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.

I LIKED driving in my car...

Starting motor fucked, so left The Mossmobile by t'garage. 

Forlornly trek home sans PT & BoxFit... 

...and some shit fiddling cockwrangler has parked across t'entrance to me drive! 

This is why I let things drift by now - the Fates watch out for me, and guide me on The Right Path. Clearly, if I'd ended up at PT/Boxing, I'd've crashed, or had some form of fitness injury.

Likewise, if I'd gone home, I'd've got into an altercation with the selfish driver getting them to move their illegally parked vehicle and been stabbed up or something.

So, clearly, the fates know best, and they have great plans for The Xym's future.

I just wish they'd hurry up with my Pretty. She must be something special, the amount of time it's taking them to Create The Moment that gets us together...

She Loathes me, she Loves me not...

Wise up Xymon, Post Ya Blog...

But I can't post today's blog!

Why ever not, I hear thee cry?

Well, it was all to do with repetitious omens and portents of location based synchronicity, and what it all meant.

And then, I thought - hold up, check something else out, just in case.

And well bugger me backwards if that fate driven coincidence didn't lead in the same direction too!

However, that final linkage puts The Xym in a somewhat awkward position, for after typing it all up then discovering that final coincidence, it dawned on The Xym that it could creep out Certain Pretties (or a singularity of) that The Xym (may, or may not) be enamoured of!

But Xym, no-one reads your blog! Post it up anyways for a laugh!
Ah, but, what if, by some long shot, a particular Pretty matching that coincidence catches sight of it, and thinks The Xym is some stalkerescent pervertor desperately trying to find a loose excuse to indicate that Fate wants the Pretty & Xym to be together?
Ha, Xym! Like that's'll make any difference! You don't need your Blog to creep Pretties out! Look at yerself, you great fat lecherous oaf!
But, surely anyone with an ounce of nounce can see what a top bloke I am, and can recognise the comedy lechment for what is it?
Oh, you poor deluded fool Xym! Peoples don't have sense's of humour - it's all "first impressions" and you're a short, fat, sad ugly troll perving at Pretties!
But... my blog is OTT comedy elaborations of true events, made ludicrous by the very nature of their preposterousness! Surely no-one could take this overliterate proliferation of unnecessary prose seriously and judge The Xym based on the content contained within?
Of course they do! Why do you think hardly anyone accepts your Friend Requests on The Farcebook and The Shitter? Because they check you out and read the tripe you type on yer blog first... then run a mile from the wierdo obsessed with Space Monsters, Pretties and forever bewailing his lot!
But surely, they can see it's all a bit of ribald japery? It shows that The Xym has what is knows as one of them there GSOH that them Pretties keep harping on about being essential in one of them Pardners (albeit with the caveat of also being a stud muffin six-packed hunk who's a "bit of a bad boy" and a right bastard so they've got something to moan about when they go on Jeremy Kyle for lie detectors when their bad boy BF cheats on them because he's a "bit of a bad boy" and a right bastard.. Women, eh! How fickle they are!!).
Yeah, so you have a SOH (perhaps not a GSOH), and be a Gentleman who knows where ladies bits are... but this blog puts The Fear into the womens... besides, they all think you're gay anyway!
Eh, whut?!?!?
Well what do you expect, poncing about in bells and flags with feathers in yer ear, you great poof!
Oi! I'll have you know an actual individual, I am! Unique - that's me! There's only one Xym, and no-one else remotely similar!
Except Grendel, Quasimodo, The Heffalump man,...
Hey! Turn it in!
...A vast troll of lard, a corpulent bloated balloon of blubber, a mis-shapen disfigured shambling freak of nature, a deformed denizen of...
Enough already!
Why d'ya think its only blokes wot try and chat you up down The WhatACunt, despite your less than subtle ogling up of beautiful babes? And you always wear purple at work!
Ha - not today!
That's only 'coz it's Gay Lezza Bi-Tranny Day at work¹, and they've adopted purple² as the color of choice to denote homos, and you don't want them babes on Totty Avenue thinking you're a right shirtlifter... but it's too late for that!

Well, bugger me! NO! Scrap that! Bad choice of words, there!

Anyhoo - that's why there be no blog - coz the conundrum of coincidence ended up with the fickle fisting of fate pointing at a particular Pretty who may (or, more in reality, may not) be enamored of The Xym, and the resultant shyness would cause The Xym to be unable to face said Pretty for fear of embarassment, and, as ever, having to hide or flee from The Whatacunt. Not that Pretties down The WhatACunt are involved in these shennanigans (although they might be. Possibly. Or not. As the case may be).

But if you REALLY want to know what the blog contained, what the chain of coincidences were, and which Pretty it led to, it's all here below... apart from the naming of the Pretty, which may (or may not) be deduced from the repeated occurance of the coincidental element (said coincidental element can be construed from the title of this blog... and if you can figure that rather tenuous link out, you'll impress me no end! The Big Hint is more the first, rather than the second... which will give you the title of the X-cyphered blog below! Ah, once you get that play on an 80s classic pop hit...).

So here is that blog, edited down ever so slightly to avoid embarassment:

Xxxxx, Xxxxx, Xxx xx xxx xxx(x)...

Xxxxxxx'x xxxxxx xx xxxx xx xxxxxxxxx.

Xx xxxxxxx xx xxxx xxxxxxx xx Xxx Xxxxxxx

Xxx, xxxxxxx xxx Xxxx Xxx Xx Xxxxxxx xxx Xxxxxx, xx xxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxx, xxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx (xxx xxx xxxxxx xxxx xx Xxxxxxxxx & Xxxxxxxxxx xxxxx).

Xxxxx xxx Xxxxxx xxx, xxx xx xxxxxxx xxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx Xxxxx xxxxxxx, xx' xx xx xx Xxxxx.

Xxxxx... xxx, xxx xxxx Xxxxx xxxx Xxxxxx Xxxxx? Xxxxx xxxx xxxxx, xxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xx, xxx xx'x... xxxxxxxx.

Xxxxxx, xx'x xxxx xxxxxx xxx xxxx xxx, xxx xxxxx xx xx Xxxxxxxx xx xxxxx xxx.

Xxx xxxx xxx xxxx xxx xxx xx Xxxxxx xx xxx xxxx xxxx.

Xxx!

Xxxxxx, xxxx xxxx xx xxxx, xxx xxxxxx xxx xxx xxxx: "Xxxx, X xxx xx Xxxxx", "Xx, xxx Xxxxx, xx!"

Xxxx'xx X xxxxxx? Xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx, xx xxxxxxxx'x xxxxxxx xxxxx Xxxxx! XXX xx xx x xxxx xx xxxxxxxx xxx xx x xxxxxx?

Xxx xxxx, xx xxxx, xx'x xxxxxxxxx xxx xxxx xxx xxxx! Xxx Xxxxx xx Xxxxx xx xxxxxxx xx xxxx xx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx xx xxxxx xxx Xxxxxxx Xxxxx!

Xxxx, x xxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx x xxxx xxxxxx xxxx. Xx, xx xxxx xx xxx x xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx - xxx-xxxx Xxxxxx, xxx Xxxxxxx xxxx.

Xxx xx Xxx Xxxxxxx!

Xxxxx xxxx - xxxx Xxxxx. Xxxx X Xxx Xxxxx Xxx Xxx... xxxxx'x Xxxxx.

Xxxx xxxxxxx - xxxxxx xxx xx Xxxxx.

Xxxxxxxx - xxxx xxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxx xxxxxxx xx Xxxxx.

Xxxxx - xxxx, xxxxx, xxx xxxxxxxxxx!

Xxxx xxxxxxxxx.. xxx xxxxx... XXXX XXXXXX XXXXX!

Xxxx'x xx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx Xxxxx!

Full, unedited version is actually on my Blog, but only in Draft mode, so I may delete this one some day and post the draft one. Or I may not. I may even have both up for comparitive porpoises. Who can say?

¹ AND BEING DIVERSITY-AWARE AND ALL PC AND THAT, TODAY'S LUNCH MENU IS MACARONI MY CAMP PONY'S [NOB] CHEESE AND GARLIC GAY LICK BREAD...
    ...GAY LICK BREAD? GÆLIC BREAD?!?!?! AYE, IT'S THE FUTURE, SO IT IS, BEGORRAH, ALL PHOENIX LEPRECHAUN NIGHTS AND WHERE'S ME GOLD YA BASTARD? PÓG MO THÓIN AND BOMB THE ENGLISH QUEEN WITH MA LUCKY FOUR LEAVED CLOVER BUTTER. OR IS IT CLOVER MARGE... OR CREAM? OR EVEN CLOVER BUTTERCREAM? WELL, IT IS GAYDAY, SO MORE LIKE BUTTOCK-CREAM FOR LUBRICATIONAL EASE OF ENTRY, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN (AND I'M SURE THAT YOU DO, AND IF YOU DON'T, WELL, OBVIOUSLY I MEANT BUTTOCK CREAM TO BUM AN ENGLISH QUEEN. OR SOMETHING).

² AND NAYONE'S SMASHING MY PURPLE BACK DOORS IN! NOT EVEN RAPEY ROHYPNOLLING TAXI DRIVERS.