The Battle Of The Conservatory...

There is a mutant fly holed up in the conservatory. It looks like the offspring of a bluebottle and a spider, and is approximately the size of a kitten. I haven't been able to go into the bloody conservatory all day, and wouldn't you just know it, my cigarettes are in there.

I tried to reclaim my fags earlier. The mutant immediately went on the offensive and tried to scalp me. I'm afraid for my life. If I attempt to open the door then the monster makes an immediate beeline for the living room at mach three. So far I've been able to keep the thing from the rest of the house, but I can only go so long without fags.

I am currently wondering how to open up hostage negotiations with a mutant bluebottle. Make no mistake, the fly is holding my cigarettes captive. I can see it through the glass, surveying it's territory from the safety of the coffee table, occasionally scouting the area for any small mammals to digest. I'm half expecting it to spark up one of my fags and lounge on the chair, puffing away with a supreior grin on it's bloodthirsty features to goad me into entering enemy territory.

It must have gotten in through the window, which is only open a crack, and the mutant is the size of my arm from elbow to wrist so the bugger would have had a tight squeeze to get in. Makes me think it had the whole debacle planned. It has an objective, I'm sure, and is just waiting for me to open the door and drop my guard. I've been forced onto the defensive, but my cigarettes are suffering as prisoners of war and I can't leave them behind, there's about fifteen cancer sticks awaiting rescue and my artillery consists of a can of bug spray and a rolled up newspaper. The bug spray will probably do me more harm than the mutant, it looks like it has been genetically engineered to resist all chemical attacks. As for the newspaper, nothing short of a lead pipe would bruise that demon in there, a rolled up newspaper will probably just piss it off and then the cigarettes will be executed before my very eyes before I am eaten for dinner.

I could go to the shop and buy more fags. Only I'm poor, and there's the principle involved. That there is MY conservatory, and those are MY fags, I will not be evicted from my conservatory by a mutant bug, no matter how big and mean looking.

This calls for drastic measures. There's no time to call for backup, so I'm going in solo. But if all hell breaks loose, the mutant had better watch out, I'm bringing in Shino...

Yeah, all the Naruto fans know what I'm talkin' 'bout! Shino would kick mutant bluebottle's freaky ass!

However, Plan A involves shinguards and elbow pads, a parker stuffed with newspaper for extra padding, a cycling helmet, swimming goggles, a pair of marigolds, a frying pan and a hockey stick. Operation "nicotine rescue" commences at seventeen hundred hours. Wish me luck, and if I don't make it, tell my mother that I love her, and to avenge me with bug spray and a fly swatter.

Cleaning Toilets...

I need to find a job. I'm am rapidly running out of funds, pretty soon there'll be nothing keeping me in fags and chocolate and I'll be royally screwed. The only problem is that I'm a lazy bastard and I don't want to have to work. At least I'm honest.

I've been perusing the job centre's website for any interesting job vacancies (perusing, funny word that) and I'd rather poke my eyes out with a fork than be a cleaner. A cleaner, I ask you! I went to uni (for a while) I joined the Army (also for a while) so if the great bastard who calls himself God reckons I'll bend over like a good little bitch and start cleaning shitty toilets then he's in for a big fucking shock.

Unfortunately there doesn't seem to be much more available, I've done the whole barmaid bid and am bored with it, I've been a waitress and I have no desire to work in telesales since I'll end up scalping someone over the phone. I do not do well with pissy customers, if someone's mean to me then I'll be meaner in return. So selling insurance over the phone will not go down well if anyone tries giving me abuse. I'll get the sack after five minutes, I'm not a people person.

I also do not wish to work in a factory since I associate factories with my parents and I'll be damned if I'll allow myself to turn into my mother! But I need some sort of income until I am permitted to go back to shooting people. I am poor. Help me.

Does anyone know of any jobs where all I have to do is sit there and look pretty??? I could do that no bother! Mebbe I could be a nude model in an art class, how much would that pay? I could sell my drawings like the dossers in Paris who mooch around under the Eiffel Tower with their grotty pictures out on display, only where would I hang around in this shitty little town to sell pictures???? Mebbe I'll write a book, but that takes time and I'm poor now goddamnit!

There's always prostitution, but I'm too expensive for any of the mingers around here.

Suppose I'll have to clean toilets after all. Erm... no, I think not. Perhaps I could run away and join the circus, I can use poi, I can be a clown or a ballerina who jigs about on the back of a pony. Does anyone know where I can find a circus???

I should just give in and get an application form for MacDonald's shouldn't I. God life is depressing. I could always rob the nearest bank. My next post will probably be from prison, but they give you food in jail and I won't need to worry about employment. Hmmm... that sounds like a plan.

I wonder how may bitches I could accumulate. Cause heaven knows if anyone tried to make me their bitch They'd be the ones cleaning toilets, with their fucking faces until someone figured out how to pry their heads out of the toilet bowls. And really, freedom isn't all that fantastic, not if your as poor as a church mouse and your ovaries hold you in contempt.

Prison it is then, might as well make a meal of it and commit murder. Lemme see, who do I hate enough to kill??? Aha, Ewan McGregor's wife! I dislike the french anyway.

Don't tell her I'm on my way, I think the element of surpirse would be useful.

Toodles. X

The War Of The Bodily Functions...

I have returned from my incarceration within the disinfected Hell more commonly known as hospital. I spent the weekend in sweet sweet agony, I thought I had appendicitis, turned out to be an infection of one of my ovaries (what the hell are my ovaries playing at?) My family staged a military coup and smuggled me to Southport Hospital in the back of my uncle's car. I was in too much pain to put up much of a fight seeing as the entire tribe crawled out of the woodwork to make sure I was strapped to a hospital bed before dawn.

And when I say I was in pain, let me emphasise: PAAAAIIIIIIN! I actually cried, and I never cry. It wasn't attractive. Real crying is like real sex, if you do it right, it isn't pretty. And believe me, I was doing it right. How pathetic.

I can't stand hospitals, but in their defence, they did give me morphine. Grand stuff is morphine, every household should stock up, I spent the first night in a hazy bliss of giggles and lightheadedness. Of course, I woke up completely sober in ward 14 b, opposite some old bid who kept flashing her aged fanny at me at random intervals, next to a woman pissing into a bag and a girl with some sort of device sewn to her abdomen who kept moaning in pain behind her curtain.

I am traumatised. Needless to say, when I woke up (sober and in pain) I tried to make a break for it through the window. The nurses are like ninjas, they must have some sort of military training, they were three steps ahead of me the entire time. They're like ninja assassins in blue outfits, they gain your confidence with smiles and promises of drugs and the next thing you know you've been tucked into bed so tightly you can't escape, and they're stealing your blood! VAMPIRE NINJA ASSASSINS! I've discovered their secret, spread the word, gather your wooden stakes and meet me in the car park of Southport hospital so we can rid the world of this evil.

Anyway, I blame my ovaries. They're rebelling against lack of sex, punishing me with pain until I get a cock between my legs. I think they may be in league with my tibial plateau, my body is determined to do me in. Bastard.

But I am home now, with a plentiful amount of painkillers and antibiotics to tide me over. I may be slightly high, but there are worse conditions to find yourself in. I could still be imprisoned, being jabbed with sharp things and fondled by hands in plastic gloves. Hospitals are scary, they're like bookclubs, you're not out until the computer says you are.

On another note, just to let everyone know, antibiotics make you constipated. I would give my right eye to be able to have a shit! I never knew how much I liked using the toilet until my bowels went AWOL, but now I'm mourning my arsehole, I think it died from boredom with nothing to do... Yes, I am such a lady, talking about my shitting deficiency.

I know what's happening ya know: my uterus and my knees have formed an allience and are waging war upon me. My bowels are caught in the middle and so have decided to become Switzerland and not get involved. The battle reached my stomach the other day cause I spent a few hours on my knees, worshipping at the shrine of the porcelain god and puking my guts up, but I think my stomach won that battle and drove the enemy back cause I haven't vomited since I let hospital. It's only a matter of time though, eventually the war will reach my head and then they'll be sorry, my mind is not for the faint of heart, one peek at my more intimate thoughts and the enemy will be running and screaming like a little girl! Moo ha ha ha! So I'm not worried.

I just re-read that last paragraph and decided that yes... I am most definitely high.

Anyhoo, I've spent the day reading Naruto (the manga) so have this:

How dare a drawing be so fucking pretty!!!!!! I wish Kakashi was real, I would hunt him down and make him mine and have hundreds of puppies! (and there wouldn't be a dolphin in sight!)

Boys boys boys!

There hasn't been enough boy love recently. On with the yaoi...

All hail Gojyo/Hakkai! The 58 love is alive! Although not as alive as the 93 porn...

Okay, not porn. Do you know how hard it is to find Sanzo/Goku porn???? Damn near impossible. I could steal some, but I fear the internet police. P.L. Nunn has some amazing pics of everything from Anita Blake to Final Fantasy, but last I checked there was no 93, the only pic with Goku in it wasn't even really of Goku, it was Seiten, and as much as I love likkle Goku without the diadem, Seiten would rip Sanzo to shreds and that's just not on!

But I digress, I come bearing porn, so porn I will bear. And when in need of some boy love the rabid fangirl need only look as far as Silver Chaos for her fix. Silver chaos rocks!!!




Adonis looks rather frightened. And why is Rasgiel always nekkid? Not that I'm complaining like, he's a god, he can do what the fuck he likes. More...






Tee hee! Is Might not a little slut? He gets around, no one is safe.

See. No one!

Adonis and Might look scared in this one. Moo ha ha ha! I love Rasgiel, the little perv.

That's enough Silver Chaos. Don't wanna exhaust my reserves. But everyone should own this video game, it's porn for the playstation gen, fantastic!!!!

Next I give you Drarry, enjoy...

How cute! Can't stand this pairing, but the pic is adorable!

Anyway, that's my Yaoi fix for the day. I disgust even myself. I immersed myself in Silver Chaos and this is what happens, I start foaming at the mouth. Should be banned that game!

The Mabudatchi Trio...

Okay so I did this quiz to see who my FB love would be. Naturally I got Shigure since I adore the little perv! But what I really want is the entire Mabudachi Trio, can't have one without the others, and imagine all the fun that could be had!!!!!! I'm still obsessed about seeing Ayame in a schoolgirls uniform, bent over a desk and Shigure wielding a ruler! *snicker* I can even see Hatori in the background shaking his head and telling them to be quiet! Oh how I wish my perverted fantasies were canon.

A Coffee Church and A Prezzie For My Sister...

I want a motorbike. No bones about it, I want one. A big thunking black one. A shiny big thunking black one so that I can use it to squish hedgehogs and small children. Motorbikes are sexy, I am sexy, therefore I should have a motorbike.

Of course, learning to drive would be a good idea. But I can't be arsed. I have a father, he has a car, thus I have my own chauffeur and limosene service. Course the limosene is a Ford Escort and the chauffeur won't wear a black hat when chugging me around town, but the service is there.

But really, I'm 22, all my mates can drive. course none of my mates have a motorbike, I'd be the coolest cat in the casba.

On to other topics. The coffee machine was reincarnated. Like Jesus. There was no great round rock or angels or the like, but I think it's begun to accumulate apostles. The teacups look slightly more humble, and the father was gazing at it with unhealthy adoration. I hoped that perhaps it could turn water into wine, but alas, when I put water in it all that came out was coffee. Just watch, some day soon there will be a Church of Coffee Worshipers, of which the coffee maker is the first pope, and religious nuts will make pilgrimages to my kitchen. Instead of bread and wine there will be coffee and Rich Tea biscuits. The teabags look homicidal.

Of course it came back to life when my hankering for coffee had subsided. I am firmly back on the good ship HMS Teabag. We are sailing the seven milky seas, searching for buried sugar. I am the Captain, I wear a PG Tips pyramid teabag as a hat and rule my crew with an iron mug. So far my crew consists of one, but I'm holding interviews next thursday at the community centre, if interested bring a CV and a teapot.

I also have a gift for my little sister, EMMA ARE YOU WATCHING!!!!!

I dedicate this picture to my little sister. Emma dear, you know you like it, I can't be the only pervert in the family.

Oohhoo hoo, I love yaoi. lovelovelovelove.

This pic is one of my favs, it does strange things to my delicates. Yes, I am mentally ill, but I love it. If guys can get off on lesbians, I can get off on randy boys fucking other randy boys. It's only natural. And it feeds my love of threesomes in which I am the only one there with a uterus.

And Emma, I can see you shaking your head and looking horrified, stop it, you have always known I am a filthy bint, you store all of the knowledge of my debauched life. When I die of some hideous disease I am trusting you to write my life story. You can't write, but the story should make up for that which you lack. It will be X-rated, but you'll make a mint. With the cash I want you to erect a fifteen foot statue of me in the back garden to honour my memory.

And don't forget that you have to keep my eyeballs in a box on the mantel piece.

Anyway, the pornish pixie is off to drink more tea and watch some hentai. Just kidding about the hentai part... okay no I'm not, but don't tell my mother.

The Teabag Conspiracy...

The coffee machine died.

I booted it to the bin in a fit of caffeine deprived rage, but the father rescued it.

I plan to give the poor unfortuante appliance a decent send off. There will be flowers and dark clothes and tissues and sherry for the guests, which of course will consist of me, my favourite mug and next doors cat since I am obviously burying the machine in the garden where the mooching moggie has taken up residence.

After much agonising I have decided that there will be no tea at the wake. Of course, under normal circumstances there would obviously be tea, the source of all comfort and the staple diet of widows and mourners. However, I deemed it in bad taste to have tea at the funeral of a coffee machine (tea being the mortal enemy of coffee after all, I have to keep the teabags and the instant coffee in seperate cupboards to prevent an interkitchenal incident.)

I would cremate the poor, unfortuante provider of coffee goodness, but I don't know what it would do to the oven and I value the microwave too much to even try it.

And thus... I am left only with the trusty kettle and a cupboard full of teabags, but I will struggle on. I have instant, and I swear I can hear the teabags snickering. If I was a more suspicious person I'd suspect a consipracy, but that would be silly, as teabags lack the intellectual capacity to plot and scheme, which is essential to any good conspiracy.

This, my dear friends, is what happens when you deprive me of sleep and much needed caffeine. I go potty. The above paragraph should be a testament to that. I would go to bed, only I have moved beyond the realm of weariness and have arrived in a giddly little world know only as Land Of The Twitching And Dancing Purple Spots. I am watching a repeat of Who Wants To Be A Millionare and I have decided that either Chris Tarrant is high, or I am. Although what I could possibly be high on I have no inkling... mashed potato maybe? I have eaten a most dishonourable amount of mashed potato today. Can you everdose on the fluffy substance? Has it ever been done? Can I give it a shot?

Again with the ramblings. I really must stop this. People will begin to think me insane.

This is lack of caffeine for you, a horrid affair. It does strange and ruthless things to ones grey matter. I have practically drowned myself in tea throughout the course of the day, and yet my hankering for strong black sugary coffee endures. Jesus help me.

But Jesus won't help me, not after the incident with the crucifix and the pentecost candle in Sunday school when I was nine. Proudest moment of my life, I actually coerced a man of the cloth to raise his voice in anger! *glee* But somehow I don't think Jesus would forgive me, no matter what the dusty old book says. I am sure the poor old, facial hair afflicted chap feels violated, but honestly, he did go and wear his hear like a hippy, what was I meant to think, he loked like an anorexic Barbie doll nailed to a wooden cross and all my wicked fantasies came to life.

I still don't know what happened to all those Barbies I maimed after that encounter.

Anyway, the point is, he wouldn't forgive me, and I don't want him to, since Lucifer and I are on intimate terms. The dark prince would undoubtedly see my absolution as a heinous betrayal, and the kinky bastard does have a rather generous helping of cock (even though he is a fallen angel and angels have no jiggly bits, but this is my twisted mind to get lost) so when it comes down to it, I choose the devil.

Basically all that was me saying that Jesus won't help me. See... lack.of.caffeine.

I do think I hear the teabags calling...