" innocently inscribed underneath. I feel this is a bit cheap considering it cost £35. (Money I probably saved from being on the wagon)!

I will warn anyone who is thinking of paying this game that it is not for the faint hearted. It should come with a supply of pro plus tablets and redbull. I have only tried playing it with two players - me and Darren had a crack at it this evening. Daunting. There are a bewildering array of choices available. You can score quadruple words with reletive ease by going accross two double word scores. After a couple of hours playing we still had what seemed like a full bag of letters. Then we decided to end early by playing first to 500. He won. He knows lots of long words does Darren. I got the scrabble blindness and my IQ plummeted as the game progressed, ending at about 30. (The same IQ as 30 Fall Out Boy fans).

I think this game will be awesome with 3 or more players. (You can play with six - but it only comes with racks for four. Again I think this is a bit cheap - the instructions say you can use racks from an existing scrabble set - how cheeky is that)??!!

If anyone wants a game just let me know but make sure you have a good breakfast first.

Friday, 2 March 2007

Too lame to name ashamed pain

The latest poetic installment from the literary wizards Paula & Kate..........

Another dose of valium
Doctor I'm depressed
Can't get out of bed
Or entertain my guest

My little vag is sad
And how it gently weeps
"Trisha" say the fanny blues
Will only last a week

Sign off my prescription
What! £6.45??
Is it worth the price
To keep the love garden alive?

Its overgrown, dishevelled
Looks like the Yorkshire moors
It looks a damn site worse, love
When I'm kneeling on all fours.

Heathcliffe would love this Kate Bush
How its nettles sting
A howling night did pass
It echoed in my ring

Doctor doctor help me
Still got minge fatigue
Its a hungry little snapper
It needs an urgent feed

Lip nip 'n' tuck required
Can I get it on the NHS?
Gusset ring is tiring
A bike well oiled is BEST

My noo-noo is so depleated
Back on suicide watch
Even David Blunkett
Wouldn't go down on this crotch

But there is light at the end of the tunnel
As i trim th eprivets back
It seems that old John Prescott
Wants to dabble with my twat

His dirty sausage fingers
Brought it back to life
How were we to know
The fat cunt had a wife?

Pussy cries
Then dies
not amused
Oh James
You are to blame
Prescott shame
Topic lame.