We're so Pretty, oh so Pretty...

....vadge/cunt!

Televisual advertisement never fails to amuse me!

There's this advert, where some middle-aged strumpet is worried about dampening her gushing gusset, so she has to wear Special Undercrackers

And she's found a pair of pisscatcher pants that are really pretty!

To whit: this sensuous crotchsponge cover from that Always Discrete When You Secrete Boutique:

Phwoar! Check out them Bridget Joneses!

Hold on... they look a bit... bandagey? A bit like them weird bandage pants that Noomi Rapist wore in Prometheus! 

Clearly, someone misheard the request for erotic bondage pants for golden shower fetishists, and ended up with bandage pants!

Stockin' on up with some Spirits in the Xy...

Bleugh!

Seems upping my meds hath made The Xym somewhat ill again. Looks like it takes a couple of weeks to settle. Yuk!

So, in theory, I was to be Dancing With A Pretty in the practice session between Beginners and Advanced...

...but I was too ill! The heat! Oh, the terrible heat! So hot in That There Talk. I had to sit outside and cool down in the breeze...

...because the aforementioned Pretty had been snaffled by someone else for hot shoe shufflement.

I was going to give the Advanced class a go... but once the basic move had been performed, it wsa somewhat... frantic.

So I sat that out too!

Then, as I watched, the actual lesson was quite sedate, so I was quite disappointed that I hadn't joined in... until they put the music on, and I was extremely glad I skipped it.

So I staggered off home, a-coughing and spluttering, near vomitationary levels.

Wondering why Vimto is called Vimto. Is it because it's an anagram of Vomit?

And then I get in and check Farcebook.

Seems all anyone's bothered about is a bunch of talentless gormsters running about a field, booting an airsack at a huge opening,

Not me.

No-one's bothered about me!

Warm jelly & mustard...

Yes, it's Father's Day.

(and me Sister's Birthday, but we don't speak about that!)

I've had 3 full day shifts, followed by a morning shift this morning. So, I thought, being 'spoons Sunday, I'd head up for a slap up lunch down that Glass House

(And you know what they say about Glass Houses. People who live in them need to close the blinds when removing their trousers. And these glass houses also have glass ceilings, which Them Womens are always trying to smash. Which presumably makes it a bit difficult to have an upstairs bed/bath/spare room. On the other hand, it does mean they don't have to worry about upskirting as they parade about the upper levels of the house. or something)

Anyhoo, being Father's Day, every selfish fecker had taken their paternal figure out for a familial swanky nosh-up down The 'spoons...

..a nice, cheap, wanky nosh-up off the Sunday Cheapo Special menu, more like!

In other words, all the Dads are scoffing up the all the cheap steak options! And all the other offers too!

And all that's left is all the high-priced options and... the 'orrible stuff no-one ever orders off the menu!

Anyhoo, I don't know why some of these "fathers" are being so fêted - seems that quite a lot of them have given up on "fathering", judging by their feral offspring roaming about the place, battering people with their toys and trying to gozz up the extremely short skirts of the waitresses...

My baby don't mess around, 'cause she loves me so, this I know fo' sho'...

Ouija! Ouija!!

So quoth ye dyslexic minstels "Outkast".

Now, I've heard the word Ouija pronounced many ways. 

Almost all of them totally wrong!

The most popular, of course, is the "Weegee" board.

But that would be a corkboard filled with black and white photographs of death taken by Ascher (Usher? Arthur) Fellig.

Then there's the "Widgey" board, which is probably a poke-yer-mum. or a childish name for a cock.

And of course, there's the spunksocks who call it a WeeJar (which is something totally different. and not in a tiny glass case kind of way. More a Donald Trump Prostitute Mattress Residue Squeezed Into A Typical Jammy Cuntainer kind of way. probably. or something).

And then there's cockmunching mingebrackets who call it a Luigi Board after Mario Mario's sibling psychic sidekick. and plumber. or something.

Outkast got it right. It's Wee Yah, being a combination of Oui (Wee) - the French for Yes, and Ja (yah), the German for Yes.

So that mean's it's pronounced WeeYah.

But why is it called a YesYes Board? Surely it should be a Ouinon (YesNo) Board?

Ah, but then it would sound like Wean on Board... which sounds like some car rear-window signage to do with Bitty Titties when dogging in lay-bys.

And it can't be a Janein Board, because (a) who's Jane, and why is she in a board?, and (b) JaNein sounds a bit... pædoey, and (c) GERMAN!! 

I suppose we could call it Nonnein (NoNo), but then people would be rubbing it all over their hirsute extremeties to remove their follicular fuzz.

Me, I call a spade a shovel, so I just call it a Spirit Board. Or Witchboard. 

...or Talking Bored, which you're getting from me right now, I reckon!

Some people get by, with a little...

...cunterstanding!

Some people get by,

With a whole lot more need for a punch in the chops!

Cunterstanding: A level of intellect attributed to those with an inability to comprehend basic concepts. Often applies to those who state that they do not need things "mansplaining" to them, when they clearly do. A cunt who doesn't understand.

*Sees a door marked Pull"
*Sees woman pushing on door"
"You need to pull that door to open it"

"I do know how to open a door, thank you very much. I don't need you mansplaining it to me"

*woman stubbornly continues to push at door*

That is a prime example of high cunterstanding. Door needs pulling, person refuses to understand the concept, rages out when the bleedin' obvious is pointed out.

There are soooo many examples I could make, but after tonights cockwombling evening, I take high umbrage with the Mexican muppets at Cock In Her.

Now, like many poncey restaurants constantly under threat of Going Under, they always have half price / 2-for-ones / free plonk offers... and apparently never any custom.

So, the way to draw the punters in, is to add more tables outside.

But not outside your own premises, of course. That would make it untidy outside! So, you keep your frontage clear, and slowly encroach upon your neighbours premises.

In tonights case, not just slightly over the boundary, but right over. Across the Emergency (and main) Entrance.

So, what do we do when we need to go out?

Shift it!

So, back onto their premises they go. Chairs, tables, bollard signage - all shunted over. Now I can get out and get our frontage sorted. And when done, go back and tidy up their placement, all nice and neat. And a good job I made of it too, considering the added furniture.

Then Mr Manager comes over, asking that next time we go in and ask before we move it!

You cunterstand that that we need to move your shit off our property so we can get out, but you want to ask us before we move it?

How about you ask us if you can put your empty chairs and tables right across our doorway and frontage, and block the emergency exit? That way, we won't have to come over and ask you to shift it?

Better still, just don't have the cunterstanding of blocking it in the first place! Ditch the gormstrosity, and put your chairs and tables in front of your restauraunt, where they should be. That way, everyone wins.

But no. Some people are just cuntybollocked fuckweasles.

Sorry readers - it's been one of those days! I would tell you of my woes, but they mainly involve things that went wrong at work, which I cannot speak of, for fear of revealing the Secrets Of The Rooms.

And Cock In Her cunt was the penultimate straw!

The final straw being Haunted by one of them there Old Women Evil Insidious Spirity strumpets upon the occult omnibus!

Today, we were able to shut up shop early(ish!), so I got the 9:30pm bus.

Usually, I end up on the 10pm bus... unless we're held back, and then I get the 10:30 bus. No matter which one, there's always the same mad old crone on it. Talking away at her non-existent companion, whilst scoffing oranges.

And I gets the 9:20 bus, and BAM! Guess who's on it?

The possessed pensioner from Beyond! This time, chanting in tongues unspeakable by man. probably. 

How can she be on every bus I get after work? Am I psychic, and the only one to see the travelling spectre haunting the WorstBus purple line route? Or is she haunting me on my travel home?

Will I wake up in the middle of the night, just to see her all black shouded and screaming in me face, before dragging me through Ye Spheres so Azathoth can feast on my soul as the black blood of Yibb-Tstll suffocates me?

Or am I being stalked by a mad old maid, pre-empting my bus-based embarkment by one prior stop?

Or am I just seeing things? And if so, why a hagard old muttering witch? Why don't I get a nudie nubile succuoffonabus spirit instead?

Life is SO unfair sometimes!

A mondo teeno giving...

Now, as my Sister is often quothing on a night out:

"You know what my Nanna used to say: If you want to get some head, get yourself a hat!"

Not ahead - some head!

Now, as a prolific Hatter, I can attest that her Nanna talks a shit load of utter bollocks! Oft times I have been out in my millinery raiment, and not once has it resulted in phallic sucklement resulting in ejaculatory esophagus emissions.

So, either Nanna is spouting shite, or she was the only person for a fetish for noshing off the helmets of behatted rakes. 

Anyhoo, tonight I did get head! And for only £2 too! Off my mate Kelly! A proper head with al hair and stuff to practice braiding upon. Or for me, to store me hats and masks on! Here's the saucy little minx:

She'll do for a little NoseyBonk!

Anyhoo, apart from getting a head, I also got pestered by others to To Go Ask People To Dance. Unfortunately, such persuasion was overheard by a one of the Dancing Pretties. So, during the Improvers' Class, the babe brought it up!

"Don't you dance in the practice bit then"

"Um... like... no! I get a bit nervous having to dance in front of everyone, especially when it's all crowded with professional dancers"

"I kept wondering if I should ask you or not. I'll come and grab you next week."

"Um.. yeah.. that'd be cool!"

So... y'all know me. Next week, I may have to cancel class due to having a bone in me leg, otherwise I'll have to interface with a Pretty! Not only that - dance too! And it's partner dancing! Lindyhop!

Solo, I'm a fucking Dance God! I'm not great at synchronising with Other Peoples. Let alone Pretties. And now I've no choice but to accept and take her up on her dancing request! Fate, up against Xym's Will! Through that there thick and thin, Xym will wait until she gives herself to him he can make his excuses and cancel it, though he knows he must be killing time...

"♪ And that there focus of fear

is in the creases of a dress

a female dress

How did Xym come to drowning in this mess

Ah, fucking mess! ♫"

They go with bean, bangers, bacon, burgers, fish fingers - FISH FINGERS! Eggs in, Eggs on, GAMMON, steak chops...

Phew! That gawd that's over!

It's been well over a month since Near Death, so I started picking up extra shifts at work. It IS holiday season, after all.

And I needs to pay for my Hallowe'en Nephilim ticket next week!

This is the first time since The Incident I've done a full, 13hr day. Not just one 13hr day... 4 in a row (except for today, which is one game shorter).

I'm absolutely shattered, a teeny bit sick, but on the whole - coped with it well! Yay! On the mend!

Shame to come home and have a quick look at FarceBook, and see I have some very horrible friends, which depresses me.

Never understood how some people can be so virulently nasty about people being virulently nasty. It's like - some people think other are scum and need hounding out... so I need to be scummier and hound out the hounders.

Honestly - that just makes you as bad as them!

I had this a few years ago with some Nazi wannabes complaining about people who were Nazi wannabes. 

And the other day, someone else was organising a trip to London. Apparently to protest about a foreigner coming over here to let them know we don't want their kind in our country, because he doesn't like foreigners going over their and doesn't want their kind in his country.

And now, I'm seeing really hateful posts about Gammon. 

Now, I thought Gammon was Professor Slocome's butler. Or possibly a pig-meat song that Weebl hasn't covered so far. 

Apparently not!

Gammon is apparently a new race of people who should be ridiculed & hounded out of any area they are found in. And then have further abuse hurled at them on Facebook.

Now, I love my friends dearly, but oooooh, they try my patience when they start being as 'orrible as the 'orrible people they're being 'orrible about!

But then, I'm just as bad. People who put Pineapple on Gammon (or Pizza) deserve to be kicked out of our country and sent somewhere where other sick psychos reside, feasting on their blasphemous bounty like the sub-human detrius they are!

Same goes for people who apply to be on Jeremiah Kyle as well! Or Love Island. Or Pig Botherer. 

Which brings up back to gammon! C'mon Weebl - where's the gammon love? Ham, Bacon, Pork... what about the Godly Gammon?