In Essex, no-one can hear you scream...

...in fruit stimulated orgasm.

or something.

See, we wuz out (again!) last night, and it came to the usual End Of The Night Taxi converse.

• Pretties (allegedly) Taking An Interest in an oblivious Xym
• Pretties Xym was Taking An Interest In
• Pretties Xym WOULD be Taking An Interest In if they were there
• Obvious Campanologist taking an interest in Xym's bells (Well, Campanologist as in Camp, and more interested in Xym's balls rather than bells. Creepily, dreamingly ogling me up on the dance floor and following me everywhere like a lovestruck puppy. I could understand the Gay Iconage last night, as per yesterday's blog, but I was in me normal getup - what is it that makes Pretties flee and gayboys gather?).
• The name of Xym's autobiography (Xym: A Disabstraction Of The Easily Distra... Ooooh Pretty!) ; and
• Why do I associate Fifers with potatoes?

When we taxi back, we go by Fifers Lane, drop me off, then t'others go on to Sprowston. Now, when we said Fifers Lane, It occurred to me. Potatoes. Why Potatoes?

My Sis & Taxi drivers agreed. Fifers = Potatoes. Why? We can't remember!

Googleage!

Yeah. Not simple. Pipery flutey stuffs with the odd sprinking of Fifers Lane itself, and the occasional mention of muskets, drums, and a nudie soldier* refusing to cop off with some woman coz he has no clothes to put on (said woman having to do something with her chest, not getting a response and tarting him up in her very very best vest. or something. Cross dressing tranny soldiers indeed!)

Anyhoo, talk transgressed from transgender to Trinidadian fruitery (or wherever bananas come from. The Banana Republic probably. or Sainsburys.), and how they might be Fifers. With a little blue label. And how you peel that label off the banana before peeling the peel off the banana, and it being a pointless exercise, because no-one eats banana peel, so why peel the peelable label off the peel in the first place, when you could just peel the peel off the banana replete with sticker, and lob the lot in the bin!

Preferably with the banana.

Anyhoo, it turns out than in Essex, it is a popular passtime to peel a banana and plaster it on your face. Much like the facehugger in Ridley Scott's Alien franchise. 

Perhaps that's all that Aliens is. An analogy for Essex. Ridley was on a trip to Essex, and saw these drunken rowdy folks comatose in gutters with facehugging banana skins raping their drooling mouths, and wondered if the plantain penetrators were insemminating the inebriated revellers by spunking seeds down their throat and into their belly.

See, people say H.R. Geiger-Counter's design is very phallic, and the head of the Alien is just a massive cock. With teeth. Phallus Dentata, if you will. Bollocks! It's just a dirty great big fuck-off banana!

Remember that TV show - Bananas In Pjamas? Two men in costume? I think not - they're real and are the result of some ungodly hyrid that burst out of an Essex belly thanks to a rapey banana peel on a drunken Saturday night out! 

* Y'AAAARRGGH! FLASHBACKS TO LAST NIGHT'S END OF PROPER GANDERAGE, AND THE BUNCH OF SLOW-WITTED FOLK WITH THE GINGER CAPERING-IN-CIRCLES DWARF WHO, UPON THE CONCLUSION OF THE SONG "I GOT SOUL, BUT I'M, NOT A SOLDIER" REFUSED TO LEAVE THE VENUE, PREFERRING TO STAND IN FRONT OF THE DJ CHANTING "I GOT SOUL, BUT I'M, NOT A SOLDIER" AD INFINITUM. ANNOYINGLY SO. MORE ANNOYINGLY BECAUSE OF THE FUCKING ANNOYING PHRASE "I GOT SOUL, BUT I'M, NOT A SOLDIER". FUCK OFF! FUCK RIGHT OFF! LIKE THAT DUMB GINGER DWARF THICKO - IT'S NOT BIG AND IT'S NOT CLEVER.  MIGHT A WELL SAY I GOT TOAST, BUT I'M NOT A TOASTER! I GOT FIRE, BUT I'M NOT A FIREPLACE. I GOT HEART, BUT I'M NOT A HEART RATE MONITOR. SOUL AND SOLDIER LYRICS MY BEST HAT! THAT SAID, ONE SUPPOSED ONE SHOULD FORGIVE THE "STRAWBERRY BLONDE" PERSON OF DIMINUTIVE STATURE, FOR AS THAT FAMOUS YOUTUBE ANGRY GINGER RANTER SAID: "GINGERS HAVE SOULS TOO!"
BUT HE'S OBVIOUSLY NOT A SOLDIER, BEING TOO SMALL TO MEET THE BURLY SOLDIERMAN TYPE. UNLESS THERE IS AN ELITE MILITIA OF MIDGET MUNCHKINS PUTTING THE WIND UP THE TERRORISTS BY PERFORMING WILLY WANKER AND HIS CHOCOLATE STARFISH OOMPA-LOOMPA SONGS BEFORE SLIPPING UP A JYHADDYWADDY DJBELLA AND BITING A BEHEADERS BELLEND OFF. 

No romance, no romance, no romance for Xym...

I keep my promises!

I promised to dress up like Cameo for 80s night.

I dressed up like Cameo from 80s night,

Unfortunately, I appear to look a million times gayer than Cameo!

"Ooooh, you'll rouse a lot of Pretties interest tonight Xym!Why, they won't be able to tear their eyes away from your genital adornment!"

Did I get rouse a lot of Pretties interest?

Did I feck as like :(. No. What I appear to have roused is the slumbering soldiers of men who prefer to their gardening upon a plane that has a degree of declinated anglature upon it.

Yes, once again, instead of lovely ladies, it's Men Who Prefer To Smoke Another Gentleman's Personal Pipe who are in adoration of The Xym. Word Up? No, it's a Cock Up they're after, and it's my ass they want to ensconce it within! Run, Forrest Xym, Run!

Mind you, in such a getup, I really should have expected it. Combine the look, with my labia lubricating gyratory manoeuvres as I rhythmically strut my svelte self on the dance floor... well, who could resist!

So feast your eyes ladies - this is the first, last and only time you'll see me like this. Skin tight pvc leggings, bare arms with upper chest exposure... please, don't have nightmares! (Have sexy dreams of this sexy hunk sexing you. or something)

And I wonder why people think I'm a raving queen, old, obscene, only 17 (stone). or something.

All you suck a DJs unzip their flies...

Oh my Christ...

I did it.

Marc Almond meets Larry Black Man.

Full story tomorrow.

Assuming I'm not twatted over betwixt home & bus stop, on the bus, loitering on Castle Meadow, or in The Wildman/Owl Sanctuary/WhatACunt.

I look fucking AWESOME, and some people ain't gonna like it!

Make way people, Xym's making an ENTRANCE!

And he will entrance you.

Well, something will...

Twats & Hats...

It's deffo the hat.

The hat that inspires twats to be like that

Now, you know the trouble I used to get into down The WhatACunt whenever I wore a hat.

Hassle hassle hassle off fighty gayboy chavscum wanting to duff me up.

Well, on Sat, one of my compadrés wore a hat similar to mine, The big black hat with the phenomenally huge plumage with the skeletal centerpiece and gogglery.

And he recieved a summary punch to the gob.

One can only assume that the pissed up pugilist mistook my erstwhile compatriot for me, and tried to give him a kicking, under the misapprehension that he was me, and was after me for a previous millinery-based altercation in the past.

Or it could be that the cranial adorned one took the wanker to task for waving his wang about and widdling under a street light, like a micturating faun by the Narnian gateway to Spare-Oom. An illuminated plonker proudly presenting his pissing penis to the passing public, and took exception to someone requesting the cessation of this cesspitiful display of public pubic indencency.

But I do rather expect that my friend "took one for the team" and recieved the blow due to mistaken identity due to hattage, for many people thought he was me, and were most disappointed not to find me below my unmistakeable hat, seemingly no longer unmistakeable.

Shyness can stop Xym...

...from doing all the birds he'd really like to.

or something,.

So, last night was another friends Birthday bash, and we begin in the Ghostly Whore's Ears pub.

Where the previous tenants have nicked off with the speakers, so you sit in silence, cautious that every word is overheard. But a few drinkles later, everyone is happy.

So a couple of us trundle off for a bout of Psytrance clubbery!

Yes, Xym, The Mardy Otters and The Phoarder went to Calm a Café in the cellar to "rave out" in the hard dance acid rave that is Psytrance.

Pissed and passed out patrons on the sofa - exactly how at THOSE prices, I don't know! But we were loving it! Riverdancing, Hoe-Downs, Twerking, Zumba - we know how to partay!

And then The Phwoarder showed us how to gas peddle up against a wall, and naturally, Xym was encouraged with all his new exercised energy & slimness to mount the wall in inverse twerkage to entertain The Pretties.

And so he did.

What Xym did not cater for, was the slimey slipperyness of the wall in question, and the venue's laxity of attention to Health and Safety, leading to wall descent entanglement with floor strewn electrical cables, thus ripping electrial plugs out of the sockets, disengaging the flex from the appliance, and leading to an imbalance upon the table, resulting in the toppling of the hand-held UV lamp and the shatterage of the blacklight bulb, providing a shower of scattered shards upon the dance floor.

Which was amusing.

But The Phwoarder had to leave early, and Chivalrous Xym once more performed Gentlemanly Escortage to ensure the safety of Pretties.

So, a top night!

And today was the Birthday Lunch at The Queen Of I Seen Knee.

Which would have been great, if not for the lack of stuffed balls, the presence of Smash and shoe leather, and not being able to revisit the bar due to embarassment thanks to a Mardy Otter approaching the hot, hot, hot, white haired Barbabe, and "making enquiries".

Y'all know The Xym - totally afear'd of approaching people in general, let alone Pretties. And then Mr G lets Pretties know Xym likes them, so Xym is now doubly shy. Then carps on about Going For It, or Asking For Her Number, making Xym triply embarassed, and even more in a panic!

Pressure, pressure, pressure! The Xym don't like it!!

One day, though, I will surprise you all! Xym will man up, approach one of the Pretties he so admires, engage in converse, and mayhap even get somewhat close. 

But that day is not one in which he is pestered and badgered and forced into doing it!

Commin' up, Commin' up, Commin' up, it's Dare...

WTF is wrong with them there Young Folk Of Today?

For days now, my FaceBookake feed has been wittering on about Necnomination. or Neknomination. or Necknomination. or something.

From what I could gather, it seems (a) there is no consistency in how this activity is spelt, (b) everyone's pissed off with it on their Facebook like them dumbass Zimbio quizzes and (c) no-one actually explains what it is.

Do they know what it is? It's just mentioned in vague terms of something really annoying. Necnomination... NECnomination... nominate a corpse for some award? Fittest worm food with an acceptable maggoty minge? The Brit Award Deathtime DeComposer Award? What?!?!

So I finally got intrigued enough to look it up.

It's Neck-Nomination. Neck a pint, do something stupid, then nominate someone to do the same.

So... basically your every weekend night out clubbing.

But with just one pint!

Oh, them inventive, reckless teens of today, with their rebellious innovative ways. Imagine - having a singularity of inebriation and doing something foolish.

No wonder them baby faced kiddies down The Whatacunt on a Saturday Night look up to us old fogies - after all, we neck pluralites of pints, copious quantitties of cocktails, and strange, esoteric beverages of a neon hue from goldfish bowls. Often doing something extremely foolish after.

"Ermagherd rite, ai, like, well downed a pint, yeah, then, yeah, ai like, y'know, did something. Swear down man, for realz. Seriously, like, it was, like, lolz, ya gits me? So, I, likes, nominates YOU to, like, neck a pint, yeah, then, like, do something. At the end of the day, yeah, like if yez cannae neck it, you're well meh. and a chubber spamhead. or sahmfink, yeah?"

Necnomination my arse!

(Please don't Neknominate my arse - I have no desire for a pint of Glitter Bomb enema before doing something stupid. Such as having a pint of Glitter Bomb enema in the first place. Or panning your poo for Goldschläger nuggets like Tinpans trying to raise funds to stop LaHood building a railroad through their ShantyTown by the creek by sieving their shit. Thar be gold in them thar manuretains)

[combi]Christ On A Bike...

No set list for this gig, mainly because I don't know much by them.

I believe the three bands were, in order, Das Krapital, Resident DJs, and then CombiChrist.

The middle turn was memorable not by being the Slimelight DJs in concert, but that the bloke on the pewter on the right was that bloke out of Man Vs Food!

No he wasn't Xym - he just looked like him!

Yeah, whatevs! Anyhoo, this band only seemed to have one track. And that went "Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch [pause] Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch [shout something] Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch [shout samething again] Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch Dudsch  etc

Combichrist were OK, actually. A bit shouty for my taste, and their hardcore fans are... immovable. 300 people max? I expect they exceeded that by almost double!

Anyhoo Slimes was cool. Many, many Pretties, a ball pit. a couple of hours with the Mardy Otters on t'middle floor with much illumination and a UV Pretty, a break to watch Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome admiring many a Pretty in a short skirt, belt, no - may as well be a shoelace round their waist going up the stairs, and a couple of hours in the trad goth fog, afore a last hour in the bar ogling up a few Pretties (and one particular one with HUGE mahoosive.... lashes!).

A really fab night!!