Yeah, it's been an eventful few days. Eventful in the loosest sense of the word of course. This is my life we're talking about after all!
So yeah, the ORGY! That's got you a bit excited hasn't it? Just the words have got me a bit excited too but hell, if you're asking whether Sket finally got laid you'll only have to stop and think about the question before nodding your head in quiet contemplation as you reach the inevitable conclusion that it is the most ridiculous question you've ever asked yourself. It was a dream. Not only was it a dream, it revealed that even in my dreams I'm a sexual loser. Yup, the kind of loser who can't even get shagged AT AN ORGY in a DREAM!
It began with me walking down the street with a bunch of guys my dream self seemed to know really well. Someone said something about going somewhere to see a sperm sculpture (?) so of course, we all wanted to go see that! We ended up in some sort of old 70's taxi office where coachloads of fat, over-made up, bleach haired middle-aged women were being shipped in for an orgy. It turned out that the sperm sculpture was a phenomena which created itself during the orgy (eh?). Anyhoo, turns out all the guys I was with (apart from one I actually dream liked) were getting involved. I remember thinking that I'd have my pick of the fellas as I was the youngest female there by about 50 years.
....(sigh) not a sniff of a nob. Nope. All the guys buggered off with the old women. How dream hurtful!
...but hang on - what's THIS? From behind, I felt some gentle hands on my hips. With a big smile I turned around to be faced with
AN
OLD
HOOK-NOSED
Z-LIST ACTOR
....FROM THE 70s!
He was so Z list in fact, I don't even know his name! Been trawling the internet trying to find all the minor actors who ever appeared in Carry On films but no, I can't find out who my dream lover actually was or why the fuck he turned up in my dream! I call him my 'dream lover' but the reality is, in the dream, I was so horrified that he was the only taker of my prime piece of vadge I wanted to go somewhere private so I spent a good part of the dream trawling the place for an empty room. It wasn't happening; the Orgy was too big and there were too many people for the dream space. Becoming dream frustrated I stormed from one of the rooms and turned to my hook nose 'would-be' lover to say that we should just do it any way. Unfortunately, when I DID turn around I was faced with an ancient, leathery old woman who looked to be about 90 years old. Incredulous, I asked her what the fuck she was doing there and why the hell she was following me! She just told me she was all confused and had got lost on her way to the Women's Institute.
....for fucksake! Foiled at having dream sex AND I never got to see the sperm sculpture!
After that disappointment, you wanna hear about the bomb? That's ANOTHER disappointing story to be fair. About 6 weeks ago the Tidiness Nazi made some vegetable soup and I took some to work in a really cool flask I bought JUST because it was metal, orange and retro. I mean, who uses a flask nowadays; builders? I dunno, but I was excited that after about 4 years I was finally able to use the thing. The only flaw to the plan was that when lunch time came I was so disgusted at the thought I'd only got some stupid shitty soup to eat I left it in the refrigerator.
For 2 weeks.
I only remembered it when I spotted the flask as I tried to sneak myself a cup of tea without making anyone else one. I transferred it to my car but immediately forgot it again. Hell, soup is SOOOOOOO forgettable. My sieve-like memory was again stirred when I got into my car on a hot day and ended up gagging on a horrible 'meaty' stench. I dunno how it became meaty as it was vegetable soup but I quickly grew frightened of the orange metal 'bomb'somewhere in my car. If stench was escaping then gas was building up. It was about this time I knew I had to deal with said bomb so with a saucepan on my head (but no facial, body or hand protection) I hunted it down and decided to open it in the garden. I actually wept. Standing in the garden wearing Garfield pajamas with a saucepan on my head and weeping real tears of fear I put a tea towel over the flask and started to unscrew the lid. What I forgot to tell you is that a metal base had already exploded off it and was now detached and twisted. There was also black goo on stuff where I'd left it. The sound of my anguish bought the Tidiness Nazi out of the house. She felt it important to support me via the medium of laughter.
.....any way, seems the gas had already escaped when it blew the base off and released black sludge so it was a real anti climax. It just opened. Sorry.
AND FINALLY - some advice: If you ever dye your hair a dark colour without paying attention to the drips, DON'T then ignore all mirrors whilst spending the day at work where everyone will be too polite to tell you that there are black marks all around your brow. Upon discovery of this social faux pas, in your car, don't then try to remove said marks with a chemical soaked windscreen wipe. You will just end up with a stained face and chemical burns....
Sketty (30 September - ?)isn’t a 17th Century English naval administrator or Member of Parliament. Furthermore, she has never met King Charles II or King James II. This may be due to both being dead at the time of her life. In fact, this isn’t so much a diary but the unedited spewings from the brain of one of the Century’s leading cretins. Some of it may develop into comedy unless I get to spend time in a lovely facility where someone will give me dinner.
Tuesday, 28 May 2013
Sunday, 12 May 2013
Hermitude and a face transplant
I think it's fair to say that I'm feeling somewhat grumpy at the moment. Plagued with the ague (ok, a Cold), a cross painted on the door and awaiting a kiss from the Angel of Death, I find myself in 3 day old pajamas stinking the joint up. I've comfort eaten so much confectionery I'm surprised I haven't got diabetes. Healthy stuff which might actually make me feel better holds no hope of consumption and slowly rots in the kitchen. FUCK YOU BUTTERNUT SQUASH; I'd rather get Scurvy! I've lain in my own crumb laden filth for days now, a smear of melted chocolate on the bed sheet looking suspiciously like I've shat myself in the night looks at me accusingly. Hell, the outline of my body can clearly be seen on the under-sheet in what can only be described as 'Turin Shrouding' of the bedclothes. In short, I am disgusting and, by over-sharing this information, have no hope of being seen as beautiful and mysterious to any potential beau. I will die alone, rotted into the bed, covered in flies with my face partially eaten away by Derek the bald freak dog and Dr X the cat.
....Feeling sorry for myself and further afflicted with 'over-dramatising-itis'.
So, other than my life-threatening Cold and lack of goodness, what else ails me? Well, my car is fucked to the tune of about 500 quid and the house has an underground burst water pipe which is going to cost a fortune to repair once they've pulled up the paved driveway and dug holes all over the place (waves fist at the Heavens). I've decided that Hermitude is definitely the way to go. I can't take much more of this being a 'real' person, I need to live in a cave in the woods. I would say a hut in the woods but the sodding Council would STILL make me pay Council Tax for my shitty branch/mud/turd hut which means I'd still need to do something to earn money thus negating the whole 'being a hermit' plan. I could advertise myself as a Wise Woman and allow people to come and ask my advice/take away potions of healing but then the sodding Inland Revenue bastards would want a chunk and I'd have to complete paperwork and submit income and expenditure forms. Oh, and as we are now in litigious times, some arsehole would no doubt sue me for not curing their dog/causing a tiny rash on their elbow or something which means blokes would come and stamp on my turd hut when they realise I have no possessions to repossess.
...ok, yeah so they used to burn people in the past so being sued shouldn't be something I should complain about. I'm still going to; I'm on a roll.
So there is the cave option. Again, there are financial implications there - fuck this being at one with nature, I would need to get someone in to kill EVERY sodding insect in the vicinity. Not bees though. I listened to something on the radio about some bloke who washed the feet of some bees to fuck with the other bees who clearly knew which flowers had already been visited by smelling the stinky bee footprints of their colleagues. That amused me and bees are important. I think I could tolerate some ants and Ladybirds too.
So yeah. Apart from that I am back at the gym with my original Gym Buddy. We enjoyed it and felt very proud of ourselves for the first two weeks but I know that personally I weep internal tears of anguish when I enter the building now. The gym instructor woman was being helpful last Wednesday and advised us to do sit ups on the mat in the middle of the gym. Fuck that! Gym Buddy said she couldn't because her enormous tits would get in the way and I helpfully added that extreme flatulence would be an issue during any public sitting up activities Gym Buddy and I had already discussed our need to clench throughout our work out.
It wasn't ladylike to share that either was it?
Of course, being at a gym with time to think whilst peddling away my mind went it's usual way and I started to worry about lying on my back in the middle of the gym with my legs bent doing sit ups. What if I DID accidentally fart the most enormous fart I've ever farted in front of everyone? My unhelpful inner voice wasn't content with making me come over a bit dizzy at that thought. It went on to imagine a sudden splat of diarrhoea appearing at my crotch. Fuck me, that would be expensive. I'd have to give up going to the gym, change my name, leave the country and set up somewhere else. You can bet your bottom dollar there is no Extreme Humiliation Relocation Scheme which could be accessed either; those witnesses of serious violent crime get all the breaks.
If I couldn't afford any of that I'd have to go with the whole name change via the internet and a cheap foreign face transplant. I dunno, do places like Bulgaria or Romania do stuff like that for about 30 quid? I imagine the whole thing stapled on over my existing face and the edges hanging down between the rough stapling direct into my skull. I'd return to the gym, holding up part of my face (which wouldn't be a good skin match. Heck, it'd probably be a hairy Bulgarian man's face) whilst dramatically asking people who this Sketty is that they talk about and denying, despite still using my old gym membership card, that it was I who shat myself in front of everyone at the gym.
....I need to rest. I'm talking shit again
....Feeling sorry for myself and further afflicted with 'over-dramatising-itis'.
So, other than my life-threatening Cold and lack of goodness, what else ails me? Well, my car is fucked to the tune of about 500 quid and the house has an underground burst water pipe which is going to cost a fortune to repair once they've pulled up the paved driveway and dug holes all over the place (waves fist at the Heavens). I've decided that Hermitude is definitely the way to go. I can't take much more of this being a 'real' person, I need to live in a cave in the woods. I would say a hut in the woods but the sodding Council would STILL make me pay Council Tax for my shitty branch/mud/turd hut which means I'd still need to do something to earn money thus negating the whole 'being a hermit' plan. I could advertise myself as a Wise Woman and allow people to come and ask my advice/take away potions of healing but then the sodding Inland Revenue bastards would want a chunk and I'd have to complete paperwork and submit income and expenditure forms. Oh, and as we are now in litigious times, some arsehole would no doubt sue me for not curing their dog/causing a tiny rash on their elbow or something which means blokes would come and stamp on my turd hut when they realise I have no possessions to repossess.
...ok, yeah so they used to burn people in the past so being sued shouldn't be something I should complain about. I'm still going to; I'm on a roll.
So there is the cave option. Again, there are financial implications there - fuck this being at one with nature, I would need to get someone in to kill EVERY sodding insect in the vicinity. Not bees though. I listened to something on the radio about some bloke who washed the feet of some bees to fuck with the other bees who clearly knew which flowers had already been visited by smelling the stinky bee footprints of their colleagues. That amused me and bees are important. I think I could tolerate some ants and Ladybirds too.
So yeah. Apart from that I am back at the gym with my original Gym Buddy. We enjoyed it and felt very proud of ourselves for the first two weeks but I know that personally I weep internal tears of anguish when I enter the building now. The gym instructor woman was being helpful last Wednesday and advised us to do sit ups on the mat in the middle of the gym. Fuck that! Gym Buddy said she couldn't because her enormous tits would get in the way and I helpfully added that extreme flatulence would be an issue during any public sitting up activities Gym Buddy and I had already discussed our need to clench throughout our work out.
It wasn't ladylike to share that either was it?
Of course, being at a gym with time to think whilst peddling away my mind went it's usual way and I started to worry about lying on my back in the middle of the gym with my legs bent doing sit ups. What if I DID accidentally fart the most enormous fart I've ever farted in front of everyone? My unhelpful inner voice wasn't content with making me come over a bit dizzy at that thought. It went on to imagine a sudden splat of diarrhoea appearing at my crotch. Fuck me, that would be expensive. I'd have to give up going to the gym, change my name, leave the country and set up somewhere else. You can bet your bottom dollar there is no Extreme Humiliation Relocation Scheme which could be accessed either; those witnesses of serious violent crime get all the breaks.
If I couldn't afford any of that I'd have to go with the whole name change via the internet and a cheap foreign face transplant. I dunno, do places like Bulgaria or Romania do stuff like that for about 30 quid? I imagine the whole thing stapled on over my existing face and the edges hanging down between the rough stapling direct into my skull. I'd return to the gym, holding up part of my face (which wouldn't be a good skin match. Heck, it'd probably be a hairy Bulgarian man's face) whilst dramatically asking people who this Sketty is that they talk about and denying, despite still using my old gym membership card, that it was I who shat myself in front of everyone at the gym.
....I need to rest. I'm talking shit again
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
The Turd Mystery
So, I get home this afternoon and the Tidiness Nazi informed me that there has been an issue.
Oh God.
It would seem that she smelled a horrible smell and followed the trail to MY room where she discovered a HUMAN SIZED TURD. Not only that but there was a river of piss too!
I'm sure that things like this don't happen to other people as often as they do me. Well, if they do, everyone else is keeping quiet about it.
Bastards.
So, who committed the shit crime, eh? Let's examine the evidence
Was it my small freak of a dog Derek Ghengis Rasputin Trotsky?
Oh God.
It would seem that she smelled a horrible smell and followed the trail to MY room where she discovered a HUMAN SIZED TURD. Not only that but there was a river of piss too!
I'm sure that things like this don't happen to other people as often as they do me. Well, if they do, everyone else is keeping quiet about it.
Bastards.
So, who committed the shit crime, eh? Let's examine the evidence
Was it my small freak of a dog Derek Ghengis Rasputin Trotsky?
Well, his house-training has been hit and miss and it HAS been raining today. The bald, freak HATES the rain but no, it couldn't be him. He is tiny and yes, as the picture suggests, he was mugged for cheese by a girl. I am lead to believe that the aforementioned turd was so big it would have ripped this suspect's anus apart.
So, could it be the hairy idiot dog Lottie (The Kraken) Hairy McFairy?
Yeah sure she's big enough to produce a giant turd but I have knowledge I wish I didn't of the turdly dimensions produced by this creature. I would stand up in a Court of Law and state, hand on heart, that she doesn't shit human sized shits. She is also fully house-trained and has been for a couple of years.
Hmmmmm.....then maybe it was Twigletti-Spaghetti Victor-Spinetti Serengeti (Dr X)
Well, for a start she's definitely a cat so would a cat's arse be able to evacuate something so big? She's getting on a bit, has mental health issues (day time agoraphobia - don't ask) and therefore a tendency to crap in the house. As I refuse to pander to her craziness she is not allowed a litter tray and is therefore encouraged to go out and shit. This usually results in a crap found in the shower. She has left shower gifts on and off for years now so why would she switch locations to my bedroom? Perhaps she hates me. Then again, cats have tiny arses don't they?
Perhaps it was Julie Gerbie?
...are you MAD? It's a fucking gerbil!
.....could it then have been....
That'd be ridiculous. ALIENS traveled thousands of light years to take a crap on my bedroom floor? Perhaps it's a message for humanity.
Perhaps it was just the Universe sending messengers to tell me I'm an arse hole and the turd was what the Universe as a collective thinks of me.
That leaves ONE person. ONE prime suspect. I'm typing this and can hardly believe it myself!
Of COURSE I didn't crap on my own bedroom floor!
BUT my unhelpful/destructive inner voice, our old friend 'MY INNER ARSE-HOLE' has found an opportunity to tell me I have early on-set dementia and that I have no memory of squatting down in my room and crapping because I've lost my mind. My Inner Arse-hole is loving it and loving placing that small seed of doubt in my mind. I mean I know I didn't do it. Of course I didn't do it but what if? What if there really IS something wrong with me and I'm losing my grip on reality? What's the alternative? The Tidiness Nazi found it so it wasn't her and it wasn't any of the pets nor passing aliens. Ghosts don't shit. I bloody HOPE they don't shit, that'd be rubbish in Heaven wouldn't it? Queuing up on a cloud in a line with Cliff Richard banging on about God and fucking tennis. I'd rather be dead....oh wait.
...so that's it. A total mystery. Either a pet has a tardis like bowel, Aliens disrespected me or I've gone mental. Sherlock Holmes once said something profound that I can't remember but it basically confirmed my Inner Arse-hole's assertion that it was I who committed the shit crime. Clearly. Oh God - I've gone mental, I'm incontinent and am experiencing blackouts.
In Samuel Pepys proper diary type news, Margaret Thatcher, Thatcher Milk Snatcher is dead. The toffs are pissed off so many people are happy and celebrating and all the other politicians are pissed off they have to pretend to be nice. What do I think? Clearly she was a remarkable woman with focus and drive. Shame she destroyed entire communities and spread so much misery really. It'll be interesting to see whether anything bad happens when they parade her through the streets.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Incontinence Memories
Actually, that title is a bit misleading 'cause I'm not unconsciously incontinent but I did once feign incontinence for the purposes of science a few years ago.
In short, tonight I had cause to remember one of my past 'life experiments' and for some reason I thought I'd share this memory with you guys tonight. I'd class this as the experiment which went the most horrendously wrong too. Not wrong in the Marie Curie 'oh shit, I've given myself cancer' type way, more of a Brundlefly - body of a man, head of a fly type of 'wrongness'. In other words, a sort of 'so THIS happened to you and you haven't even got anything good to give to the world from it'.
I don't have the head of a fly by the way. I think it's wise we get that clear from the start. I know that this is the internet and heck, a lot of us hide the way we really look and who we really are on this thing but believe me, I'm not a half fly person vomiting up acid onto my dinner so I can suck up the goo. I don't have an affinity for standing on shit either.
I'm babbling already - sorry. I've been advised to start reducing the length of my blog posts as they've been deemed too long by one comedy agent who believes people don't have the capacity to read too much brain spew in one go, so back to the reminiscing.
People who have followed my writings for years and read previous blogs which I've now lost on-line will remember this story, it's one of my more famous acts of cretiny and just remembering it tonight made me cringe a little bit. Heck, I DO have the gift of shame!
Y'know, (she said, deviating from the point slightly) both my cousin 'Bakes' and I have a weird thing where we have to do stuff we both know is stupid but we HAVE to know what it feels like or whether it truly IS as stupid as we suspect it is. It usually is stupid and it must be genetic 'cause we're the same. Sisters from different Mothers in fact. Recently we had a bonfire in her back garden. She'd been banned from going to the top end of her garden when her Mother wasn't home after having another fire and then falling down a hole and near busting her ankle. Anyhoo, with this ban in place we still had a fire when her Mother was away but had no 'pokey' sticks. She ran off and came back with some really short wooden fencing which not only set on fire pretty much straight away, but was so short the skin almost melted from my face when I leant in to poke said fire. She then came back with some copper piping. I did question the wisdom of using metal in fire as it kinda conducts heat but we both decided 'fuck it' as the pipe was the perfect fire poking length. So YES it got so hot it was difficult to hold whilst retaining fingerprints and YES I was foolish enough to put the pipe to my ear and exclaim that I could hear the fire and it was amazing but enough of that, it's time to reminisce.
.....imagine fog descending and 'going back in time' music playing over it.
So, I was manager of a charity/thrift shop type thing and on the day in question it was pissing rain, the town was empty and I'd got no volunteers who wanted to come out and play. I was alone with an over-active mind prone to bizarre thought patterns and had spent the afternoon opening bags of donation stock.
Unfortunately, on this day I'd been going through literally hundreds of bags of total junk - from stinky clothes best left in the 70's to broken and chipped china cups. As we'd had a lot of rain recently many of the bags were damp and so the whole lot reeked. Still, I was alone, singing along to the radio and hoping to find treasure. I opened yet another bag of old crap - it looked like all which was left from an elderly person's room from a Retirement Home or something. It contained worn hand knitted cardigans, an old and stained piss bottle and an open box of incontinence pads. Niiiiice. What every charity needs; a lovely bottle which once contained piss.
So, I continued my quest. Cameras from the 60's (broken), dolls with one eye, vile looking ornaments which no one should EVER have formed from clay and fired, shit from ancient holidays in Tenerife, boxes with shells fucking glued to the lid (with bits broken and missing) and I dunno, Readers Digest books which had been abridged until they were practically pamphlets. You get the picture....
It was at this point I realised I needed to pee and really should have gone half an hour ago. My bladder felt as though it would burst. It was at this point that I made my fatal and stupid (read - VERY stupid) decision. In my defence though, there was a bloody good song on the radio, my bladder was at bursting point and the bathroom was a corridor way.
...Oh, and the Gods had sent me a present
'Let's see how well these bad boys work' I thought to myself whilst grabbing the box of incontinence pads. As I say, this was purely for future reference. Laziness had NOTHING to do with it - I was a scientist at this point (cough).
I slipped one into my pants and tried to release my bladder. The muscles resisted in a kind of 'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN' MAN?' way but I was adamant that this was one experiment I needed to know the results of.
After what felt like an age I got my bladder to release and the piss came.
I cleaned myself up as best I could and went down to the shop where the Tidiness Nazi was helping out. She'd wrinkled up her nose and made some comment about being able to tell I'd been going through stinky bags of crap so I quietly disclosed what had happened. Well, foolish me for thinking I'd get an iota of sympathy - she burst out laughing and ran away whilst likening me to the crazy old homeless guy who sleeps on the beach. PAH, friends, who needs 'em.
In short, tonight I had cause to remember one of my past 'life experiments' and for some reason I thought I'd share this memory with you guys tonight. I'd class this as the experiment which went the most horrendously wrong too. Not wrong in the Marie Curie 'oh shit, I've given myself cancer' type way, more of a Brundlefly - body of a man, head of a fly type of 'wrongness'. In other words, a sort of 'so THIS happened to you and you haven't even got anything good to give to the world from it'.
I don't have the head of a fly by the way. I think it's wise we get that clear from the start. I know that this is the internet and heck, a lot of us hide the way we really look and who we really are on this thing but believe me, I'm not a half fly person vomiting up acid onto my dinner so I can suck up the goo. I don't have an affinity for standing on shit either.
I'm babbling already - sorry. I've been advised to start reducing the length of my blog posts as they've been deemed too long by one comedy agent who believes people don't have the capacity to read too much brain spew in one go, so back to the reminiscing.
People who have followed my writings for years and read previous blogs which I've now lost on-line will remember this story, it's one of my more famous acts of cretiny and just remembering it tonight made me cringe a little bit. Heck, I DO have the gift of shame!
Y'know, (she said, deviating from the point slightly) both my cousin 'Bakes' and I have a weird thing where we have to do stuff we both know is stupid but we HAVE to know what it feels like or whether it truly IS as stupid as we suspect it is. It usually is stupid and it must be genetic 'cause we're the same. Sisters from different Mothers in fact. Recently we had a bonfire in her back garden. She'd been banned from going to the top end of her garden when her Mother wasn't home after having another fire and then falling down a hole and near busting her ankle. Anyhoo, with this ban in place we still had a fire when her Mother was away but had no 'pokey' sticks. She ran off and came back with some really short wooden fencing which not only set on fire pretty much straight away, but was so short the skin almost melted from my face when I leant in to poke said fire. She then came back with some copper piping. I did question the wisdom of using metal in fire as it kinda conducts heat but we both decided 'fuck it' as the pipe was the perfect fire poking length. So YES it got so hot it was difficult to hold whilst retaining fingerprints and YES I was foolish enough to put the pipe to my ear and exclaim that I could hear the fire and it was amazing but enough of that, it's time to reminisce.
.....imagine fog descending and 'going back in time' music playing over it.
So, I was manager of a charity/thrift shop type thing and on the day in question it was pissing rain, the town was empty and I'd got no volunteers who wanted to come out and play. I was alone with an over-active mind prone to bizarre thought patterns and had spent the afternoon opening bags of donation stock.
Unfortunately, on this day I'd been going through literally hundreds of bags of total junk - from stinky clothes best left in the 70's to broken and chipped china cups. As we'd had a lot of rain recently many of the bags were damp and so the whole lot reeked. Still, I was alone, singing along to the radio and hoping to find treasure. I opened yet another bag of old crap - it looked like all which was left from an elderly person's room from a Retirement Home or something. It contained worn hand knitted cardigans, an old and stained piss bottle and an open box of incontinence pads. Niiiiice. What every charity needs; a lovely bottle which once contained piss.
So, I continued my quest. Cameras from the 60's (broken), dolls with one eye, vile looking ornaments which no one should EVER have formed from clay and fired, shit from ancient holidays in Tenerife, boxes with shells fucking glued to the lid (with bits broken and missing) and I dunno, Readers Digest books which had been abridged until they were practically pamphlets. You get the picture....
It was at this point I realised I needed to pee and really should have gone half an hour ago. My bladder felt as though it would burst. It was at this point that I made my fatal and stupid (read - VERY stupid) decision. In my defence though, there was a bloody good song on the radio, my bladder was at bursting point and the bathroom was a corridor way.
...Oh, and the Gods had sent me a present
'Let's see how well these bad boys work' I thought to myself whilst grabbing the box of incontinence pads. As I say, this was purely for future reference. Laziness had NOTHING to do with it - I was a scientist at this point (cough).
I slipped one into my pants and tried to release my bladder. The muscles resisted in a kind of 'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN' MAN?' way but I was adamant that this was one experiment I needed to know the results of.
After what felt like an age I got my bladder to release and the piss came.
...and came
...and came
...and continued to come
It was like the Red Sea (yellow in this case) closing back in after the parting! It was a urinary flood of BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS; A TSUNAMI OF PISS EVEN!
It was like the Red Sea (yellow in this case) closing back in after the parting! It was a urinary flood of BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS; A TSUNAMI OF PISS EVEN!
...oh and by God it was everywhere; down my clothes, soaking my legs and even in my hair for some reason and still I couldn't stop. The pad had long since washed away, useless against the tide. Eyes closed and with cold horror sweeping over me I realised that yup, I'd done it again! I managed to gather all of my muscular strength and rein in my bladder to dam up up the river. Who knew that an adult could hold so much piss? I certainly didn't! Hell, I know we are all made up of something like 70% water but this was ridiculous. I must have lost 62% right there and then. I should have looked like someone from a bad sci fi film who'd been keeping themselves unnaturally alive for centuries before the hero stops them and they just fall to the floor, go all mummified before turning to dust and blowing away. Where does that small bit of wind come from any way?
I cleaned myself up as best I could and went down to the shop where the Tidiness Nazi was helping out. She'd wrinkled up her nose and made some comment about being able to tell I'd been going through stinky bags of crap so I quietly disclosed what had happened. Well, foolish me for thinking I'd get an iota of sympathy - she burst out laughing and ran away whilst likening me to the crazy old homeless guy who sleeps on the beach. PAH, friends, who needs 'em.
WHAT I LEARNED FROM THIS EXPERIENCE
i) NEVER to confess something like this to another person.
ii) NEVER to think that bodily functions are good to experiment with.
I spoke to someone else about my experiment and he basically told me that incontinence pads are for drips - not for a full adult bladder, and any sane person would realise this.
sigh....
i) NEVER to confess something like this to another person.
ii) NEVER to think that bodily functions are good to experiment with.
I spoke to someone else about my experiment and he basically told me that incontinence pads are for drips - not for a full adult bladder, and any sane person would realise this.
sigh....
Oh, I'd like to add another learning point:
iii) It's probably best not to reminisce about this sort of thing and remind everyone that you pissed everywhere at work once.
...so much for keeping it short eh?
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
The misery of The Hobbit
Yeah, so I went to see The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. It's an event innit? Going to be one of those films that goes down in history as a famous epic. I think I enjoyed it but my initial one word review had been
'meh...'
...which is wrong. I wondered why a film which had immersed me so deeply would cause such a shrug shouldery reaction in response. Then I realised; I'd been too immersed and had gone mental (as usual). Yup, my unhelpful inner voice had ruined the whole fucking thing for me by making me over think.
On the whole, the film had too much happening, from being chased by various hoards of 'things' to being in the middle of angry fucking rocks beating ten kinds of shit out of each other. I just know that had I been part of the adventurous group I'd have made the whole thing a hundred times worse for everyone. That's what my brain does, puts me in the middle of stuff but not in a cool way, in an all too real way until the majesty of the thing is ruined.
Of course, after the film my freakish mind had left me feeling a bit traumatised 'cause there was SO much that would have made me mental had I been part of the company. Yeah, I'd be there fancying the arse off Thorin (Richard Armitage) and Kili (Aidan Turner) but I would have wanted them to have seen me as mysterious, windswept and interesting but then I can't do that stuff 'cause I tend to over-share pretty much EVERYTHING that ever happens to me as well as every sodding thought I have.
You can't be mysterious after you've just told a group of Dwarves that you had just had a shit which felt like it had come out sideways. I'd like to think I wouldn't say stuff like that but y'know, I probably would. I still tell people I found a dead squashed ant in my pubes once and that was over 10 years ago! I won't even start with the whole being accidentally startled by my own vagina that time.
Oh yeah. I just need to say that as a bona fide lady I don't shit or have pubes. I have no unpleasant bodily functions and forever smell like roses. I do genuinely go for the Kojak look nowadays so if my pubes had ant killing qualities then I am like a Goddess to them now. Or an ant Saint. That'd be shit wouldn't it; Saint Sket of the ants and the story tells how she rid the ants of the tangled murderous, slightly odoriferous jungle of doom and led them to peace and freedom. Why would I even type that into a blog? THIS is why I am destined to forever be alone. I bet that arse Samuel Pepys never wrote about dead ants in his nethers. No, he'd be too wrapped up documenting the history of his age and telling future generations about life in his day. Well, I put it to you Mr Samuel bloody Pepys if that's even your real name, the people of MY future want to know about shitting and being a moron in the 21st Century. Oh yes. HELL to the yes!
...back to the misery of Hobbit. No doubt I wouldn't have been able to find the shoes I wanted to wear and that would be another thing. See, ol' Bilbo didn't have much warning and if it had been me I'd have wanted to know what kind of weather we'd be expecting. I mean, who wants to lumber a big fuck-off coat around with them if it's going to be warm - we've all been there and it's a misery. Also, I wouldn't have expected to need running shoes to escape from all the hoards of ugly stuff trying to kill me! Who'd even think that? I'd have put hiking boots on and they rub like all fuckery don't they? There are no blister plasters in Middle Earth, mark my words! Oh god my hair too - it's naturally curly but not in a nice way, in a tangley bird nest way. It needs proper conditioning or else it just turns into a big horrible mess. THAT'S not sexy and no way to pull Kili is it? I got a Cockatiel's feet stuck in my hair once and a gerbil another time. I'm vegetarian too but I don't like onions. I'd have been a right misery just banging on and on about my arse hurting on my hairy pony, being hungry, not being able to see 'cause I didn't bring enough contact lenses with me, my hair being a mess, being paranoid that Thorin and Kili were actively trying to keep their distance from me, being borderline hysterical 'cause things were attacking us and once we'd escaped SOMETHING ELSE having a go at killing us. I'd have shin splints from all the running and heck, I'm not fit enough for all this shit. I'd have also been the one complaining that the giant Eagles should have taken us to our final destination not just dumping us on a rock where we could just SEE the fucking mountain. Lazy feathered bastards. Yeah, and in Lord of the Rings, if Gandalf had access to giant fuck off eagles, why didn't he get them to give Frodo and Sam a friggin lift straight to Mount Doom? Yeah, it would have shortened the trilogy quite significantly but that's not the point. I'd have been bloody livid.
So yeah, I think, between you and me, my Wizardly and Dwarven companions would have turned on me themselves after a day.
...and that's why I didn't enjoy The Hobbit as much as I should have
'meh...'
...which is wrong. I wondered why a film which had immersed me so deeply would cause such a shrug shouldery reaction in response. Then I realised; I'd been too immersed and had gone mental (as usual). Yup, my unhelpful inner voice had ruined the whole fucking thing for me by making me over think.
On the whole, the film had too much happening, from being chased by various hoards of 'things' to being in the middle of angry fucking rocks beating ten kinds of shit out of each other. I just know that had I been part of the adventurous group I'd have made the whole thing a hundred times worse for everyone. That's what my brain does, puts me in the middle of stuff but not in a cool way, in an all too real way until the majesty of the thing is ruined.
Of course, after the film my freakish mind had left me feeling a bit traumatised 'cause there was SO much that would have made me mental had I been part of the company. Yeah, I'd be there fancying the arse off Thorin (Richard Armitage) and Kili (Aidan Turner) but I would have wanted them to have seen me as mysterious, windswept and interesting but then I can't do that stuff 'cause I tend to over-share pretty much EVERYTHING that ever happens to me as well as every sodding thought I have.
You can't be mysterious after you've just told a group of Dwarves that you had just had a shit which felt like it had come out sideways. I'd like to think I wouldn't say stuff like that but y'know, I probably would. I still tell people I found a dead squashed ant in my pubes once and that was over 10 years ago! I won't even start with the whole being accidentally startled by my own vagina that time.
Oh yeah. I just need to say that as a bona fide lady I don't shit or have pubes. I have no unpleasant bodily functions and forever smell like roses. I do genuinely go for the Kojak look nowadays so if my pubes had ant killing qualities then I am like a Goddess to them now. Or an ant Saint. That'd be shit wouldn't it; Saint Sket of the ants and the story tells how she rid the ants of the tangled murderous, slightly odoriferous jungle of doom and led them to peace and freedom. Why would I even type that into a blog? THIS is why I am destined to forever be alone. I bet that arse Samuel Pepys never wrote about dead ants in his nethers. No, he'd be too wrapped up documenting the history of his age and telling future generations about life in his day. Well, I put it to you Mr Samuel bloody Pepys if that's even your real name, the people of MY future want to know about shitting and being a moron in the 21st Century. Oh yes. HELL to the yes!
...back to the misery of Hobbit. No doubt I wouldn't have been able to find the shoes I wanted to wear and that would be another thing. See, ol' Bilbo didn't have much warning and if it had been me I'd have wanted to know what kind of weather we'd be expecting. I mean, who wants to lumber a big fuck-off coat around with them if it's going to be warm - we've all been there and it's a misery. Also, I wouldn't have expected to need running shoes to escape from all the hoards of ugly stuff trying to kill me! Who'd even think that? I'd have put hiking boots on and they rub like all fuckery don't they? There are no blister plasters in Middle Earth, mark my words! Oh god my hair too - it's naturally curly but not in a nice way, in a tangley bird nest way. It needs proper conditioning or else it just turns into a big horrible mess. THAT'S not sexy and no way to pull Kili is it? I got a Cockatiel's feet stuck in my hair once and a gerbil another time. I'm vegetarian too but I don't like onions. I'd have been a right misery just banging on and on about my arse hurting on my hairy pony, being hungry, not being able to see 'cause I didn't bring enough contact lenses with me, my hair being a mess, being paranoid that Thorin and Kili were actively trying to keep their distance from me, being borderline hysterical 'cause things were attacking us and once we'd escaped SOMETHING ELSE having a go at killing us. I'd have shin splints from all the running and heck, I'm not fit enough for all this shit. I'd have also been the one complaining that the giant Eagles should have taken us to our final destination not just dumping us on a rock where we could just SEE the fucking mountain. Lazy feathered bastards. Yeah, and in Lord of the Rings, if Gandalf had access to giant fuck off eagles, why didn't he get them to give Frodo and Sam a friggin lift straight to Mount Doom? Yeah, it would have shortened the trilogy quite significantly but that's not the point. I'd have been bloody livid.
So yeah, I think, between you and me, my Wizardly and Dwarven companions would have turned on me themselves after a day.
...and that's why I didn't enjoy The Hobbit as much as I should have
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Anti-Christ Kettner
The conversation kinda went like this:
...Oh, I need to say there is a bit of over-sharing at the beginning and for that I apologise.
...back to the conversation. It kinda went like this:
ME: Oy, I'm late for my [insert female monthly biological process]. I'm never late so clearly I MUST BE PREGNANT!
Colleague: ...but you haven't had sex have you?
Me: Well, no but there can be no other explanation can there? Blimey, I'm actually going to be a Mother!
Colleague: ...so are you telling me it's the Second Coming and that you are in fact carrying the new Messiah or something?
Me: Faaaack, yeah I'll be FAMOUS.......hang on though, isn't the Second Coming supposed to be the anti-Christ?
Colleague: ....erm, I dunno.
Me: I'm almost certain that the Second Coming is supposed to be bad in some way. It's supposed to herald the end of the World or something........do you think I'd still qualify for Child Benefit?
Colleague: ?
Me: Well, if I gave birth to a kid who heralded the end of the world I'm guessing everyone would be massively pissed off and I might get denied my rightful entitlements!!!
Colleague: Erm, I don't think the Benefit Agency would be allowed to discriminate and, well, it would be up to them to prove that your kid was going to bring about the end of the World as we know it. I'd be inclined to not offer up that kind of information if I were you.
Me: YEAH! ....and if it turns out he's red or something I might be able to qualify for some kinds of disability benefit for him. How funny would it be to push yer red kid about in a pram and watch all the other mothers and old ladies recoil in horror. Oh God, I hope he has head horns too, that would be hysterical.
...Of course, at this point I got lost in thought at the prospect of my bald red child. I kinda hoped he would get the head horns. Oh God, what if he had HOOVES! Where would I even be able to get shoes for the poor little fucker, I'd have to get him shod but then Children's Services might have something to say about me getting someone to nail metal onto his feet. I'm a bit of an old hippy and I'd want to dress my child 'Anti Christ' up in tie dye and ecologically friendly clothing but I guess that'd be a bit of a piss take if he's going to end everything. There'd be no point in following any worthy causes. Then again, me being me I'd probably accidentally instil in him a cracking sense of procrastination and inherent laziness. I mean, who can be arsed to bring about the end of the world when there are pyjamas to be worn and beds to slob around in. Ending the world sounds a whole load of energy, planning and evil. I can do the evil (I had to sack my Lettings Agent recently and I could hear myself being a bastard to him - actually I'll tell you about that in a minute). So yeah, for all my personality faults I'd actually become the ultimate heroine who does genuinely save the entire planet! Let no one diss my extreme slobbery, lack of motivation and ability to convincingly look dead when I don't want to do something. All of this will be YOURS my son! I hope my inevitable worshippers embrace my bed based philosophy.
*****Ok, quickly - the idiot Lettings guy - let's call him Jonathan, has taken 2 months to tell me that people like the size of the upstairs of the house but think the downstairs is too small. He didn't seem to get it when I pointed out they are exactly the same fucking size. Anyhoo, I returned to the house which is on the other side of the country to me only to discover huge spots of black oil all over the newly cleaned carpet. I called him up
"Jonathan, I don't know who you've been showing around my house; the fucking Tin Man or some kind of leaking Android but there is black oil all over the carpet and I'm actually livid"
"Erm, it was probably a bird which had flown down the chimney"
"What, and then it flew vertically back up again? Stop shitting me Jonathan"
The upshot was he tried to blame some mystery person who might have had keys to the place. That person could only have been me as there were no other keys out there. Why do people try to treat me like I've had a brain injury? Sorry, did I pull up in a Sunshine Coach and start licking the windows? No, so take your fucking sign down and give me the keys back. The new Lettings company have found someone within a week. (shakes head in wonderment)
and that's it. Oh yeah, I wouldn't REALLY call my son 'Anti-Christ' He'd definitely get beaten up every day at school and that might fill him with a feeling of rage and vengeance which might undo my laziness training. I'd probably call him Trevor. I don't like the name but you would NEVER read about an evil entity called Trevor
...Oh, I need to say there is a bit of over-sharing at the beginning and for that I apologise.
...back to the conversation. It kinda went like this:
ME: Oy, I'm late for my [insert female monthly biological process]. I'm never late so clearly I MUST BE PREGNANT!
Colleague: ...but you haven't had sex have you?
Me: Well, no but there can be no other explanation can there? Blimey, I'm actually going to be a Mother!
Colleague: ...so are you telling me it's the Second Coming and that you are in fact carrying the new Messiah or something?
Me: Faaaack, yeah I'll be FAMOUS.......hang on though, isn't the Second Coming supposed to be the anti-Christ?
Colleague: ....erm, I dunno.
Me: I'm almost certain that the Second Coming is supposed to be bad in some way. It's supposed to herald the end of the World or something........do you think I'd still qualify for Child Benefit?
Colleague: ?
Me: Well, if I gave birth to a kid who heralded the end of the world I'm guessing everyone would be massively pissed off and I might get denied my rightful entitlements!!!
Colleague: Erm, I don't think the Benefit Agency would be allowed to discriminate and, well, it would be up to them to prove that your kid was going to bring about the end of the World as we know it. I'd be inclined to not offer up that kind of information if I were you.
Me: YEAH! ....and if it turns out he's red or something I might be able to qualify for some kinds of disability benefit for him. How funny would it be to push yer red kid about in a pram and watch all the other mothers and old ladies recoil in horror. Oh God, I hope he has head horns too, that would be hysterical.
...Of course, at this point I got lost in thought at the prospect of my bald red child. I kinda hoped he would get the head horns. Oh God, what if he had HOOVES! Where would I even be able to get shoes for the poor little fucker, I'd have to get him shod but then Children's Services might have something to say about me getting someone to nail metal onto his feet. I'm a bit of an old hippy and I'd want to dress my child 'Anti Christ' up in tie dye and ecologically friendly clothing but I guess that'd be a bit of a piss take if he's going to end everything. There'd be no point in following any worthy causes. Then again, me being me I'd probably accidentally instil in him a cracking sense of procrastination and inherent laziness. I mean, who can be arsed to bring about the end of the world when there are pyjamas to be worn and beds to slob around in. Ending the world sounds a whole load of energy, planning and evil. I can do the evil (I had to sack my Lettings Agent recently and I could hear myself being a bastard to him - actually I'll tell you about that in a minute). So yeah, for all my personality faults I'd actually become the ultimate heroine who does genuinely save the entire planet! Let no one diss my extreme slobbery, lack of motivation and ability to convincingly look dead when I don't want to do something. All of this will be YOURS my son! I hope my inevitable worshippers embrace my bed based philosophy.
*****Ok, quickly - the idiot Lettings guy - let's call him Jonathan, has taken 2 months to tell me that people like the size of the upstairs of the house but think the downstairs is too small. He didn't seem to get it when I pointed out they are exactly the same fucking size. Anyhoo, I returned to the house which is on the other side of the country to me only to discover huge spots of black oil all over the newly cleaned carpet. I called him up
"Jonathan, I don't know who you've been showing around my house; the fucking Tin Man or some kind of leaking Android but there is black oil all over the carpet and I'm actually livid"
"Erm, it was probably a bird which had flown down the chimney"
"What, and then it flew vertically back up again? Stop shitting me Jonathan"
The upshot was he tried to blame some mystery person who might have had keys to the place. That person could only have been me as there were no other keys out there. Why do people try to treat me like I've had a brain injury? Sorry, did I pull up in a Sunshine Coach and start licking the windows? No, so take your fucking sign down and give me the keys back. The new Lettings company have found someone within a week. (shakes head in wonderment)
and that's it. Oh yeah, I wouldn't REALLY call my son 'Anti-Christ' He'd definitely get beaten up every day at school and that might fill him with a feeling of rage and vengeance which might undo my laziness training. I'd probably call him Trevor. I don't like the name but you would NEVER read about an evil entity called Trevor
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
Star Trek and other inappropriate musings
So, I share a house with a sci fi 'anorak' which translates as sci fi dork. She particularly loves Star Trek Next Generation and it has become apparent that I have absorbed some of her 'anorak-icity' through some sort of osmosis. I'm guessing I've accidentally seen too much and have already started to worry and concern myself with stupid crap. My concerns/thoughts include:
- Worf the Klingon - I was looking at Worf's head arrangement and in particular the great fucking crack thing down the centre of it. C'mon, that HAS to attract dirt and debris How does it get clean? It's a pretty tight face crack and well, I guess it can't be easily cleaned which would suggest it spawns bacteria and therefore stinks. The thought of it and the face-cheese which must grow in it actually makes me feel a bit sick. He's a big bloke and I've already inappropriately thought about the enormous Klingon dick he probably has but hell, who wants that when his face stinks like sour milk? Klingon's? They can fuck right off!
- Deanna Troi - a right bleedin' liability! If anyone is going to become possessed, and she is pretty much possessed every week, and try to kill the rest of the crew it's going to be her. I'd tell her to fuck right off if she tried to counsel me. Her boobs are too hard and sticky out any way.
- Being a general pleb on board - Every. Single. Epsiode the ship ends up going to red alert with all the alarms going off. I recently got lost in thought wondering how I would feel as just a general worker pleb type crew member wandering around doing shit low level work on board. Every other fucking day the alarm goes off - you'd be a nervous wreck wouldn't you? I'd be weeping like a shitty baby, my hand would be a claw, I'd be bald and I'd be too terrified of the Ship's possessed counsellor to get any therapy. I suspect I wouldn't be cut out for Star Fleet. I could hear my pitiful voice whining "....fucking hell, the alarms are going off again" and then picturing myself running up and down the corridor screaming that we were all about to die. Of course, I'd have been wrong - the new bloke on the Bridge would die and everyone else would be safe. Fuck, that's one promotion you wouldn't want isn't it?
In other inappropriate musings, I was advised, at 8:34am that I had dried dinner on my clothes. There's nothing like caring about your appearance eh? Later on, as I was fuelling my car, I noticed the CCTV and started to worry about how I would look on the news if this was the last sighting of me. The sci fi anorak would have to give a description of me to police which would include food stained clothes and an over-sized Parker coat which makes me look like I'm off on a polar expedition. When they find my body they'll also discover I am wearing Cookie Monster drawers. I would go down in history not as a sexy young thing but as a fucking Crazy Cat Lady in the making. I then worried about what the Coroner would list as my stomach contents and wondered whether it would be read out in the Court - I'd chewed up a false nail and eaten the dried glue, I'd also eaten part of a plastic robot, crisps, goats cheese, cake, sweets, diet coke (how dare I?) and some porridge. Fuck me, if it's found that I hadn't been murdered it would most likely be registered that I'd died of fucking Scurvy or Ricketts. A shameful and pitiful diet. When I got home I ate some lettuce just so they'd find SOMETHING green inside me. Of course, I hope I don't end up murdered or dead in a weird and bizarre manner but you have to be prepared. I'll tell you about my hiding places should an armed madman burst into the house next time.....
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