♪ Bluebell
♪ Spit to See the Shine
♪ Oh Yeah
♪ Bruise Violet
♪ Interstellar Overdrive
♪ Right Now
♪ Swamp Pussy
♪ Won't Tell
♪ Drivin'
♪ Ariel
♪ Handsome & Gretel
♪ Spun
♪ Pearl
♪ Ripe
♪ Vomit Heart
♪ Sweet '69
Encore:
♪ Dust Cake Boy
Tuesday 26 May 2015
Xym's your thing....
♪ He's My Thing
♪ Bluebell
♪ Spit to See the Shine
♪ Oh Yeah
♪ Bruise Violet
♪ Interstellar Overdrive
♪ Right Now
♪ Swamp Pussy
♪ Won't Tell
♪ Drivin'
♪ Ariel
♪ Handsome & Gretel
♪ Spun
♪ Pearl
♪ Ripe
♪ Vomit Heart
♪ Sweet '69
Encore:
♪ Dust Cake Boy
♪ Bluebell
♪ Spit to See the Shine
♪ Oh Yeah
♪ Bruise Violet
♪ Interstellar Overdrive
♪ Right Now
♪ Swamp Pussy
♪ Won't Tell
♪ Drivin'
♪ Ariel
♪ Handsome & Gretel
♪ Spun
♪ Pearl
♪ Ripe
♪ Vomit Heart
♪ Sweet '69
Encore:
♪ Dust Cake Boy
Monday 6 April 2015
I can't dance, at The Talk...
Only thing about me is the epilepsy...
Goodness gracious, what a day/eve!
So, I enjoyed Cinderella, although I have yet to decide whether HBCs scant screen time vs corset constrained cleavage was worth the pervosity quotient.
Of course it was! Best Færie Gothmother ever!!
Although that could be the inebriating influence of a hipflask full of Maple Jim Beam and two cans of Morgan's Spiced Rum & Coke!
So, after depositing Polish Pretties with their Other Halves, I took meself off to The Fair in Chav'll Thieve Gardens!
Boring! All I won was a Steak Baguette.
So I took meself off to The White Lion for more Cider!
Hic!
Then I toddled off down to The Talk for pints of Amaretto and Cider cocktail.
And it was Mod Night, with Small Fæces tribute band The Small Fakers¹, supported by... um... The Small Fakers With The Lead Singer Out Of The Byrds From The Sixties.
And a very impolite crowd are Mods. Why, I could barely hear the band o'er their loud, incessant chatter. Which was quite embarassing when each song finished and there was a slight ripple of applause undercutting the stream of babble.
It must be soul destroying to be on stage, and be ignored throughout. He must've been desperate to scream "LISTEN TO ME! I USED TO BE FAMOUS! I RECORDED TURN, TURN, TURN, MR TAMBOURINE MAN, 8 MILES HIGH... WON'T YOU PLEASE SHUT YOUR FACE AND HEAR ME SING!"
At least I didn't get duffed up by the big burly skinhead and his equally big beefy missus for telling him to shift out of our view... he just moved aside, clearly acquiessing to someone of such superior awexymness & Presence who's hard to say No to!
Or is that a John West Tuna Snack Pot (no, that were his sweaty bird's flange. possibly)
But when the DJ span his platters... the dancing... OMG the dancing...
Now, I'm seen as something as legend in the realm of dancefloor entertainment, but I have never seen such a shocking display of lack of rhythm or style.
Obviously, as a Goth, I am unfamiliar with the rules of Mod Dancing, I know not which are "Boy Only" dances, "Girl Only" Dances, or "Mixed" dances. Although some Hippy Chick was dancing to a Boys Only dance, which was frowned upon. And some poor chequerboard chick kept turning through 180°, meaning at times she was female, and others a boy (for in Mod circles, compass point orientation determines gender on the dancefloor).
But some people made Ian Curtis look like Louis Spence. Or Wayne Sleep. Or Lionel Blair. or something,
Never have so many danced so badly and so out of time with so little rhythm!
Yeah, one or two had rhythm. Heck, even Great Fat Crystal Tipps in the ill-fitting 60s dress still had rhythm AND all the authentic moves! Mrs Legs Akimbo Trying To Pull Twiggy had rhythm.. well, one, slow, wide-legged rhythm for ever song. But most...
...as pissed as I was, I could have danced better! Even not knowing 99% of the badly covered Hits Of The Sixties!
As opposed to the Hots In Their Sixties, which presumably most of the mod crew thought they were. Bad outfits, badly aged, and bad hair.
SO much bad hair! And narry a Pretty amongst 'em! Well, apart from maybe 4: BlueDress, Speccy Blonde, Samantha "The Only And Hottest Reason We Used To Go To Pizza Hut Was Because She Waitressed There" Biggs, and... um... there must have been more than them three...
It was that bad, we left at about 12. 12! On a club night! How shockingly bad must it have been to get a taxi home at 12!
Well, I say a taxi home. I had to bloody well walk it! We planned on getting a taxi, but somehow, between the cloakroom and exit, my Sister managed to find Other People to fill the taxi to capacity.
Other People who weren't her brother!
Other People that would exceed the seating capacity of 1.
A number that corresponds to the excess baggage that is The Xym.
And even if I could squeeze into the at-capacity taxi (assuming the driver would allow it), I refer people to my previous blog and point #2: HAVING TO INTERACT WITH STRANGERS!!!
Oh well, means I got some extra exercise at least. If fate meant me to walk, then surely it means I'm meant to have a big fat takeaway tonight. Why else force me to lose all them calories walking home in the icy cold with no warm eateries open due to being Zombie Jesus day?
¹ OR WAS IT THE SMALL FAKIRS. THEY WEREN'T MIDGETS THOUGH AND NON SPORTED A FEZ. I SUPPOSE THEY COULD BE CALLED MEN WITHOUT HATS... ALTHOUGH THERE WAS NO SAFETY IN THE DANCES THAT GURNING FOOL WAS FLAILING ABOUT WITH! YOU NEED A LOT OF ROOM TO MOD DANCE - MORE EVEN THAN ME!!!
Goodness gracious, what a day/eve!
So, I enjoyed Cinderella, although I have yet to decide whether HBCs scant screen time vs corset constrained cleavage was worth the pervosity quotient.
Of course it was! Best Færie Gothmother ever!!
Although that could be the inebriating influence of a hipflask full of Maple Jim Beam and two cans of Morgan's Spiced Rum & Coke!
So, after depositing Polish Pretties with their Other Halves, I took meself off to The Fair in Chav'll Thieve Gardens!
Boring! All I won was a Steak Baguette.
So I took meself off to The White Lion for more Cider!
Hic!
Then I toddled off down to The Talk for pints of Amaretto and Cider cocktail.
And it was Mod Night, with Small Fæces tribute band The Small Fakers¹, supported by... um... The Small Fakers With The Lead Singer Out Of The Byrds From The Sixties.
And a very impolite crowd are Mods. Why, I could barely hear the band o'er their loud, incessant chatter. Which was quite embarassing when each song finished and there was a slight ripple of applause undercutting the stream of babble.
It must be soul destroying to be on stage, and be ignored throughout. He must've been desperate to scream "LISTEN TO ME! I USED TO BE FAMOUS! I RECORDED TURN, TURN, TURN, MR TAMBOURINE MAN, 8 MILES HIGH... WON'T YOU PLEASE SHUT YOUR FACE AND HEAR ME SING!"
At least I didn't get duffed up by the big burly skinhead and his equally big beefy missus for telling him to shift out of our view... he just moved aside, clearly acquiessing to someone of such superior awexymness & Presence who's hard to say No to!
Or is that a John West Tuna Snack Pot (no, that were his sweaty bird's flange. possibly)
But when the DJ span his platters... the dancing... OMG the dancing...
Now, I'm seen as something as legend in the realm of dancefloor entertainment, but I have never seen such a shocking display of lack of rhythm or style.
Obviously, as a Goth, I am unfamiliar with the rules of Mod Dancing, I know not which are "Boy Only" dances, "Girl Only" Dances, or "Mixed" dances. Although some Hippy Chick was dancing to a Boys Only dance, which was frowned upon. And some poor chequerboard chick kept turning through 180°, meaning at times she was female, and others a boy (for in Mod circles, compass point orientation determines gender on the dancefloor).
But some people made Ian Curtis look like Louis Spence. Or Wayne Sleep. Or Lionel Blair. or something,
Never have so many danced so badly and so out of time with so little rhythm!
Yeah, one or two had rhythm. Heck, even Great Fat Crystal Tipps in the ill-fitting 60s dress still had rhythm AND all the authentic moves! Mrs Legs Akimbo Trying To Pull Twiggy had rhythm.. well, one, slow, wide-legged rhythm for ever song. But most...
...as pissed as I was, I could have danced better! Even not knowing 99% of the badly covered Hits Of The Sixties!
As opposed to the Hots In Their Sixties, which presumably most of the mod crew thought they were. Bad outfits, badly aged, and bad hair.
SO much bad hair! And narry a Pretty amongst 'em! Well, apart from maybe 4: BlueDress, Speccy Blonde, Samantha "The Only And Hottest Reason We Used To Go To Pizza Hut Was Because She Waitressed There" Biggs, and... um... there must have been more than them three...
It was that bad, we left at about 12. 12! On a club night! How shockingly bad must it have been to get a taxi home at 12!
Well, I say a taxi home. I had to bloody well walk it! We planned on getting a taxi, but somehow, between the cloakroom and exit, my Sister managed to find Other People to fill the taxi to capacity.
Other People who weren't her brother!
Other People that would exceed the seating capacity of 1.
A number that corresponds to the excess baggage that is The Xym.
And even if I could squeeze into the at-capacity taxi (assuming the driver would allow it), I refer people to my previous blog and point #2: HAVING TO INTERACT WITH STRANGERS!!!
Oh well, means I got some extra exercise at least. If fate meant me to walk, then surely it means I'm meant to have a big fat takeaway tonight. Why else force me to lose all them calories walking home in the icy cold with no warm eateries open due to being Zombie Jesus day?
¹ OR WAS IT THE SMALL FAKIRS. THEY WEREN'T MIDGETS THOUGH AND NON SPORTED A FEZ. I SUPPOSE THEY COULD BE CALLED MEN WITHOUT HATS... ALTHOUGH THERE WAS NO SAFETY IN THE DANCES THAT GURNING FOOL WAS FLAILING ABOUT WITH! YOU NEED A LOT OF ROOM TO MOD DANCE - MORE EVEN THAN ME!!!
Sunday 5 April 2015
See I've already waited too long, and all my hope is gone II...
Prophecy!!
Remember t'other day with my prank, when I said this:
Off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty... hope she doesn't get TOO jealous of HBC!
I then laughed about taking a Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO?
Well, such things are dreams are made of, and they come true!
For today, I'm off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO!
Ok, so it's more I'm off toVue Odeon after BoxFit tonight this afternoon for first date with new Pretty for a romantic evening afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO!
Ok, so it's more I'm off to Odeon this afternoon forfirst a date with new a Pretty for a romantic afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!
OK, so it's actually I'm off to Odeon this afternoonfor a date with a Pretty for an romantic afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!
Yeah, well, I'm off to Odeon this afternoon with a friend for an afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!
OK OK, so it's just me & Monica going to watch Cinderella at Odeon, coz nobody else wanted to come. And she only needs me as an escort until her husband finishes work. An escort without the additional services of escorting we escorts are wont to supply. or something. Worse luck...
Remember t'other day with my prank, when I said this:
Off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty... hope she doesn't get TOO jealous of HBC!
I then laughed about taking a Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO?
Well, such things are dreams are made of, and they come true!
For today, I'm off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO!
Ok, so it's more I'm off to
Ok, so it's more I'm off to Odeon this afternoon for
OK, so it's actually I'm off to Odeon this afternoon
Yeah, well, I'm off to Odeon this afternoon with a friend for an afternoon of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter!
OK OK, so it's just me & Monica going to watch Cinderella at Odeon, coz nobody else wanted to come. And she only needs me as an escort until her husband finishes work. An escort without the additional services of escorting we escorts are wont to supply. or something. Worse luck...
Friday 3 April 2015
I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar...
It seems people are still not "getting" The Xym.
*sigh*
I put a link up to 8 Reasons Why Authors Are Assholes citing points 2 & 4, but seeing as most people can't be bothered to follow links these days, I've emboldend the important bits below.
Take note, and I'll refer back to this blog whenever people moan about me disappearing/ not chatting up Pretties/ being "standoffish" and "unapproachable".
2. THE AUTHOR IS AN INTROVERT OR SHY.
This is me! I have Chronic Resting Bitchface. I can't introduce myself to people. I never want to bother someone or make them uncomfortable. So if you are shy and kind of hover around me, and I don't recognize you, I might avoid eye contact and check my phone. I am not one of those people who will wave at you and urge you to pick up my book or bookmarks. I will stare at the table and wait until you walk up to it and say something specifically to me because I would never want to pressure you to, say, be within twenty feet of me against your will. I am not a hard seller. This is one of my personal flaws that I am trying to fix.
But!
Once you establish that I know you via social media, that you've read my books, or that you are even vaguely interested in my books or a shared fandom, we can be buddies forever*. It's just rare that I will instigate a conversation with a stranger. Because I am terrified of strangers.
*XymNote: If I only know you through Social Media, or a vague nodding acquaintance, you still fall into the scary stranger category, hence I'm unlikely to instigate non-Facebook converse.
4. THE AUTHOR IS WITH THEIR FRIENDS.
This one always worries me, because I've been the nobody snubbed by a clique, and I never want to be the snubber. I've been the shy kid, the bullied kid, the friendless kid. I've been that person at a con who knows absolutely no one and can't seem to squeeze into a circle of conversation. And yet I know that, at some point, I'll be hanging with some of my best friends to the exclusion of others and I might not even know it. These days, my very best friends are writers I only get to see a couple of times a year, and most of our relationship happens online, and when I actually get to see them, I am giddy with joy and focused on them. And if someone is hovering outside that circle, I might not notice it, and I hate that.
*sigh*
I put a link up to 8 Reasons Why Authors Are Assholes citing points 2 & 4, but seeing as most people can't be bothered to follow links these days, I've emboldend the important bits below.
Take note, and I'll refer back to this blog whenever people moan about me disappearing/ not chatting up Pretties/ being "standoffish" and "unapproachable".
2. THE AUTHOR IS AN INTROVERT OR SHY.
This is me! I have Chronic Resting Bitchface. I can't introduce myself to people. I never want to bother someone or make them uncomfortable. So if you are shy and kind of hover around me, and I don't recognize you, I might avoid eye contact and check my phone. I am not one of those people who will wave at you and urge you to pick up my book or bookmarks. I will stare at the table and wait until you walk up to it and say something specifically to me because I would never want to pressure you to, say, be within twenty feet of me against your will. I am not a hard seller. This is one of my personal flaws that I am trying to fix.
But!
Once you establish that I know you via social media, that you've read my books, or that you are even vaguely interested in my books or a shared fandom, we can be buddies forever*. It's just rare that I will instigate a conversation with a stranger. Because I am terrified of strangers.
*XymNote: If I only know you through Social Media, or a vague nodding acquaintance, you still fall into the scary stranger category, hence I'm unlikely to instigate non-Facebook converse.
4. THE AUTHOR IS WITH THEIR FRIENDS.
This one always worries me, because I've been the nobody snubbed by a clique, and I never want to be the snubber. I've been the shy kid, the bullied kid, the friendless kid. I've been that person at a con who knows absolutely no one and can't seem to squeeze into a circle of conversation. And yet I know that, at some point, I'll be hanging with some of my best friends to the exclusion of others and I might not even know it. These days, my very best friends are writers I only get to see a couple of times a year, and most of our relationship happens online, and when I actually get to see them, I am giddy with joy and focused on them. And if someone is hovering outside that circle, I might not notice it, and I hate that.
Thursday 2 April 2015
Life expectancy must be fairly short among your people...
So,
Last night was BoxFit. Tonight is an hours PT then another hour of BoxFit.
So, coz it were cold, I wear a thin, longsleeved sports top (black), with a sleeveless sports top over it (silvery grey).
And although my rippling muscles are much admired, it would appear that the combo of spindly black covered arms with a steely silvered torso is somewhat reminiscent of late 70s/Early 80s sci-fi attire.
So I looks like Kerr Avon out of Blake's 7!
Stick me eyepatch on, and I'm Space Commander Travis!
I draw the line at wearing a flimsy white dress just to look like Servalan though.
However, being all toned and buff is all very well. It's not much fun when the flimsy long-sleeved sports top turns out to be a thermal vest.
After an hour of lifting 40k weights, and another hour of being pummelled by powerfully pugilistic Polish Pretties, it's not the most comfortable of clothing afterwards!
But... at least I look like one of the cool guys, and not a great fat lumbering oaf like Olag Gan!
That said... tasked with talking to a Pretty, and I'm pretty sure I become Vila Restal...
"Xym to Liberator... Teleport me up NOW!!!"
Last night was BoxFit. Tonight is an hours PT then another hour of BoxFit.
So, coz it were cold, I wear a thin, longsleeved sports top (black), with a sleeveless sports top over it (silvery grey).
And although my rippling muscles are much admired, it would appear that the combo of spindly black covered arms with a steely silvered torso is somewhat reminiscent of late 70s/Early 80s sci-fi attire.
So I looks like Kerr Avon out of Blake's 7!
Stick me eyepatch on, and I'm Space Commander Travis!
I draw the line at wearing a flimsy white dress just to look like Servalan though.
However, being all toned and buff is all very well. It's not much fun when the flimsy long-sleeved sports top turns out to be a thermal vest.
After an hour of lifting 40k weights, and another hour of being pummelled by powerfully pugilistic Polish Pretties, it's not the most comfortable of clothing afterwards!
But... at least I look like one of the cool guys, and not a great fat lumbering oaf like Olag Gan!
That said... tasked with talking to a Pretty, and I'm pretty sure I become Vila Restal...
"Xym to Liberator... Teleport me up NOW!!!"
Wednesday 1 April 2015
See I've already waited too long, and all my hope is gone...
Mwah ha ha ha ha!
Honestly, how gullible are some people?
You KNOW what today is. You KNOW Pretties take a strong disliking to The Xym. But still...
I put up this Farceburk status:
Off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty... hope she doesn't get TOO jealous of HBC!
And it got several Likes, Congratulations, and Word Of Advice...
Oh dear.
I's been single now for xx years, and people suddenly think that on April Fool's Day, of all days, some form of Miracle will occur, and some poor misguided Pretty will consent to escorting Xym end up out on a date. Let alone taking a Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO.
Some people will fall for anything.
Except Xym, that is...
On the plus side, my tip top hot-to-trot favouritest phwoarsomest Pretty of all sent me this:
Honestly, how gullible are some people?
You KNOW what today is. You KNOW Pretties take a strong disliking to The Xym. But still...
I put up this Farceburk status:
Off to Vue after BoxFit tonight for first date with new Pretty... hope she doesn't get TOO jealous of HBC!
And it got several Likes, Congratulations, and Word Of Advice...
Oh dear.
I's been single now for xx years, and people suddenly think that on April Fool's Day, of all days, some form of Miracle will occur, and some poor misguided Pretty will consent to escorting Xym end up out on a date. Let alone taking a Pretty for a romantic evening of perving over Helena Bonham-Carter whilst drenched in pheremonal boxing BO.
Some people will fall for anything.
Except Xym, that is...
On the plus side, my tip top hot-to-trot favouritest phwoarsomest Pretty of all sent me this:
As long as I don't die of Awesomeness, and a select few of my Harem, I can live with mephobia!
Tuesday 31 March 2015
Fearne Cotton's firm bottom is mine, all mine...
...unless I cop off with that munterescent battleaxe Edith Bowman in the Earlham Park shrubbery!
Yes! I (eventually) got tickets to Radio One's Big Wankender to see Florence and herVibrator 'Machine'!
"But how, Xym? How did you get tickets, when I, who really wanted to go, couldn't get any?"
Well, first of all, there were 25,000 tickets available. In pairs. Which meant only 12,500 people could get tickets.
My postcode falling under Norwich Shitty Council helped.
But, to be honest - it was a random lottery.
You couldn't Sat & Sun at the same time - that threw up the "You have 3 entries in the checkout" message and fired me back into the waiting room.
Got straight back through to the postcode page, and got Sat tickets!
Got straight through to the postcode page, got Sun tickets, submitted payment... returned to the holding pool.
When it finally went through, it errored as sold out.
So, no matter where you were in the process, after each screen, there was always a chance of being dumped back into the Too Much Traffic screen.
But I lucked out - I didn't get Sunday, but I did get Saturday...
...now I just have to find a use for my spare ticket...
...there must be a hot DJ babe who isn't on Radio One's guest list who wouldn't mind accompanying me for an afternoon of music and frolicking about inSara Cox's Zöe Ball's Jo Whiley's Earlham Park's bush...
Yes! I (eventually) got tickets to Radio One's Big Wankender to see Florence and her
"But how, Xym? How did you get tickets, when I, who really wanted to go, couldn't get any?"
Well, first of all, there were 25,000 tickets available. In pairs. Which meant only 12,500 people could get tickets.
My postcode falling under Norwich Shitty Council helped.
But, to be honest - it was a random lottery.
You couldn't Sat & Sun at the same time - that threw up the "You have 3 entries in the checkout" message and fired me back into the waiting room.
Got straight back through to the postcode page, and got Sat tickets!
Got straight through to the postcode page, got Sun tickets, submitted payment... returned to the holding pool.
When it finally went through, it errored as sold out.
So, no matter where you were in the process, after each screen, there was always a chance of being dumped back into the Too Much Traffic screen.
But I lucked out - I didn't get Sunday, but I did get Saturday...
...now I just have to find a use for my spare ticket...
...there must be a hot DJ babe who isn't on Radio One's guest list who wouldn't mind accompanying me for an afternoon of music and frolicking about in
Monday 30 March 2015
White like the light, never like the night...
Oh yeah!
I loves me Follicle Færie! She might just have to go to the top of my Harem! Overthrowing Her and Her, and even Ultimate Pretty, Supreme Pretty, Phwoarsome Pretty, and...
Why?
Cos me barnet is whitey white! All Oral-B Pro shiny whitey like an albino sharksfin splicing the watery heights of cranial oceanry. or something.
Always wanted white, but usually end up being a golden God or the creamy yellow of a Gregg's cake at about 4pm that's been sat in the sun with the cooler off all day so it's become all Lurpacky.
And in the interests of racial equality, although I have a white supremacy plumage, the shave sides are still black.
But Midge has done me proud... although I'd've prefered it if she's just "done me". or something.
I loves me Follicle Færie! She might just have to go to the top of my Harem! Overthrowing Her and Her, and even Ultimate Pretty, Supreme Pretty, Phwoarsome Pretty, and...
Why?
Cos me barnet is whitey white! All Oral-B Pro shiny whitey like an albino sharksfin splicing the watery heights of cranial oceanry. or something.
Always wanted white, but usually end up being a golden God or the creamy yellow of a Gregg's cake at about 4pm that's been sat in the sun with the cooler off all day so it's become all Lurpacky.
And in the interests of racial equality, although I have a white supremacy plumage, the shave sides are still black.
But Midge has done me proud... although I'd've prefered it if she's just "done me". or something.
Saturday 28 March 2015
So what if I bleach me barnet...
Main Set
♪ All In A Rage
♪ Obsolete
♪ Bird In Flight
♪ Little Tears Of Love
♪ The Packt
♪ ieya
♪ Rebel Run
♪ Race Through Space
♪ Soul Passing Through Soul
♪ Sensational
♪ Brave New World
♪ Neon Womb
♪ Echo Beach
♪ It's A Mystery
♪ Danced
♪ Good Morning Universe
♪ Thunder In The Mountains
Encore
♪ These Boots Were Made For Walking
♪ Latex Messiah
♪ I Want To Be Free
Toyah Wilcox, The Electric Gigs, Epic Studios, 28 March 2015
♪ All In A Rage
♪ Obsolete
♪ Bird In Flight
♪ Little Tears Of Love
♪ The Packt
♪ ieya
♪ Rebel Run
♪ Race Through Space
♪ Soul Passing Through Soul
♪ Sensational
♪ Brave New World
♪ Neon Womb
♪ Echo Beach
♪ It's A Mystery
♪ Danced
♪ Good Morning Universe
♪ Thunder In The Mountains
Encore
♪ These Boots Were Made For Walking
♪ Latex Messiah
♪ I Want To Be Free
Toyah Wilcox, The Electric Gigs, Epic Studios, 28 March 2015
Sunday 22 March 2015
Idol remembered in Girls O'Lard...
And on quim's Xym's face WILL be mirrored. or something.
So, today I was going to rant and rave about the proliferation of Narcissisticks in Norwich Shitty Centre. Seriously, what use does anyone have for a Selfish Stick - who in their right mind needs to hold their camera beyond arms length to take a badly focussed picture of themselves holding their rod...
...apart from long-distance downblouse cleavature duckface troutpoutings, and holding up against the nubile neighbours bathroom window as she slowly soaps herself in the shower...
Anyhoo, Xym was not impressed last night at the Whatacunt. No, not at all.
Things started off wrong with The Owl Sanctuary. Plans went awry, people didn't show (so I had to quickly guzzle a Smirnoff Ice on top of Old Rosie Cider). On the plus side, a hot young tiger of a Pretty said I was a God!
It's been AGES since I was last worshipped as a Deity, so I felt all nostalgic, not to mention awesome, at Young Ladies recognising my divinity!
But The Whatacunt...
Oh dear...
My Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
Too many wrong'uns in.
My Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
None of my usual fan club were in. On the plus side, I gained 2 or 3 new members! Plus a really freaky creepy bloke who couldn't keep his eyes off me, much to the amusement of my possé. I mean, there's obvious, and there's OBVIOUS! Droolingly obvious!
My Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
People were impressed with my hair, my 'tasche and me flashing boots! Yes, it never grows old being told how awesomely amazing I is!
On the downside, my Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
And on top of all that, chavvy gayboys seem to think they have a right to creep up on me and start fondling my follicles!
Thrice! Thrice, Gentlemen of an alternative persuasion minced up behind to molest my mane without consent! There I am, minding my own business, when suspicious fudgepacked fingers start caressing my cranial adornment.
I'm not gay. I don't think I look gay. What makes men think they can wander over and, all unwarranted, pervily probe my impressive plumage? I know I'm awesome, so the creepy bloke can be forgiven for ogling me up... if he wasn't so weird doing it. But toying with a man's fronds in a public place?
Still, could have been worse, I could've been accosted in the toilets in a pubic place!
Apparently, I now know what it feels like to be a woman in The Whatacunt. Defiled on the dancefloor!
And that's why I got all miserable and lost me mojo for a while. Barnet sexual assault (and not, as claimed by some, because my Dancing Queen didn't turn up¹.)
[EDIT]: Ooooh, here be a photographic depiction of the perfect plumage before gayfinger fiddlings... btw - I'm the one on the right, not looking in any way gay at all...
¹ YEAH, RIGHT! ARE YOU SURE YOU WEREN'T JUST DISAPPOINTED BECAUSE YOUR FLASHY DANCING TROLLOP WASN'T THERE TO DANCE WITH YOU?
YES! I'M VERY PROUD OF MY PLUMAGE, AND DON'T LIKE PEOPLE PLAYING WITH IT... UNLESS A PRETTY IS SLOWLY RUNNING HER FINGERS THROUGH IT, OBVS.
WHAT ABOUT THAT BLOKE IN THE SMOKING AREA? HE INTERFERED WITH YOUR MOWIE?
HE ASKED THOUGH. AND I SAID HE COULDN'T. THE FACT THAT HE PLAYED WITH ME TAIL-END MEANS HE'S PROBABLY A BIT RAPEY, AND BEST AVOIDED. IT WERE T'OTHER THREE, SNEAKING UP FOR A QUICK FOLLICLE FROTTAGE RUFFLE ALL UNANNOUNCED THAT DISTRESSED ME. AND THAT WIERDO, FOLLOWING ME ABOUT, TRYING TO DANCE UP CLOSE WITH ME...
JUST BECAUSE HE WASN'T HER DANCING UP CLOSE WITH YOU, YOU MEAN?
SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPNOTLISTENINGNERNERNERNERNER
So, today I was going to rant and rave about the proliferation of Narcissisticks in Norwich Shitty Centre. Seriously, what use does anyone have for a Selfish Stick - who in their right mind needs to hold their camera beyond arms length to take a badly focussed picture of themselves holding their rod...
...apart from long-distance downblouse cleavature duckface troutpoutings, and holding up against the nubile neighbours bathroom window as she slowly soaps herself in the shower...
Anyhoo, Xym was not impressed last night at the Whatacunt. No, not at all.
Things started off wrong with The Owl Sanctuary. Plans went awry, people didn't show (so I had to quickly guzzle a Smirnoff Ice on top of Old Rosie Cider). On the plus side, a hot young tiger of a Pretty said I was a God!
It's been AGES since I was last worshipped as a Deity, so I felt all nostalgic, not to mention awesome, at Young Ladies recognising my divinity!
But The Whatacunt...
Oh dear...
My Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
Too many wrong'uns in.
My Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
None of my usual fan club were in. On the plus side, I gained 2 or 3 new members! Plus a really freaky creepy bloke who couldn't keep his eyes off me, much to the amusement of my possé. I mean, there's obvious, and there's OBVIOUS! Droolingly obvious!
My Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
People were impressed with my hair, my 'tasche and me flashing boots! Yes, it never grows old being told how awesomely amazing I is!
On the downside, my Dancing Queen, failed to show :(
And on top of all that, chavvy gayboys seem to think they have a right to creep up on me and start fondling my follicles!
Thrice! Thrice, Gentlemen of an alternative persuasion minced up behind to molest my mane without consent! There I am, minding my own business, when suspicious fudgepacked fingers start caressing my cranial adornment.
I'm not gay. I don't think I look gay. What makes men think they can wander over and, all unwarranted, pervily probe my impressive plumage? I know I'm awesome, so the creepy bloke can be forgiven for ogling me up... if he wasn't so weird doing it. But toying with a man's fronds in a public place?
Still, could have been worse, I could've been accosted in the toilets in a pubic place!
Apparently, I now know what it feels like to be a woman in The Whatacunt. Defiled on the dancefloor!
And that's why I got all miserable and lost me mojo for a while. Barnet sexual assault (and not, as claimed by some, because my Dancing Queen didn't turn up¹.)
[EDIT]: Ooooh, here be a photographic depiction of the perfect plumage before gayfinger fiddlings... btw - I'm the one on the right, not looking in any way gay at all...
¹ YEAH, RIGHT! ARE YOU SURE YOU WEREN'T JUST DISAPPOINTED BECAUSE YOUR FLASHY DANCING TROLLOP WASN'T THERE TO DANCE WITH YOU?
YES! I'M VERY PROUD OF MY PLUMAGE, AND DON'T LIKE PEOPLE PLAYING WITH IT... UNLESS A PRETTY IS SLOWLY RUNNING HER FINGERS THROUGH IT, OBVS.
WHAT ABOUT THAT BLOKE IN THE SMOKING AREA? HE INTERFERED WITH YOUR MOWIE?
HE ASKED THOUGH. AND I SAID HE COULDN'T. THE FACT THAT HE PLAYED WITH ME TAIL-END MEANS HE'S PROBABLY A BIT RAPEY, AND BEST AVOIDED. IT WERE T'OTHER THREE, SNEAKING UP FOR A QUICK FOLLICLE FROTTAGE RUFFLE ALL UNANNOUNCED THAT DISTRESSED ME. AND THAT WIERDO, FOLLOWING ME ABOUT, TRYING TO DANCE UP CLOSE WITH ME...
JUST BECAUSE HE WASN'T HER DANCING UP CLOSE WITH YOU, YOU MEAN?
SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPNOTLISTENINGNERNERNERNERNER
Saturday 21 March 2015
Coffee milk steamer, why are we always tuna or later...
A bad batch of beans in the blender!
A purloined panini palava!
I'd rather have Chlöe
All nudie with Sophie
In cinnamon swirl frosting a-slather!
I can perv o'er who I like!
With no repercussions
or awkward discussions
the worse they can say's "Take a hike!"
The list of babes for whom I've affection
Like ----- and ---
------ and ---¹
In case I get unwanted attention such as a damn good kicking, a public shaming, extreme embarrassment and having to hide in social exclusion forevermore. or something.
¹ NOW, THE QUESTION IS... WHO ARE THESE FOUR! IS THERE JUST FOUR, OR WHOLE LOT MORE? COULD IT BE JUST ONE WITH THREE ADDED TO THROW YOU OFF THE PHEREMONAL SCENT? DOES THE NUMBER OF HYPHENS MATCH THE NUMBER OF LETTERS OF THEIR NAME? OOOOOH, INTRIGUE! IT COULD BE YOU... UNLESS YOU'RE A BLOKE, IN WHICH CASE, IT'S DEFINATELY NOT YOU.
A purloined panini palava!
I'd rather have Chlöe
All nudie with Sophie
In cinnamon swirl frosting a-slather!
"Eww! A poem we don't need to see
of Starbucks siren fantasies!
What if they read this
And get really pissed
And think that your mind is diseased!"
Ha! As if anyone reads this shiteI can perv o'er who I like!
With no repercussions
or awkward discussions
the worse they can say's "Take a hike!"
"...or have you roughed up
till blood you cough up.
And though they be stunners
they'll soon become shunners
And your orders for lattés rebuffed!"
Shit, I reckon I'd better not mentionThe list of babes for whom I've affection
Like ----- and ---
------ and ---¹
In case I get unwanted attention such as a damn good kicking, a public shaming, extreme embarrassment and having to hide in social exclusion forevermore. or something.
¹ NOW, THE QUESTION IS... WHO ARE THESE FOUR! IS THERE JUST FOUR, OR WHOLE LOT MORE? COULD IT BE JUST ONE WITH THREE ADDED TO THROW YOU OFF THE PHEREMONAL SCENT? DOES THE NUMBER OF HYPHENS MATCH THE NUMBER OF LETTERS OF THEIR NAME? OOOOOH, INTRIGUE! IT COULD BE YOU... UNLESS YOU'RE A BLOKE, IN WHICH CASE, IT'S DEFINATELY NOT YOU.
Friday 20 March 2015
Let us witness, the tin of Carnation [Milk], of the Sun...
The BBC is renown for the intellectual prowess of it's presenters. The other channels... less so.
I thought channels like TLC¹ were the epitome of dumbed down tevevisual gormstrosity. But today's ITV news takes the biscuit. or cookie. or [Jaffa] cake. or something.
For, according to the blonde bimbette, was the one in a lifetime opportunity. The Day Of The Three Ss.
Sigue Sigue Sputnik!!!
Alas, no. An altogether different satellite. To whit, the Moon.
(was that an owl?)
So, what is this astrophysical conjunction of three Ss then?
1. The Supermoon! The moon is at it's nearest point in orbit to Earth, Meaning it's FUCKING HUGE in the sky!
2. The Equinox! Ermm... well, the X sounds like an S. ish. Although they didn't mention it, let's give her the benefit of the doubt, and assume she meant Winter-into-Spring Equinox! Or the first day of Spring!
3. The Eclipse!... No, apart from the S at the end, I got nothing. I guess she was thinking of Stepanie Meyer's Twishite Saga, of which Eclipse is the third novel.
Day of the three Ss my best hat!
And as for this so-called once-in-a-lifetime never-to-be-missed tell-yer-grandchildren-about-it eclipse! I'm glad I took Susanna Reid off ITV's Breakfast's advice, and saved my eyes by watching it through a colander, because (a) I looked like a hunky gladiator, and (b) I couldn't see anything as the majority of the view was a dirty great colander, and the holes not big enough to get a clear view!
But witness this spectacular event as seen from Norwich! See how the Eclipse began!
Ooohh, the Great Dung Beetle has rolled his celestial ball of shite halfway over the burning eye of Ra!
N'gaiah!!! Ye skyes are blackened by deepest night! Ye würlde plungeth into deepest anarchy! Dark tentacles plummet from Beyond Ye Spheres, reaping humanity and plunging their helpless flesh deep into Ye Great Olde one's interdimensional maw and feast on our souls for all eternity. Ïa! Ïa! Yog-Sothoth! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn! Zi dingir anna kanpa, zi dingir kia kanpa! Shadu yu lite kunuski²! Oh, wait...
Why, I could barely keep my Jaffa Cake guzzlement in synch with the gobblement of Sol by the Sky Dragon! Full moon? Half moon?... Totally piss!
Astronomy? Arsetronomy, more like!!!
¹ ALLEGEDLY, THE 'LEARNING' CHANNEL. SHOWCASING SUCH EDUCATIONAL GEMS AS HERE COMES HONEY BOO-BOO.
² MAY THE MOUNTAIN, SHAKE YOU TO THE CORE
I thought channels like TLC¹ were the epitome of dumbed down tevevisual gormstrosity. But today's ITV news takes the biscuit. or cookie. or [Jaffa] cake. or something.
For, according to the blonde bimbette, was the one in a lifetime opportunity. The Day Of The Three Ss.
Sigue Sigue Sputnik!!!
Alas, no. An altogether different satellite. To whit, the Moon.
(was that an owl?)
So, what is this astrophysical conjunction of three Ss then?
1. The Supermoon! The moon is at it's nearest point in orbit to Earth, Meaning it's FUCKING HUGE in the sky!
2. The Equinox! Ermm... well, the X sounds like an S. ish. Although they didn't mention it, let's give her the benefit of the doubt, and assume she meant Winter-into-Spring Equinox! Or the first day of Spring!
3. The Eclipse!... No, apart from the S at the end, I got nothing. I guess she was thinking of Stepanie Meyer's Twishite Saga, of which Eclipse is the third novel.
Day of the three Ss my best hat!
And as for this so-called once-in-a-lifetime never-to-be-missed tell-yer-grandchildren-about-it eclipse! I'm glad I took Susanna Reid off ITV's Breakfast's advice, and saved my eyes by watching it through a colander, because (a) I looked like a hunky gladiator, and (b) I couldn't see anything as the majority of the view was a dirty great colander, and the holes not big enough to get a clear view!
But witness this spectacular event as seen from Norwich! See how the Eclipse began!
Ooohh, the Great Dung Beetle has rolled his celestial ball of shite halfway over the burning eye of Ra!
N'gaiah!!! Ye skyes are blackened by deepest night! Ye würlde plungeth into deepest anarchy! Dark tentacles plummet from Beyond Ye Spheres, reaping humanity and plunging their helpless flesh deep into Ye Great Olde one's interdimensional maw and feast on our souls for all eternity. Ïa! Ïa! Yog-Sothoth! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn! Zi dingir anna kanpa, zi dingir kia kanpa! Shadu yu lite kunuski²! Oh, wait...
Why, I could barely keep my Jaffa Cake guzzlement in synch with the gobblement of Sol by the Sky Dragon! Full moon? Half moon?... Totally piss!
Astronomy? Arsetronomy, more like!!!
¹ ALLEGEDLY, THE 'LEARNING' CHANNEL. SHOWCASING SUCH EDUCATIONAL GEMS AS HERE COMES HONEY BOO-BOO.
² MAY THE MOUNTAIN, SHAKE YOU TO THE CORE
Tuesday 17 March 2015
Michael Flatline...
Now, there was that telly advert about how to recognize someone who was having a bit of a stroke.
You know the one:
Face - has their face gone all wangy?
Arms - are they having trouble with their limbs?
Speech - are they talking all slurred like?
Time - to get them a glass of water and fresh air, and get them to sober up before they spew everywhere and you have to hold their hair out the way so it doen't fall in the unflushed pissy bogwater and get all covered in vomit.
If they're gently caressing a body part, then they're having a bit of a stroke. If it's in an intimate area, leave them to their masturbatory onanism. Unless it's in a pubic place, in which case call a policeman to take down your particulars. or something.
But, because it's St Padraigh's Day (to be sure, begorrah, shamrock, leprichaun, Guinness, she bangs the bodhrán, top o' the mornin' to yer four leaf irish rover clover, etc), Kate Garraway off the telly has a new thing!
Heels for hearts!
It's quite simple. You spot someone having a heart attack, burst into a spot of Riverdancing!
Which may not be all that helpful. There you are, clutching at your heart, then some svelte Pretty starts dancing about in front of you - arousing you with their trim pins and short skirts and...
...yikes! There goes me heart again...
Predictable Xym trivia: I once got a job as a Private Dancer. Upon arrest for allegedly spying on Pretties whilst rustling about in their bush, turns out I was hired as a Privet Dancer...
Wah, wah, wah, waaaaaaah...
You know the one:
Face - has their face gone all wangy?
Arms - are they having trouble with their limbs?
Speech - are they talking all slurred like?
Time - to get them a glass of water and fresh air, and get them to sober up before they spew everywhere and you have to hold their hair out the way so it doen't fall in the unflushed pissy bogwater and get all covered in vomit.
If they're gently caressing a body part, then they're having a bit of a stroke. If it's in an intimate area, leave them to their masturbatory onanism. Unless it's in a pubic place, in which case call a policeman to take down your particulars. or something.
But, because it's St Padraigh's Day (to be sure, begorrah, shamrock, leprichaun, Guinness, she bangs the bodhrán, top o' the mornin' to yer four leaf irish rover clover, etc), Kate Garraway off the telly has a new thing!
Heels for hearts!
It's quite simple. You spot someone having a heart attack, burst into a spot of Riverdancing!
Which may not be all that helpful. There you are, clutching at your heart, then some svelte Pretty starts dancing about in front of you - arousing you with their trim pins and short skirts and...
...yikes! There goes me heart again...
Predictable Xym trivia: I once got a job as a Private Dancer. Upon arrest for allegedly spying on Pretties whilst rustling about in their bush, turns out I was hired as a Privet Dancer...
Wah, wah, wah, waaaaaaah...
Monday 16 March 2015
A nice pair of steamed puddings...
The thing I loathe about Go Chef is that whenever I finish watching a film and switch back to Telly, that same bloody dreadfully tiresome infomercial is on!
JMLDirect?
JMLFuckRightOff, more like. And take yer goramm godawful Vox Pops with yer!
"To call the Go Chef versatile is a complete pile of wank".
And who eats fondue in this day and age? No-One's et fondue since 1978... 1983 at a push!
Bloody Go Chef - no wonder I never sleep! To busy ranting at the forced bonhomie, the faux endorsements, the treacley treacle sponge bit, the dreadful 'worse chef' competition, and the nonsense about PTFE rubbing off on yer sausage!
GRRRRRRRR!!!!!
EVERY fucking night this is bloody on! Fuck it, I'm going to subject you to it as well!
Don't enjoy:
[EDIT] Apologies. The video below is edited down without some of the more annoying elements, like the fucking vox pops. I'll try & hunt down the full dreadfulness for you later. Meanwhile...
JMLDirect?
JMLFuckRightOff, more like. And take yer goramm godawful Vox Pops with yer!
"To call the Go Chef versatile is a complete pile of wank".
And who eats fondue in this day and age? No-One's et fondue since 1978... 1983 at a push!
Bloody Go Chef - no wonder I never sleep! To busy ranting at the forced bonhomie, the faux endorsements, the treacley treacle sponge bit, the dreadful 'worse chef' competition, and the nonsense about PTFE rubbing off on yer sausage!
GRRRRRRRR!!!!!
EVERY fucking night this is bloody on! Fuck it, I'm going to subject you to it as well!
Don't enjoy:
[EDIT] Apologies. The video below is edited down without some of the more annoying elements, like the fucking vox pops. I'll try & hunt down the full dreadfulness for you later. Meanwhile...
Sunday 15 March 2015
Let's twist again, like we did at Britpop...
Ooooh, now THAT was interesting!
DJ Flob was away doing pop-gothy tributes in Nottingham, so the Britpop decks were taken over by The King Of The Goths.
King Of The Goths! Doing Britpop!!
And a damn good job he did too.
But once again, my awexymness is a barrier to babes.
Being a rhythm meister of unparallelled brilliance has its drawbacks, for many Pretties want to dance with The Xym.
"Ooooh, you lucky bugger! What's the problem then? You gay or summat? I wouldn't mind women being all desperate to throw themselves at me!"
Ah, well, the issue is this. The Ladies who want to dance with me are not single, or simply not interested in Xym. Like your good self, they see Xym's sensuous moves and conclude:
"WOWSERS! What a fucking AWESOME dancer! I MUST dance with him! And because he can dance, he MUST be a right gayer, therefore I'm safe from being hit on, and my boy[girl]friend/fianceé/husband[wife] won't get all jealous!"
Thus all the Single Ladies look on. Too shy to approach, they look on with hate and jealousy under the mistaken apprehension that Xym's dancing Pretty is his missus, before stropping off to dance downstairs.
Which, alas, is NOT a euphanism. Or if it is, it's not with me, more's the pity. or something.
Anyhoo, I am getting MUCH more observant, and even I have now been able to spot some of my more obvious fan-clubs sprouting up around me...
...unless that was just a spilled drink they were stood in! (b'dum t'ish!)
I have verified this with my much more observant sisters, who also hear whisperings about Xym in the Ladies. And yes, I has indeed been able to identify several who have "expressed an interest"... who, as ever, express that interest by buggering off elsewhere!
So, I is VERY popular with Teh Pretties, but got no chance with any of 'em coz they all think I've copped off with someone else.
Next night out, I'm just going to sulk on the sofa, alone. Then all these adoring womens will know I is availabubble, and come chat me up!
Or they'll just think I'm a miserable sulkyarse, and dismiss me as a morose muppet!
I just can't win!!
DJ Flob was away doing pop-gothy tributes in Nottingham, so the Britpop decks were taken over by The King Of The Goths.
King Of The Goths! Doing Britpop!!
And a damn good job he did too.
But once again, my awexymness is a barrier to babes.
Being a rhythm meister of unparallelled brilliance has its drawbacks, for many Pretties want to dance with The Xym.
"Ooooh, you lucky bugger! What's the problem then? You gay or summat? I wouldn't mind women being all desperate to throw themselves at me!"
Ah, well, the issue is this. The Ladies who want to dance with me are not single, or simply not interested in Xym. Like your good self, they see Xym's sensuous moves and conclude:
"WOWSERS! What a fucking AWESOME dancer! I MUST dance with him! And because he can dance, he MUST be a right gayer, therefore I'm safe from being hit on, and my boy[girl]friend/fianceé/husband[wife] won't get all jealous!"
Thus all the Single Ladies look on. Too shy to approach, they look on with hate and jealousy under the mistaken apprehension that Xym's dancing Pretty is his missus, before stropping off to dance downstairs.
Which, alas, is NOT a euphanism. Or if it is, it's not with me, more's the pity. or something.
Anyhoo, I am getting MUCH more observant, and even I have now been able to spot some of my more obvious fan-clubs sprouting up around me...
...unless that was just a spilled drink they were stood in! (b'dum t'ish!)
I have verified this with my much more observant sisters, who also hear whisperings about Xym in the Ladies. And yes, I has indeed been able to identify several who have "expressed an interest"... who, as ever, express that interest by buggering off elsewhere!
So, I is VERY popular with Teh Pretties, but got no chance with any of 'em coz they all think I've copped off with someone else.
Next night out, I'm just going to sulk on the sofa, alone. Then all these adoring womens will know I is availabubble, and come chat me up!
Or they'll just think I'm a miserable sulkyarse, and dismiss me as a morose muppet!
I just can't win!!
Saturday 14 March 2015
Friday 13 March 2015
Element repord for Fivesday at Tidetime 10 and 51 after noon day gash...
ALL weather reports should be like this!
"Bollocks Xym, you just want to see that hot weatherbabe in the morning dancing about in an extremely short skirt, flashing the crack of Dawn and displaying her cold front for all to see. or something"
Oooh, you judgemental lot! As if Xym would engage in such impropriety...
"Use me, use me (uhhhhhr but only for weather purposes!). Softly, softly my cormorant, karroo karroo, karroo, whoosh. Hmmmm. Tether my murking troy with seedless doubt. Crunchy biscuit for breakfast. Baaaaaaaad. Rarevic hoop stone! Rarevic hoop stone! Tiddly bits ahoy, clottering the basset pipe. whoarrr. Grooming the cloud horse, oh, and now trying to ride it! Clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop."
"Bollocks Xym, you just want to see that hot weatherbabe in the morning dancing about in an extremely short skirt, flashing the crack of Dawn and displaying her cold front for all to see. or something"
Oooh, you judgemental lot! As if Xym would engage in such impropriety...
Thursday 12 March 2015
PUNCH! Punch & Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy (and not Richard)...
Oh yes!
Thursdays is the BEST BoxFit!
Why?
I has ALL the Pretties to myself!
:D :D :D :D :D
Thursdays is the BEST BoxFit!
Why?
I has ALL the Pretties to myself!
:D :D :D :D :D
Tuesday 10 March 2015
Sheep Farming in Barnet...
Arse!
Just got a reminder that I'm seeing Toyah Wilcocth in a couple of weeks time.
Which clashes with 80s night with Rob & Chrissie at The Talk.
They ADORE me at The Talk! How can I not go :(
But it's Toyah - and I've never seen her live. I gotta go to that.
Anyone else want to arrange something to stress over decision wise? Oh, Are You Experienced Jimi Hendrix tribute act? Anything else... oh, yet another Birthday Celebration?
I must be getting ancient. You know you're getting old when your teenage icons start dropping like flies.
Oh PLEASE don't let Kat Bjell-End die before I see Babes In Toyland in May...
Just got a reminder that I'm seeing Toyah Wilcocth in a couple of weeks time.
Which clashes with 80s night with Rob & Chrissie at The Talk.
They ADORE me at The Talk! How can I not go :(
But it's Toyah - and I've never seen her live. I gotta go to that.
Anyone else want to arrange something to stress over decision wise? Oh, Are You Experienced Jimi Hendrix tribute act? Anything else... oh, yet another Birthday Celebration?
I must be getting ancient. You know you're getting old when your teenage icons start dropping like flies.
Oh PLEASE don't let Kat Bjell-End die before I see Babes In Toyland in May...
Monday 9 March 2015
Like a gloomy Shia LeBeouf...
Damn you, fickle fate!
So, once I was a short, fat gothboy. Merrily dancing away, mocked and had foolish chavscum mimicking my moves in comedic and abusive fashion. Moves like Jagger? Bah, I had the moobs like Jabba.
But did I get any Xympathy from Pretties? Did I buggery fuck as like.
So, I got all svelte and trim and ripped like Arnie. Now I is all Awexym and admired and worshipped.
But do I get any Pretties chatting me up now? Did I buggery fuck as like.
Now I'm all the apotheosis of awexym lithe catlike slinky-hipped rhythm mastery, the Pretties now want a great fat dancer :(
Not only do Teh Ladies like a fat dancing bloke, but they want to have a party for him. 1,700 hot and horny single women, flying him out to LA to stick two fingers up each and every one of them!
Jammy Bastard!
But it's not all fun and clunge. Oh no. The downside is he has to put up with Pharell Williams sticking his whore in and making an unwelcome personal appearance.
Happy as a room without a roof? 'appy? A pee..nis, more like! What a cockended arsefelcher! A room without a roof would let all the atmospherics in. The rain would play holy hell with the telly, your central heating would be fucked come snowtime, and you'd be bloody cold, wet and miserable.
And embarassed, if the room was the bathroom, and the neighbors are peering over your unroofed walls as you try to have a shit.
Beside, rooms don't have roofs. They have ceilings. Houses have roofs. No room has a roof. Except a wendy house. or a kennel. or something,
What a twat.
Yes he's happeeeeee....
...coz he's got the clap from tonnes of groupies and wads of cash for preposteriously stupid lyrics. Parental Avisory - may contain lyrics that are the epitomy of cuntybollocked twatbastardry.
So, once I was a short, fat gothboy. Merrily dancing away, mocked and had foolish chavscum mimicking my moves in comedic and abusive fashion. Moves like Jagger? Bah, I had the moobs like Jabba.
But did I get any Xympathy from Pretties? Did I buggery fuck as like.
So, I got all svelte and trim and ripped like Arnie. Now I is all Awexym and admired and worshipped.
But do I get any Pretties chatting me up now? Did I buggery fuck as like.
Now I'm all the apotheosis of awexym lithe catlike slinky-hipped rhythm mastery, the Pretties now want a great fat dancer :(
Not only do Teh Ladies like a fat dancing bloke, but they want to have a party for him. 1,700 hot and horny single women, flying him out to LA to stick two fingers up each and every one of them!
Jammy Bastard!
But it's not all fun and clunge. Oh no. The downside is he has to put up with Pharell Williams sticking his whore in and making an unwelcome personal appearance.
Happy as a room without a roof? 'appy? A pee..nis, more like! What a cockended arsefelcher! A room without a roof would let all the atmospherics in. The rain would play holy hell with the telly, your central heating would be fucked come snowtime, and you'd be bloody cold, wet and miserable.
And embarassed, if the room was the bathroom, and the neighbors are peering over your unroofed walls as you try to have a shit.
Beside, rooms don't have roofs. They have ceilings. Houses have roofs. No room has a roof. Except a wendy house. or a kennel. or something,
What a twat.
Yes he's happeeeeee....
...coz he's got the clap from tonnes of groupies and wads of cash for preposteriously stupid lyrics. Parental Avisory - may contain lyrics that are the epitomy of cuntybollocked twatbastardry.
Saturday 7 March 2015
Massage in a bockle...
ngaiiiyeaow!!!
I really need a masseuse...
...and I'm not going t'chippy for a fish supper from the friendly ladies housed upstairs (allegedly!)...
...any Pretties want to come give Xym a rubbing? I'll pay in Starbucks & the ever-increasing-in-popularity long lingering XymHugs...
...as long as you can restrain yerself from turning a soothing neck massage into strangulating The Xym...
I dunno though... auto-erotic asphyxiation worked for David Carradine & Michael Hutchence (as long as you don't do it in excess). or something...
I really need a masseuse...
...and I'm not going t'chippy for a fish supper from the friendly ladies housed upstairs (allegedly!)...
...any Pretties want to come give Xym a rubbing? I'll pay in Starbucks & the ever-increasing-in-popularity long lingering XymHugs...
...as long as you can restrain yerself from turning a soothing neck massage into strangulating The Xym...
I dunno though... auto-erotic asphyxiation worked for David Carradine & Michael Hutchence (as long as you don't do it in excess). or something...
Friday 6 March 2015
Ah shut up, open wide, here I cum...
I know we're in the midst of that there austerity, but it's come to something when mouth doctors are luring their purty mouthed clients into prostitution!
There's this advert on the tellybox, where some poor, unsuspecting pretty young thing is all perplexed.
"Why is my dentist asking me to Go Pro?"
Well, clearly he's a pimp wanting her to be his be-atch. After checking out her cakehole, he's deemed her fit for a bit of Oral B¹ and needs to go into prostitution.
Which is somewhat less dodgy that gassing her out on the pretext of giving her a filling, and filling her with his own special toothpaste. Well and truly giving her teeth a good scrape and polish with his social mouth poker.
What, you thought that white gloop he keeps putting in your mouth was toothpaste? or polish? Why do you think they force you to guzzle that foul tasting mouthwash? Remove any spunky DNA evidence they've been coating your cum encrusted canines with!
And not only is one woman all confused at being groomed into "going pro", he's working to a script! ANOTHER trollop is now on the tellybox, with the exact same speech as the other dumb gum-numbed nubile nympho!
Oh-ho! Beware of gob fiddlers! You'll go in for a check-up, and end up strapped in a toybox chair with all your toothipegs extracted, pimped out for gummy blowjobs!
¹ WHICH, AS WE ALL KNOW, IS DENTAL SHORTHAND FOR ORAL BLOWIE
Thursday 5 March 2015
Tie me kangeroo down, sport, and coat it in a special blend of secret herbs and spices...
Let us not mention vehicular assistance for pummeling pugilistic Polish Pretties punching powerfully ending in disaster(ish)...
Let us not mention the impact pain running up one's shoulder and through one's neck due to pummeling pugilistic Polish Pretties punching powerfully...
What we WILL mention is driving past KFC late at night and seeing their new option,
PULLED CHICKEN!!!
WTAF? Is this similar to choked chicken? A twist on them chavvy burger tossers hilariously adding their own special condiments to the burger?
"Hello, my Pretty, what can I get you"
"Urgh, Just give a burger, you scabby no-mark"
"Pulled pork sword with choked chicken mayo on it's way"
"Urgh, Just give a burger, you scabby no-mark"
"Pulled pork sword with choked chicken mayo on it's way"
Disgusting, the filth they serve in these fast food places! And they get away with it too!
Take a good long look at that picture of Colonel Sanders,
Then take a look at Rolf Harris.
Note the similarity?
No way am I ever ordering a filet o' fish now! For all I know, it's a McSpunky filet o' flange that some antipodean pædo has been dipping his didgeridoo in.
Can y'tell what it is yet?
Yeah, a McFlurry from out of your 'extra leg', I'll wager!
Can y'tell what it is yet?
Yeah, a McFlurry from out of your 'extra leg', I'll wager!
Wednesday 4 March 2015
Braid It Like Beckham...
I had me barnet all braided like kickyball bloke David Beckham!
Only my follicle færie forgot to photogratificate it.
So you'll just have to imagine it!
Only my follicle færie forgot to photogratificate it.
So you'll just have to imagine it!
Wednesday 25 February 2015
Tuesday 24 February 2015
Them three little words...
There's one of them twatarse chainstatuses constantly cropping up on my facebook deed:
"What three words describe you"
And everyone's putting trite cutesy bobbins, like:
"Loving, Caring, Sharing". Urgh.
or "Honest, Trustworthy, Loyal" (which make I laff when I see it's someone known to be Dishonest, Untrustworthy, Disloyal and deserving of a place on the Jeremy Kyle Show for utter fucktardery).
Me?
I just say what I am:
Absolutely fucking awesome.
And you'd be hard pressed to find anyone to disagree with THAT!!
"What three words describe you"
And everyone's putting trite cutesy bobbins, like:
"Loving, Caring, Sharing". Urgh.
or "Honest, Trustworthy, Loyal" (which make I laff when I see it's someone known to be Dishonest, Untrustworthy, Disloyal and deserving of a place on the Jeremy Kyle Show for utter fucktardery).
Me?
I just say what I am:
Absolutely fucking awesome.
And you'd be hard pressed to find anyone to disagree with THAT!!
Sunday 22 February 2015
Uncle Sam meets The Reaper...
OK, so it's more Pulled Quad than Wounded Knee o'er again...
...(kasota kasota!)...
...so I didn't make it to Londinium to see Goblin doing the live score to Profondo Rosso.
But I did make it to The Whatacunt for 80s vs 90s and my Dancing Queen!
Which hath caused consternation and uproar with my siblings!
One sister wholeheartedly approves of my Dancing Partner, whilst the other sister wants to gouge out the flashy dancing trollop's eyes in a jealous fit of rage after stealing away their brother,
Now, my Pretty, don't you be getting all jealous and/or excited reading too much into this - what, you think Xym pulled? Ha, you know nothing Jon Snow!
Once again, attached, unavailable Pretties only require the services of Xym for the sole purpose of strutting their stuff with someone stupendously stylish and awexym with rhythm... and at the Waterfront there's only Xym.
And her. The phwoarsome to my awesome.
And I suppose we'd better credit ole Antonio Banderas Double Denim'd Axl Rose Bandana'd cuban heel'd snakehips (Steve?) for the effort he puts in. Even if he does strop off in a huff coz he can't complete with us.
I pretty much OWN The Talk of an 80s night. Cor, imagine if I had someone as phwoarsome as my Waterfront Dancer there! They'd explode in stunned orgasmic awe!
See the progress Xym hath made! He actually dances with smokin' hot Pretties!
Now we just have to finds him one that is single.
And then find a way to get him to actually talk to them.
...(kasota kasota!)...
...so I didn't make it to Londinium to see Goblin doing the live score to Profondo Rosso.
But I did make it to The Whatacunt for 80s vs 90s and my Dancing Queen!
Which hath caused consternation and uproar with my siblings!
One sister wholeheartedly approves of my Dancing Partner, whilst the other sister wants to gouge out the flashy dancing trollop's eyes in a jealous fit of rage after stealing away their brother,
Now, my Pretty, don't you be getting all jealous and/or excited reading too much into this - what, you think Xym pulled? Ha, you know nothing Jon Snow!
Once again, attached, unavailable Pretties only require the services of Xym for the sole purpose of strutting their stuff with someone stupendously stylish and awexym with rhythm... and at the Waterfront there's only Xym.
And her. The phwoarsome to my awesome.
And I suppose we'd better credit ole Antonio Banderas Double Denim'd Axl Rose Bandana'd cuban heel'd snakehips (Steve?) for the effort he puts in. Even if he does strop off in a huff coz he can't complete with us.
I pretty much OWN The Talk of an 80s night. Cor, imagine if I had someone as phwoarsome as my Waterfront Dancer there! They'd explode in stunned orgasmic awe!
See the progress Xym hath made! He actually dances with smokin' hot Pretties!
Now we just have to finds him one that is single.
And then find a way to get him to actually talk to them.
Friday 20 February 2015
May the fourth, sith, ninth...
New XymArt!
Originally, this was going to have my visage gracing the top of this all Darth Maul'd up...
...but I'm not that ego-centric to plaster me all over the poster!
I was going to add photoshop up a Queen Amidala too, but my choice of nubile Naboo nymphette could well land me in deep trub, so I had to make do with John & Jon grasping their oversized weapons and flashing them about instead...
Originally, this was going to have my visage gracing the top of this all Darth Maul'd up...
...but I'm not that ego-centric to plaster me all over the poster!
I was going to add photoshop up a Queen Amidala too, but my choice of nubile Naboo nymphette could well land me in deep trub, so I had to make do with John & Jon grasping their oversized weapons and flashing them about instead...
Thursday 19 February 2015
I LIKED driving in my car...
Starting motor fucked, so left The Mossmobile by t'garage.
Forlornly trek home sans PT & BoxFit...
...and some shit fiddling cockwrangler has parked across t'entrance to me drive!
This is why I let things drift by now - the Fates watch out for me, and guide me on The Right Path. Clearly, if I'd ended up at PT/Boxing, I'd've crashed, or had some form of fitness injury.
Likewise, if I'd gone home, I'd've got into an altercation with the selfish driver getting them to move their illegally parked vehicle and been stabbed up or something.
So, clearly, the fates know best, and they have great plans for The Xym's future.
I just wish they'd hurry up with my Pretty. She must be something special, the amount of time it's taking them to Create The Moment that gets us together...
Forlornly trek home sans PT & BoxFit...
...and some shit fiddling cockwrangler has parked across t'entrance to me drive!
This is why I let things drift by now - the Fates watch out for me, and guide me on The Right Path. Clearly, if I'd ended up at PT/Boxing, I'd've crashed, or had some form of fitness injury.
Likewise, if I'd gone home, I'd've got into an altercation with the selfish driver getting them to move their illegally parked vehicle and been stabbed up or something.
So, clearly, the fates know best, and they have great plans for The Xym's future.
I just wish they'd hurry up with my Pretty. She must be something special, the amount of time it's taking them to Create The Moment that gets us together...
Wednesday 18 February 2015
Awexym apologies...
cor luv a duck, strike a light, throw me dahn the ole apple and pears and call me Ishmael, is it really 5 months since I last bothered you lot?
Well crikey!
I has been, like, all dead busy and stuffs. Not to mention being too awexym for words. I has a plethora of draft blogs a-breezing in the archival cellar of cyberwurlde, and at some point I'll get around to titting about with them and getting them online.
So what has you misseded?
Pretties! Xmas! Neffage! Giggery! Cinematicals and Televisuals! Musical escapades! Survival of multiple assassination attempts! The luring of lesbos away from labia! Being a flange magnet in general. Accruing more and more Pretties into my harem of hotties!
But more on that in future bobbins bloggery!
For I is BACK and bringing my awexymness back unto ye blogge!
Well, if I gets time...
Monday 9 February 2015
Ooooh, who's that pillar of Awexymness on the door?
It's your welcoming slim trim Xym!
What other clubnight has a doorbloke who dances to welcome you in?
Don't he look fab!
We had complaints though. COMPLAINTS! Complaints from those (allegedly) enamoured of Xym that Xym was confined to a corner, A God In His Own Alcove, and not dancing with Pretties on the dance floor.
Mayhap this will be rectified on May 9th? Or is it better to leave him on the door to get people in the mood...
It's your welcoming slim trim Xym!
What other clubnight has a doorbloke who dances to welcome you in?
Don't he look fab!
We had complaints though. COMPLAINTS! Complaints from those (allegedly) enamoured of Xym that Xym was confined to a corner, A God In His Own Alcove, and not dancing with Pretties on the dance floor.
Mayhap this will be rectified on May 9th? Or is it better to leave him on the door to get people in the mood...
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