Naturally, The Xym laughs in the face of these preposterous claims, for they cannot see the irony of such claims, when they are unwilling to absolve me of my singularity of status themselves! I'm a short fat unpopular gothboy - I'm no hunky Adonis stud muffin!
Mmmm... Sainsbury's triple berry muffins.... (and not Georgie Girl's muffin top - that belt and a bare midriff... not a good look. Especially now I know where she's been, as I'll come to later).
Anyhoo, was The Xym in a situation where he was being pulled by hot maidens out on the prowl down The Whatacunt on Sat, and he didn't even twig?
Traversing through to The Smoking Area (despite not being a taker of tobacco, mah crew were all of a gatherance there. I may need to take up The Snuff to legitimately use the area for it's intended purpose), I was accousted by a pack of pissed Pretties returning to the Dance Hall.
"Ooooh" quoth a sexy siren, "I love the facial furniture!"
And she reached up and gave my 'tashe at twiddle on the ends, and then put forth the following statement:
"It must be great to wake up to that in the morning!"
To which I replied "Oh yes!", assuming she meant seeing the spectacular lip ferret and brazillian chin set me up for the day when I sees myself in the mirror.
And with that, me and the pussy posse parted paths.
Now, come Sunday morn, driving over to Cambridge and re-telling the tale of my impressive moustachious being again admired, others point out that maybe she was hinting at something else. Slowly, it begins to dawn on the dullard Xym that perhaps a certain young lady was coyling hinting that it was SHE who would like to wake up to that in the morning.
Surely not - Pretties find The Xym to be somewhat creepy - something far removed from alluring. UNLESS, of course, a comical facial musketeer merkin overides a Pretties natural aversion to short fat troll-like gothboys with preposterous hair (even without ludicrous shades, which appear to have taken a vacation from outings on The Xym's visage)
Could it be that The Xymn could've pulled?
Nah. Stick. Grabbed. Wrong end. After being dropped in poo.
After all, it came somewhat crashing home at the Adam Ant gig, when support band Georgie Girl And Her Poussez Posse¹ once again sang their GP checkup based ballad "When was the last time you had sex?"². And thus my Antpals turneth to The Xym and ask "So, when WAS the last time you had sex?"
To which I sadly had to reply that it was so long ago, I can't even remember. I think you'd have to get Tony Robinson in, and even then his cornish twat-in-the-hat would only turn up bits of pottery and stone wall.
On the plus side, there were adverts in Cambridge for Britney Spears Circus Fantasy. Well, if she's offering, I'm not adverse to dressing up as My Jelly and ravishing her whilst using an Anne Summers specialist hand 'attachment' up the trapeze as big cocked elephants bum the jugglers. Or something.
¹ AS IT'S CHRISTMAS, CAN I HAVE A JESSICA-THE-DRUMMER PLEASE SANTA. I'LL PUT OUT A KFC BUCKET AND A SIX-PACK OF SPECIAL BREW INSTEAD OF A CRAPARSE MINCE PIE AND CHEAP SHERRY³.
² AND WE ALL KNOW THE LAST TIME SHE HAD SEX! FOR GEORGIE GIRL TURNS OUT TO BE THAT GEORGINA. THE SATANIC SLUT HELLCHILD OF LUCIFER AND MANUEL OUT OF FAWLTY TOWERS, FAMOUS FOR LAST HAVING SEX WITH JONATHAN WOSS AND RUSSELL BRAND ON A PILE OF RADIOS AND ANSAPHONES. OR SOMETHING. AND NOW SHE'S ADAM'S "FLATMATE". YEAH - SATANIC SLUT FLAT(ON-HER-BACK-LEGZ-AKIMBO)MATE, MORE LIKELY, THE JAMMY SOD!
³ UNLESS YOU WANT THE CORRIE SLAG HEWSON FOR YOUR SATYRESQUE SATURNALIAN SEXUAL SHENNAIGANS UNDER THE
