I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
The Friday night party saw no unwelcome interjections from Ming the Merciless (evil, bald neighbour) but it did see foosty, nose burning poppers, the usual bad rave moves and just general twatiness in the gay bar. Even the belly load of vodka couldn’t keep me from bouncing on the highest podium with The Bo to Scooter circa 2002. And, I didn’t fall off. She did. So did someone else. It was total carnage and I loved every minute of it.
Saturday night saw the appearance of Marky Mark who plied us with Cherry Lambrini and left us riddled with e-numbers. Perfectly lovely.
We went for a Sunday drive yesterday listening to the tunes that Marky gave me (The Venga Bus took us all the way from Cove to Aberdeen, don’t be jealous). Could think of no other way to spend a Sunday, except maybe without the blaring, tacky, late 90’s dance tunes attracting the attention of previously docile cows and sheep. Coronoary heart attacks all round.
And now I must wait another 4 days before I can go do it all over again. Pah.
So I go pluck my eyes from out of my ass… am guessing that’s where they are as I have not seen them in days…
The photographic evidence of all our fabulous nights out
The ‘free the pigoen’ mission on which I am about to embark
Belly button secretions
Still 4 days until payday
Babycham, get it ouf of my fridge
PS if anyone knows that bad euro-cheese song that goes something like: ‘Marryahee, marryaha’ please enlighten me (for reasons I will never disclose)
3/26/2007 03:39:00 PM
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