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 to Vue 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 for first 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 afternoon for 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...

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!!!"

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

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, I moustache you a question...

Apparently, I need to make this my Theme Tune...

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!!

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. 

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...

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...

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...

Got the blues? The reds? The pinks...

New XymArt for our February clubnight!

A tribute to The J.Geils Band Valentines ballad...

All you wanna do is talk Talk...

So, in my blogging absence, I have not made mention of 80s night at The Talk.

Now, last night was our second foray into the abyss, and for those who are not au fait with this fun-filled evening, it can be summed us thusly:

An evening featuring the blandest, cheesiest, most predictable hits of the 80, whose clientele tend to be overweight, overaged snaggle-toothed dresslexic behemoths, often on a hen night, whose concept of dancing is handbags-in-the-middle-one-step-left-one-step-right-regardless-of-the-song.

Helmed by 80s has-been DJs Rob & Chrissie, much fun is to be had bemoaning the choice of song, ranging from such fine fayre as Bucks Fizz's Making Your Mind Up, through Abba's Dancing Queen to Terrence Trent Reznor's We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off (to have a good time).

Much mirth mocking the mu-mu clad munters, their wholly inappropriate attire and choice of footwear, their lack of rhythm and dance style...

...but we had cider, stella and several shots of multicolored hue, so we were happy!

And when WE hit the dance floor... why, they never knew what hit them, and we went down A STORM!

Indeed - once again I garnerned yet another Fan Club following! Why, I had a veritable plethora of Prett... well, a couple of Pretties and a vast nest of trolls. Pretties are very thin on the ground there, but hell's bells - Xym made progress! He actually talked to a Pretty. Admittedly, he was with his sister who was doing most of the talking, but Xym DID actually engage in converse!

Yeah - shock horror, right! Inconcievable!

And then we went on to The WhatACunt!

And would you Adam & Eve it - I'm told I had another legion of fans all clamouring for my attentions!

Well, y'all know Xym - can't talk to Pretties, can't notice them throwing themselves at him? Well, that's not changed, but he DID actually briefly speak to Wendy II, briefly spoke to The Model and Harley Quim, and sort-of caught Purpleskirt's eye and exchanged glances...

So, I's getting better (slowly)!

Although I need to do something about my Sister, She's been informing my Fan Club of my rhythmic prowess, and spreading tales of my career as a professional dancer, and how I often appeared on Top Of The Pops.

I'd just like people to know that Jo is more than embroidering the truth a little. For the record, I was NOT a professional dancer on Top Of The Pops.  

I was a professional dancer on top TV show The Hit Man And Her, touring the clubs up and down the country, culminating in Rick's Place down Anglia Square, where I was asked to leave the show after a night of passion with Strachan.

So, for the record - it was Strachan, not Savile, I was dancing for. Although I did combine the two to give Michæla some jingle jangle spangle jewellery of the pearl necklace variety. or something...

And young ones, shouldn't be afwaid...

Whoo-hoo! Yet another fabulous Jacquard Anthems night!

And Xym is hot (allegedly). Hawt to teh Pretties (apparently). He got it a-goin' orn (or so they say).

Go Xym!

AND I didn't upset anyone! No awkward ruckus, no fractious brou-ha-ha, no spoilage whatsoever!¹

AND the trim slim Xym looks younger too!

How old is Teh Xym?

Early thirties? Pah-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!

Oh, so sorry -  you're mid-twenties then?

*spits out cider in comedy gobsmackedness with an extra chortle*

Go Team Me! Babyfaced Xlimoni with his youth and energy, throwing shapes on the dancefloor like one of them there youths with their boundless energy and pulling all the cougars!

¹ AS FAR AS I CAN RECALL. I WAS RATHER INEBRIATED. MUCH MORE THAN USUAL. I MAY HAVE OPENED MY GOB ONCE MORE A BIT TOO MUCH ABOUT THE HOTNESS OF CERTAIN SELECT PRETTIES. POSSIBLY IN THE AURAL VICINITY OF CERTAIN MAIDENS OF A HIGH DEGREE OF PHWOARIVITY. ALSO, ONE SUSPECTS ONE HAS ELOQUENTY VOICED HIS ADMIRATION OF HIS TOP TRIUMVIRATE OF TOTTY, AND HOPES SAID ADORATION DOTH NOT REACH THE EARS OF SAID SEXY SIRENS, FOR THEN ONE WOULD HAVE TO TAKE TO HERMITUDE AND VANISH FOREVER FROM THE SOCIAL SCENE FOR FEAR OF FACING AFOREMENTIONED WONDEROUS WENCHES KNOWING THAT THEY KNOW XYM IS CARRYING A TORCH FOR THEM AFORE MARCHING WITH THE TORCHES THEY CARRY FOR ME - ALL AFLAME AND SETTING THE CASTLE ABLAZE AND FLAMBÉING XYM ALIVE IN HIS ÆRIE. OR SOMETHING...

Xym's your private dancer...

Oh My, was last night FUN!!!

So, it's Jacquard Anthems #3 (see the website created by some phenomenal design genius), so I tootle off to The Crypt for another packed out Alternative 80s/90s night...

But alas, many are off to see New Model Army down The Whatacunt tonight, so didn't come out. Or they were at the Whitby Goth Dracula Weekendy Thing, where lots of EMOs ponce about in graveyards, annoying the locals and giving proper Goths a bad name.

Which means...

DANCE FLOOR SPACE!!!

Yay! Free reign for Slim Sym to strut his seductive stuff!

And it seems Dancing Xym (youngish and slim, long past 17) is quite popular with Teh Pretties with his snake hipped shape throwings!

First, 'kella mentioned that one's dance style was transfixing attentions, for it would appear to be somewhat theatrical. Xym as Performance Art!

And it was noted that several groups of enamoured Pretties were admiring The Xym!

Now, there were not many other dancers, but it became quite obvious Xym was something of a focal point! And a talking point. And a gossiping point. 

But hey - there were Pretties galore. Most clearly unavailable (as ever), but Xym did get many a shy smile and a captive audience.

Not held captive in a cellar by me, forced to endure hours of watching Xym flounce about. Captive audience as in can't take their eyes off Xym. One does have a somewhat powerful presence (powerful post-scent of BO, more like ← reader's voice)

Why, even one of the hottest Pretties in the venue actually told Xym he was wonderful! Only off the dance floor twice for 5min breaks, and that seems to impress really hot babes! On the downside, it does lead to a dampening...

...of The Xym! 5hrs non-stop frenetic dancing does leave one's shirt all moist upon the back, which is somewhat repellant to Pretties whom are desirous of a hug at the end. Or just plain desirous. or something.

And guess what - as ever, there was one beautiful RedHead who was "really into The Xym", and if The Crypt hadn't commanded a premature ending 30mins earlier, Xym could have pulled. But fate intervened as always, leaving her to be dragged off by her mate, bewailing her lot at having to go home alone.

Which, if she'd waited, she wouldn't have had to.

"Yeah, right, Xym. As if you would have followed up, and chatted her up!"

Well, probably not. But I am getting better at the whole confidence thing. And not fleeing from Pretties.

So, now my "unrequited harem of Pretties what's after Xym (as identified by his Sister)" includes Crypt Barmaid, Jacquard Redhead,  80s Night Greek, Britpop Babe, Rawkus Babe #1, Rawkus Babe #2, Whatacunt Barbabe, and numerous other hottiess my Sister has identified!

Xym so popular!

Looks like I'm going to have to turn Jacquard Anthems into a Hit Man And Her type event, with show dancers. Hire meself out as a theatrical attraction for clubnight podium performance and such. 

So, if you have a clubnight, and need an impressive dancer to lure in punters of the Pretties variety, I'm available. And probably cheaper than The Whatacunt's Snakehips guy (AND The Xym doesn't wear denim, Cuban Heels, or a Bandana... unless specifically requested to...)

Olé, Olé, Olé, Olé, Xym is hot hot hot...

Svelte Xym is sexy!

Boosted by feathery millinery and twiddlesome tasheries, the new chiselled cheekbones of New Look Slim Xym is causing gussets to gush freely, as lustful arousal is newly waken'd in Pretties heaving busoms!

It's now getting somewhat obvious that trim Xym is slowly Skeletoring, and noticabley nobler and thinning out.

Xym's face - no chubby chops no more! 

Xym's waist... wait, what waist! There is much less Xym when it comes to cuddly huggage!

Downside - all me clothes are now somewhat ill-fitting, and once plumply posteriored jeans are now all sagged and empty.

And attention... if you thought Xym had all the attentions before, that was nothing! Barista Babes, Polish Pretties, Barbabes, Acquaintances and FOAFs - all are in adoration of The Xym!

Alas, far to many Pretties are too enamoured of The Xym, and are fearful to approach this veritable godlike figure that doth inspire awe (and fear that their ladyparts my explode in orgasmic pleasure. or something.).

So, my Pretties, any applicants for the position of Xym's Lady - my sister Jo has taken it upon herself to vet all succubuses, as left to my own devices I'd pick the first one that batted an eyelid at me.

That happened once - a very surreal game of cricket that was.

Pixym's model...

Well, I was sat in Starbucks perving over my Barrista Babes partaking of a Gingybread latté & Xymnamon Swirl when Kelso turned up with an announcement.

There is an Art Gallery where Past Tymes used to be, and some painter man is flogging a picture of The Xym for only £595!

What's this? Art thou sure?

Oh yes, they've nicked your now legendary image!  Twiddly 'tashe, purple top hat - you should sue them for using yer copyrighted image!

Surely not! Although Xym is an inspiration to all who encounter him, lingering in the memory like a recurring nightmare. If anyone's going to immortalize Xym on canvas, it's more likely to be some malformed Lovecratian eldritch horror!

So, I stropped off to see this portrayal of Xym.

And thar be Xym, encapsulated as an 'orrible beastie on one of his many trips to Lon-don (to buy Heat magazine). And indeed, there is purple millinery and twiddly 'tashery.

And even this artist thinks Xym's gay, coz this interpretation has Xym firmly grasping the top of St Stephen's shaft with his body wrapped around the main phallic tower. And to make matters worse, the purple hairy Xymbeast is making the international symbol of Fisting!

And just like Xym, it's hæmorrhaging cash! 

Well, I'm most displeased. Who'd've thunk it, (piss)artists ripping off The Xym's now legendary image and casting him as as some preposterous purple primate gripping St Stephen's tower...

...although, apparently, it was renamed during the Queens Jubly celebrations recently. Seems Her Madge has spent 50 years on "The Throne" (aka toilet) due to incessant guzzling of the pyramidial fruity Icey lolly, and so they're renamed it Elizabeth Tower.

So Big Ben is now ensconced deep in the top of Elizabeth's Tower, rather than the bell-end of St Stephen's shaft. or something.

Anyhoo, enough talk - let's see this expensive charicature for comparison...

Hold on - I don't recall wearing chains on me cufflinked cuffs!!

Well, Xym loves TV and he loves T-Rex...

And down the Whatacunt he wears 3D spex!

The most awesome 3D specs ever!

Anyhoo, we begin at The Pub With No Booze.. but what's this? Purple Bulmers behind the bar? Wow, A restock...

...courtesy of t'Co-Op down the road, so it's not long before the barfolk have to pop out to t'garage to replenish the bar with cheap plonk, a couple of cans of beer, 3 cans of cider...

Anyhoo, into the Back Room for Darklight and WTF? Dance floor has people on it... motionless... staring at the DJ on stage all transfixed like rabbits caught in headlamps.

So, once more it's up to The Xym & Marky Mark to dive in and flail about in lumbering fashion and arouse some slight shufflance of the zombified gothlets.

By 'eck it's hot, so pop out for a Bulmers - as the dance floor returns to a sullen sulky stillness - lucky! Got the last purple one! Oh my - even hotter now one of Xym's hottest haremetts has arrived! But what's that I hear - the opening shamanic drumbeat of striding manitous? 

Get back in there! Oh, more densely populated with morose motionless muppets! Cue Xym and...

Xym's got the party started once more! A few more classic grooves and pop out once more, noticing a return to frozen movement apart from a couple of rock chicks.

So, in da bar with me sisters and one hot Babe until we saddle up for Da Whatacunt!

Blimey - how many people this week think Xym is foocking awesome?

Just about everybody!

But, alas, my triumvirate of totty is absent this week.Hair-ruffler, Blondie and S(p)ex all missing. And I'm led to believe the general consensus is "fuck all Talent tonight, mate". Indeed, upstairs seems to be densely packed with packs of predator pervs perving at prey. All huddled in thick parkas and checked shirts and mop hair. And it's not that busy in the smoking area either. 

Oh lor, birthday boy has passed out in the coroner, and emitted a stream of spew all over the floor, before carried away.

Oh noes, in all the heat, the front of me barnet has collapsed! Oh woe and wail and misery!

But Local Sister #1 to the rescue - a tweak here, a tug there, a ruffle on that bit - p'tow! Xym now sports the infamous 1980 Flock Of Seagulls look! And boy, does Xym rock that look!

Yikes! Notificarions of domestic discord arrive! Flop onto the sofa to help console the beautiful babe of harem hotness, and immediately another "Hot Chick" drops up against me!

Chat chat chittery chat! Lawks-a-mussy! Xym is talking to a Pretty who's lost "her lot". Heavens above, she's taking Xym's hand and leading him on... to the dancefloor, where she immediately finds "her lot" and falls into the arms of her Other Half.

Some things never change!

Even the propensity of people to monopolize the dance floor - standing motionless, clutching their pints of beer so close! Again, it's up to Xym, Marky Mark and Sisters to enliven the dance floor! 

But more boppage, and the dance floor's thinning out, and the predatory pack of pervs are more noticable with their predatory perving. Diving in front of dancing dames to "dance" with (ok, dance at) them, creepily eyeing them up (well, standing stationary on the dancefloor, bleary eyes following Pretties around the room), as their hands engage in variouis nefarious actities deep within their pocketses!

"Giz a snog then. Goan... giz us a kiss, like"

"Oi! You wanna go out wiv us?"
"Excuse me, I'm happily married"
"*Buuurp* I bet I can change that *belch* *hic*"
"No. Seriously. You can't"

"I love Oasis, me"
"I hate 'em. I prefer Pulp"
"Cool. Gimme yer number so I can boff you on Wednesday"
"'cough¹"

Oh dear.

And then a fighty forcible ejection... right at closing time!

At least the yobbo had some sense - why cause a kerfuffle early in the night and get thrown out? Far better to wait until you've had your evening's fill of booze, babes and Britpop and then get thrown out at then end once you've had yer money's worth. That said... how sad is it to get thrown out as the club closes. How can you even get into trouble on yer way out? Unless he tried a bit of rapey action on the cute cloakroom Pretty.

I don't care. I didn't get thrown out, didn't spew all over the floor, didn't pull (apart from the usual Pretty With Inevitable Husband/BF), none of my regular Pretties were there - BUT... I has a new hair do for clubbage! AND a mega-load of compliments of the Most Awesome variety...

Although, TBH, it was getting a tad tiresome by 12. There's only so many times you can be stopped on the stairs, the dancefloor, or smoking area, and told how amazingly awesome you are, before it loses some of it's magic. It's like..

9pm - WOW! You look AWESOME!: Yay! In with a chance tonight!
10pm - WOW! You look AWESOME!: Yay! I'm Awesome!
11pm - Ermagherd - You, Sir, are Awesome! Yay... send some Pretty ladies my way!
12pm - WOW! You look fooking AWESOME! Yay.. 
1am - O.M.G. You're amazing, You are so awesome. Yeah, so they keep telling me...
2am - 'scuze me mate, but can I just say you are totally AWESOME. Respect dude! Yeah yeah yeah..
3am - Whoa - AWESOME dude! Whatevs...

Honestly, all night adoration can be somewhat exhaustive!

¹ NOT AN ACTUAL COUGH. MORE 'CKOFF, IF YOU GET MY DRIFT. UNLIKE THE PREDATORY PACK OF PERVS WHO NOT ONLY DON'T GET THE DRIFT, HINT, SLAP IN THE FACE OR A BOOT IN THE BOLLOCKS.

Here come de HotXymon (turn it in)...

Well I'll be vajazzled and bollock waxed! Everyone's (least) favourite short fat gothboy with preposterous hair and outlandish 'tashe apparently cut quite a dashing figure down The WhatACunt last night!

Quite popliar was he indeed!

Why, many a veritable vixen, fashionista fox and chavved up gayboys were fighting for one's attention this weekend!

It started off down The Playhouse, which was packed out by arty-farty-party types, where barbabes were most complimentary on various Xym adornments.

And then, when we were seated, the Pretty element of the couple in the vicinity kept on eyeing up The Xym whenever her man's focus was focussed elsewhere. So obvious it was, that even The Xym noticed it - and you know how blind The Xym is to that kind o' stuffs!

Then, on to The WhatAC... oh noes. We're stopping off at the loathed Marquee first. So Xym stood outside in a huff. Bad enough I has to goes there next weekend for the Asylum social event, but I wants to get to The WhatACunt. Boo!

But eventually we gets there, and Xym is showered with compliment upon compliment as regards his myriad of accoutréments. 

Blimey - The Xym is noticibly Turning Heads!

Well bugger me!

It seems The Boots With The Motion Sensitive Flashy Bits are a big draw. As is The 'tashe. Remarkably, so is the barnet and the silver glitter spray. Heck, the whole package presents proffers of admiration!

T'other week, I just got me cranial mop ruffled by a passing Pretty - this week, hit on galore!

I reckon I could have pulled that bird who was most admirous of me feathery dangler.

Of that gaggle of girlies impressed with me flashings.

Even the barbloke had to comment: "It's really hard to pull off a Look with glittery hair - you're just about the only person who can. Every week you put in a tremendous effort and look amazing!"

And The Xym is even arousing jealousy in repressed Chavboys, who find The Xym so fundamentally cool, they want to be just like The Xym. Alas, they fear to do so, for they'll get a duffing up off their Chacscum mates. They love that The Xym has the confidence (ha ha ha!) to tart up however he likes, and look so amazing... yet can't bring themselves to follow his fashion due to being brainwashed into conformism and having to fit in with their mates.

So there you have it.

I am THE Xym.

And I am fucking amazing.

I am the dog's bollocks, the donkey's dangler, the badger's nadgers and involuntary dampener of Pretties pants.

The Xym is a fucking LEGEND!

Call me (call me) coz I'm fine, me...

Call me, call me, call me anytime!

Xym The Shrink is open for business!

You got troubles? The Xym is here to listen and advise.

Well, mainly listen.

Pretties with problems - no problem! I shall take thee out to lunch, and thou canst pour thy heart out.

And I may even treat you to a bit of Retail Therapy after!

I really am great, I am!

And if this takes off, The Xym may well expand into further territories...

Coming Soon: Xym's Escort & Booty Call services!

Mean Green Mother From Planet Gel (and Xyms mad)...

Well, bugger me backwards¹! The Xym actually mingled, conversed AND interracted with NEW PEOPLES!

Yes, a second occurrence of this rarest of rare events!

I'll have to see if I can cut down a bit...

Anyhoo, it was The Wedding Of The King Of The Goths, and a mighty fine wedding it was too. And a mighty shiny shindig after! Straight to the Goat's And Whore's Ease, and I appear to have been adopted again! I'm now an honorary member of the Essex Clan!

Wonderful, wonderful people!

And I'm a hit with The Bride's Sister too!

Who, as ever, is unavailable (just to quash any rumours out there, which seem to have begun already, even during the reception).

Crikey o'Riley - Xym being popular? Whatever next? Xym making an effort with Pretties?

[reader's voice:] "Ha ha ha! As if! Xym? Approach Pretties? Actually engage and speak to them? Ha ha cough splutter!  Excuse me whilst I mop up this beer I just spat out in humourescent shock!"

Well - I think I may have been somewhat led up that there garden path somewhat. See, yonks back, I got somewhat shot down on a most spectacular level once a most pleasing Pretty found out of my interest² when somebody grassed me up. In addition, The Xym got warned off. Futhermore, many whisperings in my ear of a most disconcerting nature. Advised to get rid. Tales of the horrid harpy's horridity. Do not pursue. Oh Xym, you can do so much better. Ditch the bitch!

And you know what... I think someone may have been somewhat less than truthful! Indeed, subsequent revelations indicate a hint of the now legendary Ulterior Motive of enamouration of The Xym, and Pretty Green Eyed monstrosities revelling in the removal of their reviled rival (despite their own unavailability!).

Or some such.

So, I think I need to place less faith in the duplicity of them there womens, and more confidence in meself...

(and somewhere, I hear Lucy, John & Jo shouting "Finally!" and cheering...)

¹ PLEASE DON'T - ALIEN ANAL ASSAULT IS BAD ENOUGH WITHOUT UNEXPECTED BUMRAPE FROM ROHYPNOLLING TAXIDERMISTS. OR SOMETHING.

² NORMAL PROCEDURE ADOPTED BY PRETTIES UPON FINDING OUT THAT THE XYM HAS A THING FOR THEM IS TO COP OFF WITH SOMEONE ELSE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!