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 her Vibrator '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 in Sara Cox's Zöe Ball's Jo Whiley's Earlham Park's bush...

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.

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

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

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!

"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 shite
I 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 mention
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.

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

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...

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...
   

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!!

Xym's blog won't impress you much...

Man, I feel like sniffin' a woman...

Doo doo be doo d'doo doo!

♪ I'm going out tonight

I'm feelin' alright

Gonna let my tits hang out ♪

So, I already own one of Steve 'Visage' Strange's iconic hats, and now a new Celebrity Pretty crotch sweat saddle sniffin' opportunity has come up!

But motorcycle seats infused with the scent of sweaty leather clad clammy quim and dampened derrière cums at a price...

...therefore, can anyone gift me $99,000 for Shania Twain's Bike? Or $12,500 for her short, skimpy dress? 

Not for me! It's for my... um... Other Half¹ to... err... yeah, dress up for masqueradey rôle play shennanigans!!

Ooooh, actually, if you're visiting The Harry Potter Experience, can you try and evade security and get a 5-finger discount on Bellatrix's dress for me?

Even better, if you can deliver either containing the relevant artist (preferably 'gone commando'), 

I tried to get Claudia Wankleman for a quid in today's sweepstake and failed, so I need to recoupe my losses through other celebrity clunge. or something...

¹ IMAGINARY OTHER HALF YOU MEAN, XYM!!

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."

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

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...

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.

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...

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

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"

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 M^cSpunky filet o' flange that some antipodean pædo has been dipping his didgeridoo in.

Can y'tell what it is yet?

Yeah, a M^cFlurry from out of your 'extra leg', I'll wager!

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!