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I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
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Quote of the day: “ET looks like a poop”
Cast J Bo Beautiful Boy Yesterday was all about fanny, shit and ET. Not in that order. In our delirious hangover states every conversation revolved around fanny (to shave or not to shave that is the question) and jobbies (releasing chocolate hostages and dropping the kids off at the pool and so on). We arose around 11am and realised we had missed the £2.75 showing of ET. There were tears, mainly on my part because my pennies would more than likely not stretch to 2 full price films and on Beautiful Boy’s part cos he’d have to wait at least 2 more hours to see ET in the bath with Elliot. To fill in time we decided to go for a walk, seeing as it was sunny enough to do this leisure activity, to TK Maxx was in order. For those of you unfamiliar with this establishment of all things vile, it’s a sloppy seconds kinda place. Luscious L had been there only 2 days before and appeared out in some gold number that we really had to replicate… Disapponited we most definitely were. I had a good rummage and came away with a pink shirt, complete with shoulder pants and flouncy padded buttons. That’s my Saturday night’s outfit sorted then. Beautiful Boy searched in vain to find at least one quality item and even contemplated a knee length yellow T Versace t shirt. In the end he was happy with his DKNY pants and made a point of getting these out all day. They were heavily soiled by the time he even got them on. We then headed to meet the wonderful J Bo who was holding herself by a large wall, swinging her Markies cola around desperately trying not to pass out with the hangover flush. The only thing that makes a hangover worthwhile is laughing and trashy food. It had to be chips and cheese (gravy for some) all round. The chips tasted like chalky carboard laced with puke and the cheese looked like grated carrots as J Bo pointed out and tasted not unlike plastic with a hint of jobbie. Upset at our bad food we booked our tickets for ET but had a good hour to kill. There was only one place to go, back to the pub we had left only 10 hours before. The alcopops went down as bad as a poof trying out minge and the sugar settled like a blood clot in my gut. But I didn't have to suffer it long, it was time for ET. The cinema was overrun with lice infested small children. And then the trailers came on. And here was my lady, a full cinema screen sized Britney, looking ultra hot in her ‘casuals’, yes it’s true. I was so overcome that I almost had to borrow J Bo’s mammoth ghetto blaster sized phone for its powerful vibrating facility. I almost left at this point, fuck ET I wanted my baby. Everything seemed hilarious. We were the annoying people that sit and giggle throughout films much to the annoyance of oh just about everybody. I am sure we are not normally so rude but every time a serious bit came on I thought of Beautiful Boy’s story he had recounted earlier, about the world’s most massive fanny. Enough said. For the first 20 minutes of the film something was oddly wrong. There seemed to be a 3 minute delayed reaction between the sound and the actual lips moving. It was like watching a badly dubbed Kung Fu film only funnier. Beautiful Boy was not amused. He threw on his shoes (because you really are supposed to take your shoes off and make yourself at home in the cinema), did up his Velcro and tried to make a dramatic exit. Not realising that his leg was still wrapped around his huge turtle shell ruck sack he did indeed get his dramatic exit as he flew head first down the stairs. Kids like a good laugh. The film got fixed and he was happy and Et was in the bath, not with Elliot which caused disappointment all round but in the bath at any rate. I almost felt a tear welling towards the end as ET flew off home to the soundtrack of sobbing 4 year olds and wailing adults but couldn’t quite contain the laughter after Beautiful Boy let go a succession of eggy farts. Pure nasty by the way. And after thinking we had lost J Bo to a dicky tummy we saw the ugliest couple making out in the quiet yet massive windowed cinema bar. What a sight that was to take away I tell you. It was like pay per view but the only fee they could have charged would have been one to make them stop. I have seen pensioners kiss with more grace than that and is there really a need to smooch nose, eyes, ears and hair at the same time as mouth? Not on your life. Oh and there was ‘cupping’. In full view, these Most Uglies were embroiled in a session heavier than my full body weight and he defintley cupped her baggy fanny. He needed two hands by the way and it made me wonder if this was the girl that was given the title ‘Biggest muff in the World’ that we had discussed only 2 hours previously. After this most foul experience we needed beer. And back it was to the vodka bar for me and the Beautiful Boy as J Bo took her fluffy nest off home for a good wash. We forced two pints down and realised that there was no way we would be seeing my Britney tonight. When I see her I need to gratify her by giving her my full attention and today this was not going to happen. We left and Beautiful Boy stocked up enough burgers to feed the starving thousands and I went home. All promises of tidying up got broken as I sat my fat ass down and couldn’t get back up again. I went to bed at 9.30pm and awoke this morning 12 hours later, feeling no more refresehed than the taste of puke on my breath. How far Turd will travel? Beautiful Boy and I questioned what would be the furthest a poop has travelled? Is it possible that one of my dogs has had one of it’s dumps trailed into a car, trailed to the airport and then trailed all the way to austrailia? Would there be anyway to find out the farthest travalled poo? I know the black poo (a Guiness shit we reckon) I trampled on made it only a few streets and is now on the embedded on the stairs at my work. But some craps must go for miles, depending on the consistency of course and their reluctance to come un stuck. Friday 30th MarchMy Thusday was beautiful (my most over used word of the moment). Work was made more exciting knowing that I would be off today (Friday) and that it would be spent hanging with Beautiful Boy and what ever hangers on we could acquire. Beautiful Boy was working till 8pm so I made a dash to Vodka Bar to score a 2 pint pitcher for a whole £3 before ‘happy hour’ ended. The only thing ‘happy’ about this hour is the pretty staff that serve you bad beer. In there I met a bunch of Beautiful Boy’s friends, being Beautiful has its perks I tell you. The vodka and bad Fanta twist I had downed pre leaving my house made the pints slip down nicely. I was drunk by 8.30pm. Nothing new there then. J Bo made a dramatic entrance around 10pm and my night could only get better. My night was made complete by one thing, not by pulling J Bo (read further for that instalment, it doesn’t get any more exciting however) or by snogging the face off myself in the mirror but by my hearty puke that was an awkward mutha trying to make itself known. Recently, despite the fluid filled pints I have been necking, it seems only possible to hack up a bunch of mucas. Not pretty. The room spun, I puked, I carried on drinking, to take my drinks total for the evening to a big 3. Good eh? I hung out on the balcony cos you have to do these things after not so copious amounts of alcohol, got hypothermia and pissed in my fav double bog with me on one bog and Luscious L pissing in the other. My yells of ‘turn around I don’t want you to see my fanny’ proved fruitless and stared he did. Not that he has interest in fanny, he just likes to be a pain in the ass, all in a good way of course. I met my friend who I was convinced was Cameron Diaz, the likeness is real good believe me. And after suitably embarrasing myself we moved onto the Priory which may well be the most brightly lit club I have ever been. While that may be fine during the day so you can see the food you are actually eating, (do they even serve food? Fucked if I know) at night, when the rosy blotchy cheeks have taken ahold, it’s so not a good thing. I created my own dance floor with only me on it and shook my trembly ass to Billie Jean. And then boredom kicked in. Personally I blame the bar where every crease in my clothes and old face was visible but what ever the reason we decided to move on. Our numbers had diminished from a hearty 18 to a measley 5. We lost someone to a bus cos she had enough of me and a rather drunken favourite shop staff member downing her drinks and smoking her harsh cigarettes. Oh well, all consideration gets kicked to the kerb when the effects of lager kick in. We persuaded one boy lover J Bo that her life would be perfect if she were to come to Aberdeen’s finest meat market (Castros) and off we set. I remember leaving the Priory around 12.20 and do not have many memories of Castros after 12.40pm. Maybe because the place itself is as memorable as dick. I do remember J Bo not being up for a snog, and it wasn’t for the want of trying. I qualified as a tryhardloser, I really did. Needy? I most certainly am. But even in a druken stupor J Bo was having none of my obvious lesbian charm and dedication to the cause. That really doesn’t say much for my chat up lines and pulling power. She did pass out for a good 10 minutes which gave me time to try and force my tongue in between her lips (always facial) but even unconscious, the bitch bit me. After paying a hefty £2 for the non pleasure of J Bo’s kiss and no dancing we set off home. A 4 minute journey took 4 hours. We tried all tactics to get a taxi but seeing drunken tits and cock were obviously not on top of taxi drivers agenda. J Bo even called her mother accidently to get a taxi home to the land of J Bo-ness but to no avail. And then food seemed more important, as did pissing. An egg baguette called my name the way a beautiful lesbian might and it was here I got tongued by a BO ridden crusty faced kebab seeker. I was followed into the shop with such kind offers from the foul beast to pay for my snacks and smokes and was then accosted. The man had a good grasp of the English language, knowing only how to say ‘Where’s kebab?’ and ‘You beautiful’. It was then that I was taken unawares and felt a long tongue prodding my lips (first time for everything at least). I can still smell his asian delicacys on my clothes and hope as he tried to maul me that he came away with more than one piece of my crusty lips which are in the need of a good moisturise. How on earth could someone so grotesque think that I, The Fee., would be interested in feeling his pimpled tongue slippin’ around in my mouth. This was even after I introduced J Bo as my girlfriend. He thought this was fuckin’ hilarious but she didn’t as I tried to slip her the tongue to prove to our facially and mentally challenged acquaintance that I was indeed a lesbian. I finally shook off the nobless wonder and made a bolt for the bog, to piss and throw up any remnants of Mister Eager Kebab. And so it was bed time. A time I looked forward to because it meant bedtime hugs with Beautiful Boy. We drifted off to sleep mid hug and hand hold and for once I woke up smiling. Listening to: fuck all Today’s Likes Leeches Ear plugs drowning out Beautiful Boy’s whistling nose Baby pink studded bracelets Waking up to a pretty face Fun, I don’t get a lot Today’s Dislikes Smoking like a nervo Bad hair extensions Well lit clubs, shows up my crows feet nicely Eager Beavers Gold shoes Britney Wannabe 
3/30/2002 10:51:00 AM
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Adventures of Charmin |
