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?
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