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.

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.