...or does she?
Certainly not! For The Xym is not one for the transvesticism of tarting hisself up in PVC and poncing about the city like certain Trinity Matrixy actresses.
No sirree - this is Carrietta White, for The Xym seems to be developing the psychotic psychic powers of the PMT inflamed arsey cow.
It appears I'm becoming one of them Nostradamn-your-eyes-usses, and being all future predictive.
Ooooh!
Take today. There's Xym, all expectantly awaiting his onieromancical publication that have been ensured will arrive between the hours of 2 and 4.
BUT... come the end of old repeats of Jeremy Kyle on the ITV2, there is no sign of my Morphean tome. Come 6pm, I wander over to the door - no reason, just to check it's unlocked when Postie turns up. Gets to the door... just as Postie arrives and raps upon it!
Coincidence? Synchronicity? The fickle fecal finger of fate that escapes buttock besmirchnent when it tears through the Andrex mid-wipe? Or did Xym's psychic Xymchronicity kick in, and predict packet arrival, thus placing my person proximate to the package in advance?
And it's not just predicting the future when couriered deliveries arise - oh no! Frequently, I'll reach for my phone, thinking It's just gone off. It hasn't, but as soon as I closes it - Beepity beep it goes, demanding my attentions to deal with the telecommicative messages contained therein.
Luck? Happenstance? The tarnished turd of Tibetan teachers, polished to a poo-shine and transmuted into a very dirty pearl necklace?
Who can say?
But, as admonished t'other by foreign females who now hate The Xym (ie Polish no-longer-considered-a-Pretty-due-to-aspersions-upon-my-lack-of-trustworthyness-and-therefore-cast-out-of-Xym's-imaginary-harem), I shall have to hone my new powers and put it to untrustworthy, nefarious uses.
So, on with the exercises to build it into telekinetic terror. The ability, by thought alone, to cause blouses to burst open, spilling the boobage contained within out into public display. To conjure the ghostly gust of gusset centred wind to lift the skirt to flash the gash and ass.
Which you can bet ANY bloke given telekinetic power would do.
Trust me on this!
