Signing on.
And I thought just filling out the application online was a torurous, arduous chore!
So, not got anywhere job hunting, so with cash running out, finally got round to registering as Jeremy Kyle Dolescum on Jobseekers.
Appointment at 11:25.
So, that'd be 12 then.
Meanwhile, I has to sit there, looking all smart, like I'm making an effort...
...surrounded by the druggy dregs of the great unwashed.
Smartly sat in a natty suit, sweetly scented of A*Men & Alien, whilst all around rises the pheremonal fug of BO and cannabis from the sweaty sweatpant and hoodie clad throng. Bellowing for benefits with their arsecracks rising like a full moon over the hillock of sunken, ill-fitting sweatpants.
A fight almost breaks out as some stoner has to make another appointment and takes exception to it, smacking his great fat stinking missus in the face with his forms coz he wants nowt to do with it, coz he's gotta get to Ca$h Converter$ to fence his five finger discounted liberated products.
And then you have The Interview. The Rules on what you have to do to be unemployed. The Commitment to:
● Sign up to Universal Jobmatch.
● Every day, check every job website
● Once a week, contact employers directly and piss them off repeatedly by badgering them for work
● Once a week, pester friends and family about any vacancies
● Respond promptly to replies
● Register with ALL the agencies
● apply for ANY job you can do that's within 90 minutes of home.
● etc etc
But be 1 minute late for your 2 week check-in, and they'll rip out your heart and burn it as an offering to the Great God Osbourne.
Dear God let me get a job soon - preferably that one on the telly! Ermagherd - how will I cope with the female fans my new slimness will thrust upon me!!
Meanwhile, I'm a-gonna start learning how to fiddle about with websites for a friend...
...and not fiddling about on websites! Or fiddling with friends...
now then, now then, jingle jangle pearl necklace...
Monday 24 March 2014
Sunday 23 March 2014
Olé, Olé, Olé, Olé, Xym is hot hot hot...
Svelte Xym is sexy!
Boosted by feathery millinery and twiddlesome tasheries, the new chiselled cheekbones of New Look Slim Xym is causing gussets to gush freely, as lustful arousal is newly waken'd in Pretties heaving busoms!
It's now getting somewhat obvious that trim Xym is slowly Skeletoring, and noticabley nobler and thinning out.
Xym's face - no chubby chops no more!
Xym's waist... wait, what waist! There is much less Xym when it comes to cuddly huggage!
Downside - all me clothes are now somewhat ill-fitting, and once plumply posteriored jeans are now all sagged and empty.
And attention... if you thought Xym had all the attentions before, that was nothing! Barista Babes, Polish Pretties, Barbabes, Acquaintances and FOAFs - all are in adoration of The Xym!
Alas, far to many Pretties are too enamoured of The Xym, and are fearful to approach this veritable godlike figure that doth inspire awe (and fear that their ladyparts my explode in orgasmic pleasure. or something.).
So, my Pretties, any applicants for the position of Xym's Lady - my sister Jo has taken it upon herself to vet all succubuses, as left to my own devices I'd pick the first one that batted an eyelid at me.
That happened once - a very surreal game of cricket that was.
Boosted by feathery millinery and twiddlesome tasheries, the new chiselled cheekbones of New Look Slim Xym is causing gussets to gush freely, as lustful arousal is newly waken'd in Pretties heaving busoms!
It's now getting somewhat obvious that trim Xym is slowly Skeletoring, and noticabley nobler and thinning out.
Xym's face - no chubby chops no more!
Xym's waist... wait, what waist! There is much less Xym when it comes to cuddly huggage!
Downside - all me clothes are now somewhat ill-fitting, and once plumply posteriored jeans are now all sagged and empty.
And attention... if you thought Xym had all the attentions before, that was nothing! Barista Babes, Polish Pretties, Barbabes, Acquaintances and FOAFs - all are in adoration of The Xym!
Alas, far to many Pretties are too enamoured of The Xym, and are fearful to approach this veritable godlike figure that doth inspire awe (and fear that their ladyparts my explode in orgasmic pleasure. or something.).
So, my Pretties, any applicants for the position of Xym's Lady - my sister Jo has taken it upon herself to vet all succubuses, as left to my own devices I'd pick the first one that batted an eyelid at me.
That happened once - a very surreal game of cricket that was.
Saturday 22 March 2014
A rolling stone falling off goths...
Ow.
Ouchies.
Eeep and aaaarrrggh as well.
Bootcamp #3 done - toughest yet, but Xym still managed to complete every task! And yet another Hot Pretty in lyrca joins the group!
But, lovely ladies aside (ass-side?), it appears Exercise and Calorie Control is having an effect on Yours Truly...
I'm a full stone lighter! If not more! Go me!
Watch out Pretties - Xym is getting slim!!
Ouchies.
Eeep and aaaarrrggh as well.
Bootcamp #3 done - toughest yet, but Xym still managed to complete every task! And yet another Hot Pretty in lyrca joins the group!
But, lovely ladies aside (ass-side?), it appears Exercise and Calorie Control is having an effect on Yours Truly...
I'm a full stone lighter! If not more! Go me!
Watch out Pretties - Xym is getting slim!!
Thursday 20 March 2014
I ain't got time to read...
So, yesterday I met one of my top, top, hotter than hot Pretties in Starbucks for coffee and a muffin, and ended up discussing Conspiracy Theories.
As you do.
Much as I like Destination Truth, Finding Bigfeets, Fact Or Faked, JFK shot by Roswell Space Monsters, I now have a new favourite.
For I've been introduced to Conspiracy Theory With Right Old Jessie "The Arsechin" sorry, "The Body", no -scrap that; "The Governor" Ventura (not to be confused with Arnie "The Governator" Schwartzanegger or other actors of a similar moniker nom-de-plums).
"Still ahead: HAARP invades Jesse Ventura's brain"...
Well, if HAARP can do that, can they invade my brain and remove the image of Captain Freedom's aerobics and replace it with a nice Pretty Lady please...
As you do.
Much as I like Destination Truth, Finding Bigfeets, Fact Or Faked, JFK shot by Roswell Space Monsters, I now have a new favourite.
For I've been introduced to Conspiracy Theory With Right Old Jessie "
"Still ahead: HAARP invades Jesse Ventura's brain"...
Well, if HAARP can do that, can they invade my brain and remove the image of Captain Freedom's aerobics and replace it with a nice Pretty Lady please...
Monday 17 March 2014
Top o'my hat t'ye...
Where's me gold? Gimme back me gold Jennie Anuston! To be sure and begorrah, Morrigan Bainsidhe screams a Happy St Patricks Day in yer face as a Dannan Sidhe pours a Guinness down yer neck and rams a 4-leaf clover up yer bum for luck whilst The Real IRA bop brits on the bonce with stout sheleighlys. Happy St Guinness Day and other assorted pennywhistling stereotypes with underarm porcine pets, so they have...
Sunday 16 March 2014
Brand new Xym...
"Oh, I wonder why you're sat there Xym...
...directly opposite that Amy Winehouse/HBC hybrid of hotness!"
Am I that predictable?
Sadly, yes.
...directly opposite that Amy Winehouse/HBC hybrid of hotness!"
Am I that predictable?
Sadly, yes.
Saturday 15 March 2014
Erhmagherd! Xym pulled...
Yes, Xym actually pulled!
He pulled a woman!
"Eh, whut? How can this be? Surely Xym is famed for being a lecherous leerer of ladies, perving at Teh Pretties from afar - Xym is far too shy and scaredy-cat to actually approach a Pretty, let alone pull one!"
Now calm down - this was Bootcamp, and so the pulling in question was hauling away on a rope tethered to a truck's tyre containing a female fitness instructor.
Well, at least I can legitimately claim to have finally pulled...
...and at least I didn't pull a muscle... which could have been embarassing (if you know what I mean, and I'm sure that you do! And if you don't - pulling a particular muscle whilst admiring bouncing babes in lycra. Tugging at tumescence is not the training they had in mind for Longwater Recreation Park. I believe that is more Mousehold Heath territory. or something...)
He pulled a woman!
"Eh, whut? How can this be? Surely Xym is famed for being a lecherous leerer of ladies, perving at Teh Pretties from afar - Xym is far too shy and scaredy-cat to actually approach a Pretty, let alone pull one!"
Now calm down - this was Bootcamp, and so the pulling in question was hauling away on a rope tethered to a truck's tyre containing a female fitness instructor.
Well, at least I can legitimately claim to have finally pulled...
...and at least I didn't pull a muscle... which could have been embarassing (if you know what I mean, and I'm sure that you do! And if you don't - pulling a particular muscle whilst admiring bouncing babes in lycra. Tugging at tumescence is not the training they had in mind for Longwater Recreation Park. I believe that is more Mousehold Heath territory. or something...)
Friday 14 March 2014
De plane, boss, de plane...
Flight MH370 this, Flight MH370 that, everywhere bloody Flight MH370.
Where's it gone?
Blown up by the pilots? Landed on a desert Isle? A troupe of thesbian tourists hijacking the plane to recreate the TV series Lost? Shot down by Malaysian snipers with rocket launchers?
Yet no-one suggests abduction by Space Monsters in the Malaysian Triangle, sucking up planes in waterspout tempests before sucking them down into their USOs1 where the passengers are forced to wear fishbowls on their bonce and commanded to construct cyclopean cities as slave labour for their evil interstellar overlords.
Well no way am I ever flying again! I have no desire to be captured by Dagonistic cultists and have to get all prune fingered putting up IKEA shelving just because some priests praying to a pantheon of piscine idols want to do some spring cleaning about the temples!
1UNIDENTIFIED(underwater?) SUBMERGED OBJECTS
Where's it gone?
Blown up by the pilots? Landed on a desert Isle? A troupe of thesbian tourists hijacking the plane to recreate the TV series Lost? Shot down by Malaysian snipers with rocket launchers?
Yet no-one suggests abduction by Space Monsters in the Malaysian Triangle, sucking up planes in waterspout tempests before sucking them down into their USOs1 where the passengers are forced to wear fishbowls on their bonce and commanded to construct cyclopean cities as slave labour for their evil interstellar overlords.
Well no way am I ever flying again! I have no desire to be captured by Dagonistic cultists and have to get all prune fingered putting up IKEA shelving just because some priests praying to a pantheon of piscine idols want to do some spring cleaning about the temples!
1UNIDENTIFIED(underwater?) SUBMERGED OBJECTS
Thursday 13 March 2014
Mars attacks...
Now, one thinks one shall have to invest in Video Bloggage, as one cannot convey the subtle nuances of martian moving media by paragraph based textual descriptives.
For I has been getting addicted to gormsters on t'internet, who are uncovering the Hidden Truths NASA are hiding from us.
To whit; The pictures being beamed back from the Mars Curiosity Rover, and the lengths NASA go to, so that alien presence is obfuscated by digital manipulations!
For it is quite clear, that although these photos are evidently photoshopped to hide evidence of Space Monsters, Bigfeets, Martian Cities, Planes, Buses and Motor Cars, they are so hit by ObamaCare stealing all the cash, they forget to cover up all of it.
And you can easily pick out the fallen statues, hidden bases, killer lizard monsters and Electrical Components For Mechanical Appliances by simply...
...zooming in to 400%
...blurring the image, because pristine pics are so crap
...sharpening the image
...reblurring the image
...blur it a little more so you can now see some detail
...sharpen it
...Recolor it
...Invert it...
...and...
BANG! Obviously what you're looking at is a modern car buried under sand! Compare it to a parked car after a night of snow... they're identical! You can even see the wheels, windscreen, and passenger window!
Yeah, so, the space monsters all died zillions of years ago, but they did have an uncanny knack of building stuffs that look suspiciously like modern day stuff here on Earth!
But then, I'm not wearing my tin foil helmet, so they could be beaming skeptism directly into me brain tank with the Air Loom, further hiding their hidden agendas!
For I has been getting addicted to gormsters on t'internet, who are uncovering the Hidden Truths NASA are hiding from us.
To whit; The pictures being beamed back from the Mars Curiosity Rover, and the lengths NASA go to, so that alien presence is obfuscated by digital manipulations!
For it is quite clear, that although these photos are evidently photoshopped to hide evidence of Space Monsters, Bigfeets, Martian Cities, Planes, Buses and Motor Cars, they are so hit by ObamaCare stealing all the cash, they forget to cover up all of it.
And you can easily pick out the fallen statues, hidden bases, killer lizard monsters and Electrical Components For Mechanical Appliances by simply...
...zooming in to 400%
...blurring the image, because pristine pics are so crap
...sharpening the image
...reblurring the image
...blur it a little more so you can now see some detail
...sharpen it
...Recolor it
...Invert it...
...and...
BANG! Obviously what you're looking at is a modern car buried under sand! Compare it to a parked car after a night of snow... they're identical! You can even see the wheels, windscreen, and passenger window!
Yeah, so, the space monsters all died zillions of years ago, but they did have an uncanny knack of building stuffs that look suspiciously like modern day stuff here on Earth!
But then, I'm not wearing my tin foil helmet, so they could be beaming skeptism directly into me brain tank with the Air Loom, further hiding their hidden agendas!
Wednesday 12 March 2014
Friday 7 March 2014
Jeremy Paxman Stu! Off the telly..
So, yesterday I applied for yet another Testing job, and the Telephone Interview for a Software Engineer turned out to be a chat with HR about Salary Expectations, Availability For Interview, Brief Overview Of Company, etc...
But, as they say, One Door Closes As Another Door opens.
Which is bobbins, coz I just closed the kitchen door after getting my calorie counted sushi (not killer sushi though) and all the other doors that were shut remained closed.
Anyhoo, as I check my massages, I spy with my soon-to-be-reglassed-with-red-trim-coz-that's-the-only-style-they-got-in-specsavers eye, a posting from Mouseturd TV.
They're looking for LOCAL presenters to present LOCAL stuffs on LOCAL freeview (channel 8) come March!
So I've applieded to be a telly man! (Don't worry Tubbs, Xym won't get far...)
Can you imagine that - Xym on the telly! I won't be a short fat gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades, occasional crainial adornment, diverse accoutréments and a ridiculous 'tashe any more. oh no.
I'd be a short fat gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades, occasional crainial adornment, diverse accoutréments and a ridiculous 'tashe off the telly!
So, my CV, with accompanying portraiture captured by imps in the devil box hath been submitted, with the following begging letter:
Hello!
I saw your request on that there Facebook for LOCAL presentery type peoples, and would like to be considered.
I've lived in Norwich since 1988 (does 26 years of Norwich dwellance of my agéd 44 qualify as local), but I do love the place.
I've not done any actual presenting type stuffs, but I have performed before camera before, and am currently looking for a new direction (having recently being made all redundancised from Aviva), and I'm being encouraged to "Go For It" as apparently it'd be "right up my street".
Which is handy, because my street IS local! And apparently, I have a quite distinct, unique look that draws attention and makes me stand out.
I've attached my somewhat bobbins Actorial CV which has a page of visual representations captured on camera. Unfortunately (or thankfully, depending on your POV) I have no video of my sparking charm & twinkling personality due to an ex throwing out all me old VHSs coz it was VHS and therefore old.
Let me know what you think, and if I has a chance at more fame Local Fame (rather that just "That bloke with the glasses, stylish hats & 'tashe", I could be "That bloke with the glasses, stylish hats & 'tashe off the telly!". or something.)
Many thanks for the opportunity,
Xymon Owain
(for ease of pronounciation, just call me Simon. Most call simply me The Xym (The Sim))
I think that fairly encapsulates the essence of what you gets with The Xym!
Xym. On telly. Oh dear...
But, as they say, One Door Closes As Another Door opens.
Which is bobbins, coz I just closed the kitchen door after getting my calorie counted sushi (not killer sushi though) and all the other doors that were shut remained closed.
Anyhoo, as I check my massages, I spy with my soon-to-be-reglassed-with-red-trim-coz-that's-the-only-style-they-got-in-specsavers eye, a posting from Mouseturd TV.
They're looking for LOCAL presenters to present LOCAL stuffs on LOCAL freeview (channel 8) come March!
So I've applieded to be a telly man! (Don't worry Tubbs, Xym won't get far...)
Can you imagine that - Xym on the telly! I won't be a short fat gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades, occasional crainial adornment, diverse accoutréments and a ridiculous 'tashe any more. oh no.
I'd be a short fat gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades, occasional crainial adornment, diverse accoutréments and a ridiculous 'tashe off the telly!
So, my CV, with accompanying portraiture captured by imps in the devil box hath been submitted, with the following begging letter:
Hello!
I saw your request on that there Facebook for LOCAL presentery type peoples, and would like to be considered.
I've lived in Norwich since 1988 (does 26 years of Norwich dwellance of my agéd 44 qualify as local), but I do love the place.
I've not done any actual presenting type stuffs, but I have performed before camera before, and am currently looking for a new direction (having recently being made all redundancised from Aviva), and I'm being encouraged to "Go For It" as apparently it'd be "right up my street".
Which is handy, because my street IS local! And apparently, I have a quite distinct, unique look that draws attention and makes me stand out.
I've attached my somewhat bobbins Actorial CV which has a page of visual representations captured on camera. Unfortunately (or thankfully, depending on your POV) I have no video of my sparking charm & twinkling personality due to an ex throwing out all me old VHSs coz it was VHS and therefore old.
Let me know what you think, and if I has a chance at more fame Local Fame (rather that just "That bloke with the glasses, stylish hats & 'tashe", I could be "That bloke with the glasses, stylish hats & 'tashe off the telly!". or something.)
Many thanks for the opportunity,
Xymon Owain
(for ease of pronounciation, just call me Simon. Most call simply me The Xym (The Sim))
I think that fairly encapsulates the essence of what you gets with The Xym!
Xym. On telly. Oh dear...
Thursday 6 March 2014
The thigh's the limit...
Right, now, sexytime.
This appeared on my Facebook Feed this fair morrow:
Now, this caused much argument over sexism, fat vs skinny, figure judgement, etc...
But what annoyed me was the definition of "Thigh Gap".
Now, to me, the lovely lady on the left has a thigh gap - her thighs are clearly apart. The curvascious cutie in the right, however, has no thigh gap - her thighs clearly meet.
"But Xym, you fool, that's not the thigh gap! The thigh gap is what the slut on the right has - that space just under her snatch"
Ah, clearly I'm dealing with the illiterati once more! Thighs are the mid-point of your upper legs between hip & knee. Therefore, if the thighs are pressed together, as with the sexpot on the right, there is no gap between them. Whereas the honey on the left has a clear space betwixt both thighs all the way down.
What you're talking about, my friends, is not a thigh gap. It's the space at the top of the thighs at the groinal conjunction.
Now, to be somewhat coarse and crude, both babes have what it known as the CGI1, the measurement of minge width before contact with the upper thigh.
However, the woman on the right has somewhat fuller thighs, creating a space between flange and thighs. This is commonly known as The #BoxGap, GroinGap, or Toblerone Triangle.
Get your anatomy right, people!
1 CUNT GAP INDEX
This appeared on my Facebook Feed this fair morrow:
Now, this caused much argument over sexism, fat vs skinny, figure judgement, etc...
But what annoyed me was the definition of "Thigh Gap".
Now, to me, the lovely lady on the left has a thigh gap - her thighs are clearly apart. The curvascious cutie in the right, however, has no thigh gap - her thighs clearly meet.
"But Xym, you fool, that's not the thigh gap! The thigh gap is what the slut on the right has - that space just under her snatch"
Ah, clearly I'm dealing with the illiterati once more! Thighs are the mid-point of your upper legs between hip & knee. Therefore, if the thighs are pressed together, as with the sexpot on the right, there is no gap between them. Whereas the honey on the left has a clear space betwixt both thighs all the way down.
What you're talking about, my friends, is not a thigh gap. It's the space at the top of the thighs at the groinal conjunction.
Now, to be somewhat coarse and crude, both babes have what it known as the CGI1, the measurement of minge width before contact with the upper thigh.
However, the woman on the right has somewhat fuller thighs, creating a space between flange and thighs. This is commonly known as The #BoxGap, GroinGap, or Toblerone Triangle.
Get your anatomy right, people!
1 CUNT GAP INDEX
Wednesday 5 March 2014
Walk like a complete pratt...
Slow news day in the Evening Nudes today.
Now, y'all know how much I loathe the kickyball, but this takes the biscuit.
Wes Hoolahan disrespected Norwich City fans with bizarre lack of celebration when he scored against Aston Villa
Now, y'all know how much I loathe the kickyball, but this takes the biscuit.
Which is handy, coz on this Adrenalize & Eating Plan malarky, I've already lost 7lb, so could do without the biccies anyway,
Anyhoo - as I understand kickyball, you swing a leg, kick a ball, it goes forward, and if lucky you score a goal. Job done.
So how is it "disrespectful" to not act like a twat after scoring a goal?
"Huzzah! I've kicked a ball into a huge fuck off size net, obfuscated slightly by a tiny human. Right, now to save my energy and do it all again..."
What's wrong with that? Disrespectful, apparently.
It seems putting a wee small ball into a ginormous hole much, much bigger that the foot-propelled sphere isn't enough. Oh no.
They want you to act like a right gobshite. Poncing about with a shirt over their face while dancing like a retarded gormster.
Acting like a total arse, just because you knocked a tiny object into a cavernous space.
Kickyballers and kickerballer fans. Never have, and never will, understand the appeal. Especially stories like this.
"Disrespect" for a "bizzare lack of celebration" indeed!
It's like them fucktards on Britain's Allegedly Got Talent who get told they're through to the next round who can't simply say "Thank you" and walk away proudly, but have to scream and screech, fall to the floor, leap about like rabid kangaroos, and generally act like feral primates on speed.
If I have a job interview, and they say "Congratulations, you're hired", I wouldn't scream like a Baine Sidhé, pick up the interviewer, twirl them about, then do a celebratory jig around the room. If I did, I'd expect to be summarily fired!
Alan Sugar doesn't have to put up with this on The Apprentice. One tried after winning a task by screaming "Yes" whilst doing the universal symbol for fisting. Alan Sugar told him right off for being a cockpiece.
Bizzare lack of celebration! The mind doth boggle!
Tuesday 4 March 2014
March 4th...
March forth? April may.
June?
Jew lie!
(feel free to groan and shake yer head in dismay)
One would add Our Ghost, Argos, and possiby Ah, Gust of wind. But I shalln't. So there. ner.
June?
Jew lie!
(feel free to groan and shake yer head in dismay)
One would add Our Ghost, Argos, and possiby Ah, Gust of wind. But I shalln't. So there. ner.
Monday 3 March 2014
Fuck you very much...
Disgraceful!
Not so long back, I advised you about being published in Online Magazine 'Lhyme' to promote a recipe for the British classic dessert Spotted Dick, fused with the musical genius of Margaret J.
It would appear that one the Pretties of my overseas harem hath been hit with undeserved snipey bitchiness from the Overall Editor as regards tweaking some text as regards David 'Buoy' ( see here) and The Cure.
In a fit a pique, my Lady Doom was purged from all records.
And by association, it would appear the ignoramus has also removed all my carefully crafted perfect prose!
This is blasphemy of the highest order! I am THE Xym - how dare any mundane misery deny the populace the Words Of Xym? Outrageous!
However, this does leave me free to revise, improve and extend my somewhat restrained review! So, without any further Agadoo or pushing pineapples up yer bum, here is my commentary upon Pop Tart Margaret J, with accompanying VD-dye-oh:
==============================================================
So, you teen girls know how embarassing parents can be (as my Niece Jess can attest!), however it's come to something when your parents turn into The Dentons and insist on Nude Day to celebrate your Dad's birthday, and they berate you for not denuding yourself.
After all, it's only a nudie poolside BBQ for your dad's birthday, including all their friends and neigbours.
So you take yourself off into your bedroom, to avoid seeing everybody's exposed 'Barbarellas" and "Godzillas" that are being invited into your pantyhose (or tights, if your not American. Possibly leggings). Which would probably make you a hermaphrodite. or something.
And for that she thanks you very much. Or spanks her furry muff. probably.
So you decide to brave the party, but not naked, obvs. The kitchen is filled with grizzled, wrinked, sagging, obese oldies, so you sit on the sofa in the living room with all the hot young kidz.
And isn't it just your luck to sit right by the man from the BBC1 dancing alongside, waving his way below knee-lenth wang about the place and almost whipping your face with it. Yet another oversized weapon of mass distraction!
And then there's the cutting of the cake - at least it isn't your birthday, so you don't have to have any, seeing as any "hundreds and thousands" and "chocolate sprinkles" on top are probably moulted pubes, dried arse shit, diseased skin and crabs.
And then it's dancing time for everyone, and there's no better way to celebrate than to be accosted by a great fat nudie pædo who presses you into his sweaty moobs.
Barbarella? More like fucking Blubberella doing them high kicks. Flash the gash with yer lardy labia. And fat pædo punches to clear a space so you can all adore his Adonis physique.
And out by the pool, some poor bloke is grilling his sausage as Marge sits there singing about biting it on the end...
...before the manly men man up for some manly wrestling...
...hold on... didn't Jimmy Savile start out as a professional wrester? Now then, now then, jingle jangle, pearl necklace jewellery. No wonder Margaret didn't want to party in her nuddy suit.
And to cap it all, after avoiding a facefull of phallus from the token Person Of Color With Obligatory Massive Cock, someone's semi cock-knocks her Coke out of her hand! And because she's in the middle of a nudie-fest, and doesn't want to go about all underagey undressed, she's now stuck with a damp & sticky gusset. For all the wrong reasons. Probably. or something.
And then you're invited back inside, to be compressed against the clammy flesh of the family, as the bespectacled grandparents poke and pinch at you. More worrying is that the baldy bloke looks suspiciously like he would be more at home in a PVC Nazi uniform.
And after all that effort they put into pixellation, at 2:40, some brazen trollop is presenting her shaven pussy to the camera. Or it could be a beaver. Heck, it could be anything - it just looks like some hairless hellbeast (immediately followed by a REALLY creepy look from the fat pædo).
How come I never get invited to parties like this?
Original published version:
Salutations gastro-gnomes! For mine debut, one hath been tasked with checking out the latest teen sensation, the Pop Pixie known as Margaret J with her equally debut single "Thank You Very Much". A tune that deals with the harsh brutalities of adolescence and being embarrassed by your parents:
To whit; being forced to attend a naturist party for your dad's birthday with all his nudie neighbours. A horrific soirée of skyclad Barbarellas & Godzillas as you get told off by your mum for not denuding yourself.
Where Rebecca Black's "Friday" called for ear sealant, this pop tart's visual accompaniment will have you reaching for the eye bleach! How can one compete with Robin #Thicko's "Blurred Lines" topless models & Miley Cyrus's twerkage? Why, by surrounding the dodgily aged popstress with great fat hairy nudie dancing old folk like a rather dodgy pædo party!
Which it CLEARLY ISN'T. A minute into the video, and there's nothing more natural than to subject your offspring to a waving wang, but you know what they say "Oop Norf o' t'England" - Once tha's 'ad black puddin' fer t'breakfast, tha'll never go back. or summat.
Spotted dick? No! Thank you, pixelation. Thank You Very Much
1 BIG BLACK COCK
Not so long back, I advised you about being published in Online Magazine 'Lhyme' to promote a recipe for the British classic dessert Spotted Dick, fused with the musical genius of Margaret J.
It would appear that one the Pretties of my overseas harem hath been hit with undeserved snipey bitchiness from the Overall Editor as regards tweaking some text as regards David 'Buoy' ( see here) and The Cure.
In a fit a pique, my Lady Doom was purged from all records.
And by association, it would appear the ignoramus has also removed all my carefully crafted perfect prose!
This is blasphemy of the highest order! I am THE Xym - how dare any mundane misery deny the populace the Words Of Xym? Outrageous!
However, this does leave me free to revise, improve and extend my somewhat restrained review! So, without any further Agadoo or pushing pineapples up yer bum, here is my commentary upon Pop Tart Margaret J, with accompanying VD-dye-oh:
==============================================================
So, you teen girls know how embarassing parents can be (as my Niece Jess can attest!), however it's come to something when your parents turn into The Dentons and insist on Nude Day to celebrate your Dad's birthday, and they berate you for not denuding yourself.
After all, it's only a nudie poolside BBQ for your dad's birthday, including all their friends and neigbours.
So you take yourself off into your bedroom, to avoid seeing everybody's exposed 'Barbarellas" and "Godzillas" that are being invited into your pantyhose (or tights, if your not American. Possibly leggings). Which would probably make you a hermaphrodite. or something.
And for that she thanks you very much. Or spanks her furry muff. probably.
So you decide to brave the party, but not naked, obvs. The kitchen is filled with grizzled, wrinked, sagging, obese oldies, so you sit on the sofa in the living room with all the hot young kidz.
And isn't it just your luck to sit right by the man from the BBC1 dancing alongside, waving his way below knee-lenth wang about the place and almost whipping your face with it. Yet another oversized weapon of mass distraction!
And then there's the cutting of the cake - at least it isn't your birthday, so you don't have to have any, seeing as any "hundreds and thousands" and "chocolate sprinkles" on top are probably moulted pubes, dried arse shit, diseased skin and crabs.
And then it's dancing time for everyone, and there's no better way to celebrate than to be accosted by a great fat nudie pædo who presses you into his sweaty moobs.
Barbarella? More like fucking Blubberella doing them high kicks. Flash the gash with yer lardy labia. And fat pædo punches to clear a space so you can all adore his Adonis physique.
And out by the pool, some poor bloke is grilling his sausage as Marge sits there singing about biting it on the end...
...before the manly men man up for some manly wrestling...
...hold on... didn't Jimmy Savile start out as a professional wrester? Now then, now then, jingle jangle, pearl necklace jewellery. No wonder Margaret didn't want to party in her nuddy suit.
And to cap it all, after avoiding a facefull of phallus from the token Person Of Color With Obligatory Massive Cock, someone's semi cock-knocks her Coke out of her hand! And because she's in the middle of a nudie-fest, and doesn't want to go about all underagey undressed, she's now stuck with a damp & sticky gusset. For all the wrong reasons. Probably. or something.
And then you're invited back inside, to be compressed against the clammy flesh of the family, as the bespectacled grandparents poke and pinch at you. More worrying is that the baldy bloke looks suspiciously like he would be more at home in a PVC Nazi uniform.
And after all that effort they put into pixellation, at 2:40, some brazen trollop is presenting her shaven pussy to the camera. Or it could be a beaver. Heck, it could be anything - it just looks like some hairless hellbeast (immediately followed by a REALLY creepy look from the fat pædo).
How come I never get invited to parties like this?
Original published version:
Salutations gastro-gnomes! For mine debut, one hath been tasked with checking out the latest teen sensation, the Pop Pixie known as Margaret J with her equally debut single "Thank You Very Much". A tune that deals with the harsh brutalities of adolescence and being embarrassed by your parents:
To whit; being forced to attend a naturist party for your dad's birthday with all his nudie neighbours. A horrific soirée of skyclad Barbarellas & Godzillas as you get told off by your mum for not denuding yourself.
Where Rebecca Black's "Friday" called for ear sealant, this pop tart's visual accompaniment will have you reaching for the eye bleach! How can one compete with Robin #Thicko's "Blurred Lines" topless models & Miley Cyrus's twerkage? Why, by surrounding the dodgily aged popstress with great fat hairy nudie dancing old folk like a rather dodgy pædo party!
Which it CLEARLY ISN'T. A minute into the video, and there's nothing more natural than to subject your offspring to a waving wang, but you know what they say "Oop Norf o' t'England" - Once tha's 'ad black puddin' fer t'breakfast, tha'll never go back. or summat.
Spotted dick? No! Thank you, pixelation. Thank You Very Much
Sunday 2 March 2014
God waits for Norman...
Right, Virgin Media gave me some new channels recently, including...
H2!
Which means I now get lots of new Space Monster Conspiracy bobbins!
Yay!
So, this morning, they were talking about the Ark Of The Government, which holds a wormhole though which Space Monsters travelled to do the nightshift when cutting out the temples at Lalibela (ancient Sumerian for Labia) before Stephen King put it Under The Dome Of Castle Rock on Temple Mount. Apparently the dayshift was performed by humanoids, whilst the Space Monsters put their feet up at Mecca Bingo.
Which naturally reminded me of Frank Hornby, the Christian Zealot who wanted schoolboys to build Weapons Of Mass Destruction in their own home and fight the Muslim menace and drive it from our shores.
Unfortunately, his first attempt of suicide bombing using the rail network failed, and his Hornby Trains ended up as Weapons Of Mass Distraction as boys became obsessed as expected. But instead of driving trains into Mosques, young boys stayed in their bedrooms constructing convoluted networks, before growing up into nerdy Trainspotters or Pop Moguls who (unlike Simon Cowhell) fail to bed their workmates.
(OK, YOU CAN FORGIVE SONYA, BUT PETE WATERMAN DIDN'T EVEN NOB KYLIE OR MICHAELA STRACHAN. EVEN COWELL MANAGED TO BED THE OTHER MINOGUE... AND EVERONE ELSE ON THE X-FACTOR PANEL. EVEN MY CLEAN ARSE, AND SHE COME FROM GALL STONE!)
Anyhoo, getting back on (or rather off) track, Hornby quickly learned from his mistake. So, the trains were discarded, and the track modified into a form of supportive strut... and lo and behold, a few tools, nuts, bolts, gears and different lengths of perforated metal struts and you have a DIY construction kit!
Perfect for builing WMD in your own home?
But what to call this home defense against Islam?
A rallying cry for all good Christian Boy Scouts...
Mecca? No!
But that sounded a bit racist, but if you run it together...
Meccano!
H2!
Which means I now get lots of new Space Monster Conspiracy bobbins!
Yay!
So, this morning, they were talking about the Ark Of The Government, which holds a wormhole though which Space Monsters travelled to do the nightshift when cutting out the temples at Lalibela (ancient Sumerian for Labia) before Stephen King put it Under The Dome Of Castle Rock on Temple Mount. Apparently the dayshift was performed by humanoids, whilst the Space Monsters put their feet up at Mecca Bingo.
Which naturally reminded me of Frank Hornby, the Christian Zealot who wanted schoolboys to build Weapons Of Mass Destruction in their own home and fight the Muslim menace and drive it from our shores.
Unfortunately, his first attempt of suicide bombing using the rail network failed, and his Hornby Trains ended up as Weapons Of Mass Distraction as boys became obsessed as expected. But instead of driving trains into Mosques, young boys stayed in their bedrooms constructing convoluted networks, before growing up into nerdy Trainspotters or Pop Moguls who (unlike Simon Cowhell) fail to bed their workmates.
(OK, YOU CAN FORGIVE SONYA, BUT PETE WATERMAN DIDN'T EVEN NOB KYLIE OR MICHAELA STRACHAN. EVEN COWELL MANAGED TO BED THE OTHER MINOGUE... AND EVERONE ELSE ON THE X-FACTOR PANEL. EVEN MY CLEAN ARSE, AND SHE COME FROM GALL STONE!)
Anyhoo, getting back on (or rather off) track, Hornby quickly learned from his mistake. So, the trains were discarded, and the track modified into a form of supportive strut... and lo and behold, a few tools, nuts, bolts, gears and different lengths of perforated metal struts and you have a DIY construction kit!
Perfect for builing WMD in your own home?
But what to call this home defense against Islam?
A rallying cry for all good Christian Boy Scouts...
Mecca? No!
But that sounded a bit racist, but if you run it together...
Meccano!
Racist Meccano! Hidden in plain sight!
Saturday 1 March 2014
Let's get physical, physical...
So, t'other day I sorta mentioned obliquely in passing that I had a consultation with Adrenalize about getting The Xym all trim and shizzle.
Thankfully, my personal trainer is away next week, so my first 1-to-1 session is a week on Wednesday.
Today, however, I went to Bootcamp for an hours group exercises.
Now, for a poor old short fat gothboy, whose main exercise is raiding the fridge (Hey, if Lara Croft can raid tombs, I can raid fridges. All's fair, right?), this was somewhat daunting,
However, I think I wheezed through most of it pretty much OK...
I did planking (I said planking), weight tossing (I said weight), running through a ladder like a girly fairy, flipping off a tyre (my, exercise is euphamistic!), weight lifts, push-up walks (yes, walks), crunches, mountain climb push uppy things, skipping (at which I'm useless), lunges, trampolining, weight lifting curls.
I must admit, I did struggle about 2/3rd of the way through. And not just because lycra clad women skipping or bouncing on trampolines is bit of a distraction.
But, I've made a start! I WILL be Slim Xym.
And as everyone knows I've committed myself to it, there's no backing out now!
Go team Me!
Thankfully, my personal trainer is away next week, so my first 1-to-1 session is a week on Wednesday.
Today, however, I went to Bootcamp for an hours group exercises.
Now, for a poor old short fat gothboy, whose main exercise is raiding the fridge (Hey, if Lara Croft can raid tombs, I can raid fridges. All's fair, right?), this was somewhat daunting,
However, I think I wheezed through most of it pretty much OK...
I did planking (I said planking), weight tossing (I said weight), running through a ladder like a girly fairy, flipping off a tyre (my, exercise is euphamistic!), weight lifts, push-up walks (yes, walks), crunches, mountain climb push uppy things, skipping (at which I'm useless), lunges, trampolining, weight lifting curls.
I must admit, I did struggle about 2/3rd of the way through. And not just because lycra clad women skipping or bouncing on trampolines is bit of a distraction.
But, I've made a start! I WILL be Slim Xym.
And as everyone knows I've committed myself to it, there's no backing out now!
Go team Me!
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