Diary of a Glitter Splashed Britney Lovin' Lesbo

I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else

Name:Miss Fee


My 100 Things

Mail Me

Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Wednesday, November 27

A reliable source told me that my university could easily be ‘the ugliest university in Britain’ the other day. I’d be inclined to agree. In fact, ask anyone that goes, from minger to hottie, and most will agree. Now, I’m hardly part of the beautiful minority myself but I do have eyes. These eyes have a natural talent for spotting pretty ladies and maybe, if I am lucky I see 3 a day at university. I saw more than 3 on Friday but on an average day, three is the lucky number. Clearly not everyone would be most at home in a kennel (in fact the small amount of people I know personally are all rather lovely) but there's at least enough to ensure the world will never run out of freaks for their travelling circuses. For example, in one building in particular there are far too many uggers in tracksuits. You’ll be sitting eating your sandwich with extra mayo when a hoard of them come bounding by in shorts with wet hair and grins wider than my ass. Correct me if I am mistaken but am I right in thinking there is no pool? Do I need to see your slicked with grease hair and smell your stale odour as I tuck into my fatty fishy delight? No I do not. And what’s more offensive is the corn beef legs. My legs are repulsive and so I do the world a favour and keep them in clad in denim but these people (men and chicks alike) are quite content running through a cafeteria with their weather beaten legs and sloppy plimsoles. It’s not right. And I can’t sit in a lab without a tracksuit sitting too close to me after its been in the gym hall. Do they not have showers? Do I really need the stench of stale genital sweat permeating my personal space? No, I don’t. I can excuse a hot girl for pretty much everything but even shallow Fee has some exceptions. For example, a chicks hotness is instantly removed if: 1) they are broad Aberdonian 2) They eat kebabs after dark 3) they wear American Tan tights 4) They keep their nails too long (ouch) and 5) They don’t shower more than once a week. It’s all very well to present your new hot lady who looks so good in knee highs and a boob tube but what about when The Fee needs her hugs? I don’t want her sweaty pits on my hair. I don’t my clothes to smell of 4-week-old tuna and onion sandwiches. And, I do not want people to assume that because she is hot, that it must be me, the minger that smells. So while you may be hotter than vindaloo, you smell like a Balti and while I may want to wake up to your pretty face and feel your sexy skin, I don’t want to wake up next to what smells like an overcooked steak and kidney pie. So ladies in tracksuits (especially the ones which are elasticated around the ankle and contain the smell) if you can’t shower than don’t do gym. Or if you really really must work up such a sweat that you drip beef then please, do us all a favour and go straight home without coming into contact with any sorry sole who may offer to help you with your sweaty gym bag just because you have a pretty face because just remember the odour your feet give off as this unsuspecting person bends down to lift your heavy sack. It’s enough to wipe out a small race of ugly university attendees. Oh, in that case, sweat all you like.

How is it possible to have so many ugly people at on university? I blame the city. You come to Aberdeen and notice the ratio of ugly people to beautiful people is extraordinarily high. I blame the fish and the oil and the fried Mars Bars.

And so I go to bathe in oil and chew on fish and slurp on deep-fried chocolate and wonder why the ugly gene is so prevalent in me.

Listening to: Scooter and thinking bout Bo and the time we almost lost her to the pavement 3 floors below while she 'pumped it up'...

PS Does anyone else hate bums in thongs? Truly vile.

PPS It appears as though a group of merry gays are 'hiring' themselves out to make dull parties more fabulous than Patsy Stone... J Bo... they are calling you...