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...

Coffee, Tea, Guns and Knees...

The smell of coffee is taunting me. My coffee maker is so slow and LOUD! I swear to god it gurgles and rasps and splutters like you'd never believe. I'd get it an iron lung if I didn't have instant to fall back on.

I do prefer my tea though. Tea makes the world go round. Tis the Fountail Of All Goodness. The Drink Of The Gods. The Divine Beverage. Cod Liver Oil For The Soul Only Far Better Tasting. Perhaps that is why the coffee maker makes the offensive noises it does, perhaps the gurgling is really profanity in coffee maker speak, and it it telling me of it's contempt for my favouring the teapot.

Come to think of it, when was the last time I used a teapot? Do I even have a teapot? I must scour the kitchen sometime in search of this elusive tea making utensil. I vaguely remember one, I think it was brown, or beige. Does it matter though? So long as I have a kettle and some teabags all is right with the world.

But I digress... I prefer tea, but occasionally the unfettered need for pure caffeine overrides the good sense of my tastebuds. And right now, I need coffee. The damn coffee maker however is making things difficult.

The old War Injury is acting up. I may call it the War Injury, but really, a bit of a knackered knee and my leg refuses to work, how pathetic. I scorn my right knee and all of it's contemporaries, namely the Anterior Cruciate Ligament, the the Posterior Cruciate Ligament, the Tibial Collateral Ligament and the Tibial Plateau, all of which are plotting to undo me. The swines.

Other than that my life is a cesspit of unadulterated boredom. Here I sit, in the corner seat of the leather sofa, propped up via a mountain of green cushions, watching some sort of home makeover programme and refraining from beating myself into unconsciousness. How did my life descend into this? I had a life once, friends and men and money and GUNS! Guns for christ's sake, SA-80s and the lark, MP-433s and other forms of deadly weapons. And a bayonette. My life was all sweat and dirt and laughter for a brief while, and now I'm getting fat through lack of physical exercise, watching daytime TV with my leg propped up on the pillows.

Ah tis a sad life for one who had fallen so far from grace. Then again, I was never that close to grace to begin with. Satan's had a room booked for me since the day I was born, there's nowhere for me to fall.

Except for off the sofa, where I am invariably going when I make the attempt to reach the kitchen and kick some sense into the spluttering coffee maker.

Fanfic, men sex, mwah

I have just spent the day pissing my pants! I went for a merry jaunt around fanfiction.net and was caught in the snare of the funniest story I have ever read! Okay, so it was a snarry fic, but once I got over the squick and laughed until my ears bled I decided that mebbe I could learn to like the fandom...

Snape... and no coffee! Oh the hilarity! Snape walking into doors, Snape muttering nonsensically to Dumbledore, Snape telling his students to make tongues! WAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I'm gonna go back and read it!

My unhealthy obsession with fanfiction is all Shell's fault! She introduced me to the medium when I was an innocent fourteen year old. Back then it was all Buffy Buffy Buffy with her and she was convinced Willow should be shagging Spike so naurally she had to rely on various unhinged individuals to cater to her desires via the net.

Oh and how it all went downhill from there.

Then the Jedi Apprentice books came out and suddenly Obi Wan was shagging Xanatos all over the internet and I found myself salivating. And so my thirst for yaoi was born, but back then it was just good ol' plain slash and I could pretend I was just curious.

The Dragonball took over my life and sudenly Goku was shagging Vegeta (when he wasn't shagging me in my dreams) and then came Saiyuki and the dreaded 93 relationship (WHICH IS PRACTICALLY CANON PEOPLE!) closely followed by Naruto (SasuNaru, they belong together) and Final Fantasy (Cloud and Sepiroth, *drool* and occasionally Sepiroth and the KFC dude... don't ask...) and so naturaly all of the Ann Rice vampires are screwing each others brains out (including Claudia in some instances which just weirds me out since I can't wrap my teeny brain around chan) and Jack and Daniel love from Stargate is just toooooo adorable to ignore.

Am I forgetting any???

Remus/Sirius (Tonks who?) Hakkai/Gojyo (a pair of nineteen year olds living together, and we all know Gojyo is a hopeless slut) Legolas and anything, the elf is just too hot! I can barely stomach twincest (although some of the fics I've read have been quite hot) but I draw the line at Blackcest, my beautiful Sirius would NEVER shag Regulus, never in a million god forsaken years! And as for the rest of the family... please, I might be able to hack Sirius/Andromeda but I'm a yaoi bint so really... how does that fit into my head???

And if anyone comes anywhere near me with Obi/Qui be prepared to die a horrible death because it is just. plain. wrong.

However I have taken a fancy to ObiMaul which turned my world upside down for about five seconds before I stumbled over sithacademy and proceeded to cream my pants between passing out from fits of giggles. Sith cats and Jedi hamsters and happy farms happy pills and Dartha Stewart and sex over the bonnet of a car and jedi in kilts and "Sith do not use fabric softener" oh the joy!

And yes, now that I have rightened myself I shall scurry away to re-read that fucking hilarious fic I mentioned earlier. And because I am in a lewd mood I will share a lewd pic even though I will be burnt at the stake...

BAM!

Oh I'm goooooood! Say g'bye to the pornish pixie, I'm off!!!!!!

Feathered Agents of Satan!

I am not a morning creature. So why, why under god in heaven am I awake at stupid-o-clock??? I'll tell you why! I surfaced to the land of the living at the crack of dawn, as I am wont to do since the Army permanently fucked me up. But since I no longer have to crawl out of bed at such an ungodly hour to march across the drill square or oil any rifles I usually just roll over and go back to sleep. However, today my brain decided to screw me over. I lay there, wide awake, wracking my grey matter in an attempt to remember the name of the lead vocalist of Good Charlotte. Why???? I don't bloody know! All I know is that I couldn't get back to sleep until I remembered, so I lay there eyeballing the ceiling thinking "James? Jake? Jack? John?" until I surrendered and got out of bed.

His name is Joel by the way. In case you were wondering. And now that I have recalled this snippet of useless information I am as awake as a caffeinated meerkat and utterly peturbed!

And the sun is smiling and the birds are singing and GAAAAAAA!!!!! Only a creature of utmost evil is cheerful this early in the morning! Now excuse me while I go and strangle the bluebirds chippering in my garden. Die, feathered agents of satan! DIE!

TO HIS FRIEND IN ELYSIUM

So long you wandered on the dusky plain,

Where flit the shadows with their endless cry,
You reach the shore where all the world goes by,

You leave the strife, the slavery, the pain;

But we, but we, the mortals that remain

In vain stretch hands; for Charon sullenly

Drives us afar, we may not come anigh

Till that last mystic obolus we gain.

But you are happy in the quiet place,
And with the learned lovers of old days,

And with your love, you wander ever-more

In the dim woods, and drink forgetfulness

Of us your friends, a weary crowd that press

About the gate, or labour at the oar.

Joachim Du Bellay, 1550

My penchant for morbid poetry really isn't an insight into my character; I'm really quite upbeat. Honest. But I am a shallow bitch, so it takes something rather depressing to affect me in any which way, thus the need to recite classical gothic poetry. I was going to shove The Raven by Poe in here, I know it off by heart, the rythmn and rhyme sort of etch themselves into your brain, but I couldn't be bothered with such an epic. Make do with Du Bellay.

Mwahahahahaha! How I do love the juxtaposition of morbid poetry with randy bishonen! I am sick! *snicker* I bet Mr Du Bellay is spinning in his grave!

In other news... Liverpol is in the final! GET IN MOTHER FUCKER! No big surprise like, since the 'Pool rocks the casba, just thought it deserved a mention. W00t!