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


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The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Monday, March 31

I didn't think it would be possible to get start struck over Cheeseney Hawkes. Mind you I did become very open mouthed when I saw Z list Children's TV presenters that time so yeah I guess anything is possible. I also didn't know that I would turn into a screamin' teen when good old Chesney (that's simply Ches. to me and Bo now) appeared on the stage. We drunkenly danced and spun around yelling his name over and over like the sad groupies we had turned into and far too freqeuntly we found oursleves air punching to unknown Ches. songs. It's amazing how at the time, after a few too many vodkas and Spar colas, that you don't realise that actions suchs as air punching should be reserved for absolutely no one. It's quite spectacular how alcohol can turn people, usually so cool, into Teletubby extras. Hmmpf. Oh to learn how to control over the top arm movements in public. The One and Only was of course his closing song. The surge forward was so forceful that I almost lost a hair extension when the 16 year old bleached blonde bint got a bit carried away with herself. Well, maybe not but the three strong crowd launched into a bad rendition of the 'classic' song to help old Ches. out, incase all those years of sex drugs and rock 'n' roll had played havoc with his pretty lil head. The Bo and I belted out the words perfectly and the over emotional BO wiped a single tear from her flushed cheek cos seeing her idol was really too much for the wasted chick. Bless. We pushed to the front when we were told he would be doing a signing. The BO was about whipping her tits out in order for her hero to etch his name in black marker across them but changed her mind whe she saw the common scamps next to her doing the same. When Ches. appeared back on stage I elbowed as good as the next fan and screeched in his face louder than the next hideously drunken twat and myself and Bo ensured we stroked his cords and dove in for mulitple hugs and a kiss. Ches., after an exhuberant set had slight body odour wafting from his hairy pit, bless him, but this did nothing to change our sloppy, cross eyed love for him. After a few hot lesbo snogs on the dance floor with my Lil Red and surprisingly no punches for doing so as we were in Hetero Heaven where homophobia is more rife than a curry fart, we made off for outside to try and catch up with Ches. We cornered him a bit too literally as he left his ancient tour bus which he ahd obviously been touring in since he 1991 when he first appeared with his floppy hair and colossol mole which I have a feeling has either moved sides, shruken or disppeared completely. The thing that disturbed me most about my man was that he had replaced his puffy shouldered leather jacket of his glory day with a beige elasticated anorak. How very rock 'n' roll. We had a chat with our man, or rather we shrieked in his face with spittle flying an all, told him he was the King of our parties and threw our bodies around his rather small frame to get even more hugs and kisses before finally letting Ches. depart to his awaiting taxi. Once in the taxi we waved him off and his cab did some weird pointless manouvre which saw it turn round in a car park so it was facing the same way as it was originally. Mister Ches. must have wanted a final glance at the rabble that were his 'fans'. And how disappointed must he have been. Mind you at least we weren't the big haired, stonewashed jeans, rainbow eye shadowed crew that I'm sure he is used to. Who would you rather have hailing your ass if you were famous? The early ninties rejects who are treble your age and have bags under their eyes big enough to hold your monthly shopping or the unclassifiable wannabe teenagers crew with breath like soured milk, squint drunken eyes and voices more annoying than Dot Cotton after her 40 fag breakfast? Actually, don't answer that and don't pretend that you didn;t know the second group I described was us. Or maybe just me. And so our drunken night of drooling over Ches. (fuck I totally forgot I was a homo until the lesbo tongue filled kisses on the dancefloor!) was over. The Bo's dreams have not been the same since. And it wasn't just her eyes that were moist. And off I go to think about Ches. with a pair of tits and a fanny.