I hate big butts on my phone doth lie...

Grrrr!

Having been let down on the Wraithage, I ended up at a house partay.

Now, The Xym was fine to start with - on the sofa, easy interraction with Friends 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.

Then Strangers arrive. No problem, we at one end of the room, Strangers¹ at t'other.

Then The Xym made the fatal mistake of making a lavatorical trip, upon which some long haired lout dived into my seat!

So, upon my return, I was forced further towards Ye Strangers, and sat betwixt amigos 1 & 2. Still no problem, as I can chat with them, and scowl at the seat stealing scumbag manhandling my jacket still on the chairarm.

Then, oh then, more Strangers arrived, and immediately cut me off from the other group, leaving me with 1 known acquaintance... talking to The Strangers about stuff The Xym cannot contribute to.

And not only am I slowly being outsted from my safe circle of friends, the new long haired lout decided the chair arm is the perfect place to perch his posterior.

And my iPod and iPhone are in the pockets. Potential cracking from arse crack pressure.

And now The Xym is in a most uncomfortable situation. For those who know The Xym are pretty much aware that The Xym doesn't do social interraction with people he doesn't or barely know. If he's out of his comfort zone of compadrés, he gets in a panic and has to perform the now legendary Make His Excuses And Leave.

Although with out the making excuses bit, just sneaking off into the night.

I did make an effort! I interjected at one point and got such a look of "who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you talking about you twat" distain, I immediately gave up and retreated to the safety of the kitchen.

Ah, the buffet! Spend a while snacking on Doritos.

When who should come in, but the seat thief, who promptly nicked the Doritos and snaffled off with them for himself in the living room!

Ousted from my seat!
Robbed of snacks!
Manarse pressing down precariously all over my fragile electronic devices and potentially shitting all over me jacket!
Unable to rejoin Xym's circle of safety from stranger socialisation!

Well, The Xym had no choice but to sneak out and leg it away from The Fear Of Having To Speak To Unknown Others.

Perhaps I should rethink this trip to Resistanz in Sheffield. If I can't has the breakfast amidst acquaintances and have to sit with Other People and have to interract with them... perhaps I should rethink going out in general, especially with mass "social gatherings".

¹ APART FROM ONE PRETTY, WHO I KINDA KNOW-ISH. AND A WELL HOT PRETTY WHO I THINK MAY BE THE BABE DOWN THE CORRIDOR AT WORK, ALTHOUGH I COULD BE WRONG.

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!

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.

Of loos & piss & time elapsed, of moustaches and minge...

All for one, and none for Xym!

Suit Allures! le Roi Charles was invited to a surprise partay in the Take That Crypt!

But what's this? Last minute telecommunicatory advices of locatory confusion - not that The Crypt, it's t'other The Crypt! Die Krüpps? Nein! The Xym must fjord yon slumber apparatus for ye quaffage!

Ah, but it seems The Xym is more suited for queefage, due to the trimness of facial foliage! For Pretties adviseth that the 'tache is ideally suited for quim based stimulation¹. Admittedly, the young, innocent rock chick was unaware of precisely what quim is, and I doubt an offer of putting the 'tache to the test wouldn't go down too well.

Which rather disproves the point (if you know what I mean, and I'm sure that you do!)...

Anyhoo,  more Pretties to perve leer ogle talk at!

Discourse now squeaks around combining WKD core and Goldschläger becoming Apple Pie. Naturally, I'm informed by the inebriated lady that her flange feels nothing like pie de pomme. Although I guess it depends on pie in question. 

What if it's a Maccy D's Apple Pie? All hot and covered in crispy batter... not to mention shaped like a 'Brazillian' merkin, not dissimilar to the velcro-esque strip of chinwig I now sport under my twiddly 'tache twat tickler!

Or am I thinking of the filet o' fish (with obligatory 4 minute wait for that Sir, an NO! We don't sell onion rings)?

Whatever - all I know is that eventually there was a comPEEtition² for the fastest golden shower in the somewhat 'green' toilets, monitored by young fellow-me-lads through the windows.

But, alas, today is the tumbling of toothpaste, for according to sexy sirens of Polish prettyness, although Pretties like to admire impressive 'tache's upon the menfolk, they won't not kiss 'em due to 'tache rash & itchiness induced by stubble snoggage

On the other hand (probably the hand not caressing her beautiful busoms with her five palce due to lack of a kchuk) - if Pretties prefer the tingle of 'tache on their twinkle, is entwining tongue all that important? Perhaps I need to extract my 'tache, so I can put it on to pull, whip it off to snog, then stick it back on at fish supper time!

Not to be confused with penis buttock jelly time, involving Brian in a banana suit. Probably. 

Still - she says that now. Just wait till it gets long enough to tease into a Go Cumpare stylee³ - Pretties will be queueing up to ravish me then, coz all women want a Gio Cumpario!
 

Go Compaaaaarrrre!

Go Compaaaaarrrre!

A joy so rare

with Xym's lip hair

on your 'down there'

With just a few licks

and clitoral flicks

and you'll thank your stars that your quim met Xym's lip hair!

Go Compaaaaarrrre!

Or something...

¹ V FOR VAG-EATER, AND INTO THE (LURVE) GRAVEE! OR FANNY BATTER, TO BE MORE PRECISE. OR JUST DOWNRIGHT OBSCENE.

² SEE WHAT I DID THERE!

³ AND IF MY 'TACHE GET'S LONG ENOUGH, I CAN DO THAT TOO!
BA'DUM TISH!
I'M HERE ALL WEEK.
THANK YOU, AND GOODNIGHT!

Oh yes it's Hades night, and the feelin's right...

Oh no it bloody ain't, fuck jizzerry shite!

Due to the homely, intimate Fritzlesque cellar of Rock being closed off from the public (due to them forcing away custom by stopping cidiferous stockings of Jacques), Run With Us has relocated to The WhatACunt.

And although one had pledged to present my portly presence in person, aggrophobia* and extreme scaredy-catness may take precedence, and prevent public personal appearance!

And then there's the social armour required to venture forth, and do battle upon ye olde dancefloor.

Depite near-universal acclaim for the flat, fallen flowing follicles, the love of long lank locks is not one I is enamoured of. The legendary Preposterous hair and ludicous shades would lack the popular preposterousness necessary to pull off such a look. And such a popular, iconic look it is too!

However, the long, lank locks of a reverse Hitler flickover does leave the new nail in the noggin free of any form of mankyness getting in, whereas The volumous barnet of crimpage and backcombing involves what is known as 'Product', resulting in knottage and follicle fall out.

And thus, a half-coiffure has been attempted of unproducted half-temp crimpage, giving the benefit of a visage obscuring hairy helmet. Better armoury, but more than a hint of dulux dogerry about the upper frontispiece of facial physiognomy.

But is that sufficient to braven the craven fellow? Perhaps, as the cutiepie cutter of the cranial forestry suggests, I need a pipe to sign off that look and thus bolster my confidence an exude an air of authority! That one, missing element that will kindle affection in the hearts of Pretties, as opposed the present curdling of affection as I arsonate Jeff Bridges left, right and centre.

As Paul Simon (of the curtains and blinds) and Art Garfunkel (of the popular eatery) once said "I am a cock. I am an Island". Probably.

* Fear of going outside and interracting in a social manner. Also, fear of going out and getting cought up in a spot of aggro and getting duffed up after being set about with a stout stick).