What else is there to do when you are so fucked that you can’t see out of your swollen eyes or walk a distance of more than 5 metres cause your feet are so fat? For me, my only option yesterday was to hang out and drink tea and check out a variety of bad asses and shocking hair with Young B who knows, like me, how to appreciate the not so fine things in life. I stayed in bed unable to move for about 5 hours too many to watch Big Brother and to berate myself for having joined with every other fucker in Britain to diss the actually lovely Lynne Moncrieff who got kicked out on Friday. It’s the first guilt trip I have had in over a week and I saw a whole new hot side to Lynne who is about as ‘evil’ as Mary-kate and Ashley. And boy that lady knows how to dress and carries off bootcuts as well as I carry off being a bender (i.e real well :-) ). After watching her highlights I realised that Miss Lynne had not been given a fair chance and I’m going to wage a campaign to bring back the hottie with the dodgy accent. Her accent did give hours of entertainment but we can hardly hold her dulcet Aberdonian tones against her, the way she drags out her vowel sounds as her voice drops an octave or ten because fuck it, I know I have the unfortunate ability to talk exactly like that more than often. Anyway, enough about Miss Fox for the moment and on to my Sunday escapades which were as effort filled as a wet fart. As always, Slains Castle was the hangover pub of choice but there were no seven pepper dusted fries (aka Bev Fires) but there was tea and stupid hair a plenty. We sat in our regular booth which requires a 6ft ladder to help you get into the fucker and being dark and dingy my hangover eyes were not apparent, always a plus in my book. So we were sat in this booth minding our own business and that of the smoking baby’s family when a gathering of 3 football lovin’ housewives with matching non slinky football shirts on took up seat directly in front of us. Thinking about nothing rather than which one had the worst hair we realised that we being started at profusely. The housewives had taken up an instant fascination with the lesbos and couldn’t have made their stares any less obvious had they have come and sat on our knees and looked longingly into our gay eyes. It wasn’t even Fee paranoia, they were so intrigued with us at one point that they all turned round in their seats and just glared for a solid 5 minutes. I don’t know what was so interesting about us sat there with our earl grey, no fags and sometimes loud conversation. Oh maybe that was it, my inability to talk quietly about anything is wonderful and causes many a filthy look or thrown punch. I got pissed off with these ladies who would not have looked out of place in ‘Reader’s Wives’ with their eighties hair and blue jeans arses that I blew the one with the largest hair a proper kiss and got caught making obscene licking gestures. But stare on they did and then two had to got to the toilet together for a good ten minutes while the other put everyone’s clothes on incase the lesbos were checking out her boobs. Had she of had any I just may have. After waiting way too long for the other two to step out of the toilet it was clear that they could handle pints as well as me and both had left a sneaky jobbie behind and the definite aroma of poop clung to my clothes as I made a hasty exit so I didn’t get the blame for straight lady turds. In Slains we also spotted a family of overly hairsprayed hair who were sat in a corner, one with tiny baby in arms with all members of the family smoking like they may die if they didn’t chain smoke themselves into oblivion. This little baby is sat there with all the smoke in the world sifting into its eyes until the cloud of smoke got so thick that it was impossible to see the baby anymore. This baby must have been about 6 months old and here it was with as good as a fag in one hand, a half pint in the other and it’s bending over the table from its mother’s knee to sniff a line of coke and dribbling it’s baby dribbles down it’s nicotine stained baby grow. I love a baby as much as I love a cock but this was bang out of order. Addicted to everything by age one, that mother and her elevated quiff must be so proud of herself she really must. And with a mother with hair and a face like that what other option does lil baby have but to become a crack addict by age 2? Having had enough of addict babies and reader’s wives to last more than a lifetime we took off to the Vodka Bar in search of bad bums and Foxy American Chick to show Young B what all the fuss had been about. Disappointed she was not. Here she was in all her foxy glory and she made Young B forget all about the hideous sights we had just witnessed. Vodka Bar wasn’t too eventful but Young B did spot more than 1 nice ass, that girl just has an eye for them I tell you, experienced in the ways of the ass she is. And we were rather disappointed with the lack of accentuated fannies that were on display but remembering the saggiest ass in the world we saw the previous night more than made up for that. This ass was as long as the longest ass in the world that we had seen the last time but this time it belonged to a 23 year old whore (no not me) whose jeans were pulled up so high they could have doubled as a scarf and still she kept making a grab for the waistband and jerking them higher to keep her big ears warm. The poor cow even had a gammy leg. Oh to be as perfect as me. And so Young B had to go get her train back to the slightly more exciting place of Glasgow and I gave Lil Red a surprise (a good one I’m hoping) visit before taking my non willing ass home to face the wrath of parents, which was actually subdued and wrathless. Today is a day for Cruden Bay.
Listening to: Get me off: Basement Jaxx
Sun, for once
People bein nice for ulterior motives