Naked Mole-Rat.

Feeling down-in-the-dumps and a bit lonely without a boyfriend at the mo, I went out looking for a new pet yesterday, in the hope that I might find something to fill the hole.

Well, after much searching, I eventually found this little fella in one of those pet shops in Cliftonville.





He's a naked mole-rat, from Africa apparently, and isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?
Though he is a bit of a handful!

I think I'm going to call him Willy.

Folk Law?

One thing (of many) that really gets on my nerves in these 'enlightened times' that we live in, is this current trend of focusing so hard on the letter of the law, that the point of it is entirely missed.
Surely the law is there to protect us from harm by those that want to balk against society's rules and I don't see how a society, rendered vitually arseless by litigation, is really getting that protection.
Come on, is this modern trend of leeching unearned money out out of people really much better than just kicking their front door down, marching in and helping yourself to it?

Doesn't make me feel 'proud to be a mirkin', or part of any other 'Bush' ideal, for that matter!

R.T.F.M.

Something that I never, ever do, unless I really can't work it out for myself, is Read The Fuckin' Manual that comes with any new electrical device.
And I don't think I'm alone on that one.
So, as it turns out, my new rabbit isn't some kind odd looking e-pet for drawing out your sympathy by seemingly having an epileptic fit on your living-room rug.
I did wonder why it only had one ear and that wasn't floppy.
No, it's purpose is entirely for sexual gratification!
Why the Hell call it a rabbit, then? Isn't that a little perverse, encouraging people to have sex with animals?
Honestly, what is the World coming to?

I've a good mind to phone the R.S.P.C.A.

Dragon Night.

Forget all that stuff about some fella killing a dragon. It's most likely some fable, dreamt up by a bloke that was a bit testeronically challenged.
I do, however, know for a fact that fire breathing dragons exist and I'm off for a curry and a few pints tonight to demonstrate and celebrate that fact!

Best of British to anyone I'm likely to meet on my travels!

Run Rabbit, Run.

Following the enormous amount of success that I've had with men over the last year (not), and really being not too sure that things would improve, were I to become a lesbianist, I thought I'd invest in one of these clever little devices.

And though I've found it to be quite amusing, watching the little fella bumping and shuddering it's way across my living-room/kitchen floor, I couldn't honestly say that I've found it to be quite as satisfying as a man (unless you like them coming home paralytic, that is, which I don't).

All told, I'd say that the only way it really compares with a man is that it's a complete waste of time and money!

Beer Today, Scone Tomorrow.

I'm always up for useful tips, particularly involving the relief of discomfort, so when someone told me, on Sunday, that the best thing to relieve a hang-over was to scoff a couple of scones with butter and jam on them, I thought I'd give it a go.
I must confess that they were pretty hard to get down and that they came back up a hell of a lot easier, but when all was said and done, I did feel quite a bit better!

And I think I may have inadvertently stumbled upon a great new way of dieting, to boot!

Nice one!

Stalkless Stalker.

The downside, I suppose, of being an amazingly attractive woman, is the amount of unwanted attention that I get from men (and some women).
Though if I were honest, I don't get that much, really. I can only assume that the majority of guys think that I'm way out of their league.
But there is this one fella that's been dogging me for ages and really getting on my tits (or wanting to, at least).
Well it all came to a head (literally) last weekend, with my Siamese twin attached to my side wherever I went in Churchills, when I had a flash of inspiration and thought that the best way to get this guy off my back would be to get him on my front and scare him off with a little rough play. He's not too bad looking, just a pain in the arse!
I didn't even need to invite him back, as he just followed me when I left.
To cut a long story short (again, literally), when it came to the nitty gritty, it was all I could do to stifle a laugh, as I'd never seen such a tiny willy in all my life! And when I say all my life, I'm including being bathed with my little brother up until the age of four or five. I think a virgin could survive his onslaught, intact.
Which left me with a bit of a quandary. I may be forthright but I'm not a cruel person, so how do you abuse someone that Mother nature has already been more than unkind enough to, in the first place?
Sigh!
So I suppose I'm going to have to go through the same rigamarole this weekend, unless I can think of a kind way to let this fella (for want of a better word for him) down.
I don't particularly want to avoid Churchills, as Hard Road Blues are playing tonight and I rather like them.

Maybe Deed-poll is the answer?
Lucy Lezzie does have a kind of a ring to it, after all!

Pees And Queues.

It never ceases to astonish me as to how ignorant the simpler sex can be, at times.
Chatting with this fella in The Belligerence Bar, on the seafront last night, he popped the question as to why, wherever you go, there's often a queue for the ladies loo, but never for the blokes?
Quite simple really.
If one takes the time to ensure that one's wee-wee goes into the designated receptacle, instead of all over the floor, followed by the washing and drying of one's hands, it's going to take a bit longer, isn't it!

Not rocket science, really!

Cream Of The Crap.

Considering myself to be an intelligent, discerning and astonishingly beautiful woman, it does beg the question of why I constantly end up with such appalling men!
I'm seriously starting to wonder if there's a decent one among you!
The latest idiot to, er, come my way, started off like all the others. Handsome, caring and the perfect gentleman who couldn't do enough to please me. This is it, I thought. Finally, the man of my dreams!
Now call me naive if you like, but I thought I was about to be treated like a real Princess when he offered to take me back to his place (for the first time) for a golden shower.
Imaging a bejeweled bathroom, decked out with precious metal fittings, I was somewhat disappointed to discover a grubby little bog with a tiny, dirty bath, where he wanted me to sit while he pissed all over me!

Well there's another one that now only has a 50% chance of siring children!

Maybe I should consider 'chasing the bean' after all?

Going To Loddon To See Off The Spleen.

Now that Easter is out of the way and Summer lies just beneath our feet in the seemingly bottomless pit of seasons, all kinds of excursions seem to be presenting themselves to take our minds off the hum-drum of Thanet Life (no, not the one that was spewed out by our flying proctologist, but the real one).
And among them, one in particular caught my eye. A trip to the Loddon brewery to celebrate the opening of Heathrow's new terminal 5, with a bottled beer that was specifically designed for the task. Apparently, the bottle has been designed with a very narrow neck, making it all but impossible for anyone, except the most determined drinker, to get the beer back out of it. How appropriate! Rather boringly though, they've decided to call it Crown Rivers and it rolls in at a not-so-lofty 3.9% ABV. I'm sure that, in the light of their success at the new terminal, we could come up with a better name than that. Though the strength of it, oddly enough, does reflect, quite accurately, the amount of luggage that has been retrieved from their new automated system, so far.


If anyone is going to challenge my ability to suck, I'll be quite happy pick their glove up!

Toss Another Lobster On The Barby, Bruce!

Though, to be honest, after going to my first barbecue of the year on Sunday, I think 'lob another tosser on the barby, Bruce' would be more appropriate.
What is it with you men, when faced with sunshine as well as booze, that fills you with the urge to piss in fish ponds, climb trees, break childrens' toys and collapse on tables full of drink?
All you get from us girls, little church-mice that we are, is a bit of sick on the toilet floor. Easily rectifiable and no fish have to die!

I was, up until that point, thinking 'roll on Summer'.

Now I'm not so sure!

Draught Post.

After three weeks 'in the wagon', I appear to have been making a bit of a pig of myself with the booze over the last few days. Though I'm sure that some of it, at least, can be attributed to a pending court appearance on a charge of attempted homocide. That came as quite a shock, I can tell you, as I had no idea that Mikey was gay at all. Gosh, that guy has some secrets, doesn't he?

Unluckily, someone got a video of the end of the chase.
Luckily, I managed to, er, charm it off them.

If this ever got out, I feel it wouldn't bode well for leniency on my behalf at all!

Mike Hunt Ends With Three Week Stretch!

Unfortunate, really, that I happened to spot the git while I was driving my car. Also unfortunate, I suppose, that he'd failed to mention a history of heart problems. You certainly wouldn't have thought that he was afflicted so, the way he used to carry on in the bedroom! Had I known all this, I definitely wouldn't have tried to make him run at 20 MPH, but then hindsight is a wonderful thing isn't it?
And when you try to explain this to the police, you start to truly appreciate their complete lack of understanding and sympathy.

Never mind, when Mikey comes off his respirator and is able to talk again, he'll hopefully pick his words with a little more care.

Though I must confess that I'm a bit pissed off at missing the beer festival, especially as I've just been given a holiday from driving for a while.

What a waste!

A Case Of Murder.

They should not have left him there alone,
Alone that is except for the cat.
He was only nine, not old enough
To be left alone in a basement flat,
Alone, that is, except for the cat.
A dog would have been a different thing,
A big gruff dog with slashing jaws,
But a cat with round eyes mad as gold,
Plump as a cushion with tucked-in paws---
Better have left him with a fair-sized rat!
But what they did was leave him with a cat.
He hated that cat; he watched it sit,
A buzzing machine of soft black stuff,
He sat and watched and he hated it,
Snug in its fur, hot blood in a muff,
And its mad gold stare and the way it sat
Crooning dark warmth: he loathed all that.
So he took Daddy's stick and he hit the cat.
Then quick as a sudden crack in glass
It hissed, black flash, to a hiding place
In the dust and dark beneath the couch,
And he followed the grin on his new-made face,
A wide-eyed, frightened snarl of a grin,
And he took the stick and he thrust it in,
Hard and quick in the furry dark.
The black fur squealed and he felt his skin
Prickle with sparks of dry delight.
Then the cat again came into sight,
Shot for the door that wasn't quite shut,
But the boy, quick too, slammed fast the door:
The cat, half-through, was cracked like a nut
And the soft black thud was dumped on the floor.
Then the boy was suddenly terrified
And he bit his knuckles and cried and cried;
But he had to do something with the dead thing there.
His eyes squeezed beads of salty prayer
But the wound of fear gaped wide and raw;
He dared not touch the thing with his hands
So he fetched a spade and shovelled it
And dumped the load of heavy fur
In the spidery cupboard under the stair
Where it's been for years, and though it died
It's grown in that cupboard and its hot low purr
Grows slowly louder year by year:
There'll not be a corner for the boy to hide
When the cupboard swells and all sides split
And the huge black cat pads out of it.


Thanks to Vernon Scannell for that. Kinda brings to mind the Thanet blogging scene at the moment, doesn't it?
I wonder which one of our 'fat cat' bloggers went in the cupboard and which one is trying to hide?
I'm intrigued as to how this poem will play itself out!

Hmmmm.

Pansexual.

At least, that's how a friend of mine described herself this evening.
Thinking she'd gone a bit 'potty' and was getting turned on by kitchen appliances (should be the other way around, shouldn't it?), she went on to explain that, these days, she was being turned on by just about everyone!

In the light of recent rumours, I thought it advisable at that point to go and sit at another table.

Light At The End Of The Tunnel In Mike Hunt.

I still don't know where the git is, but I've had a tip off as to where he'll be on Saturday evening.

Will keep you posted!

Seaman Found In Mike Hunt.

Still no sign of that gobshite milkman, however, I did manage to track down his brother (didn't know he had one of those!), who's a petty officer on P&O ferries.
There's something about a man in uniform that gets my, er, creative juices flowing, and this guy is better looking than his brother by a mile.
Not one to squander an opportunity, I invited myself in and started going to work on the fella straight away, plonking myself next to him on the sofa, hand on his thigh, rubbing myself gently against his arm, blowing into his ear and, well, all that kind of stuff.
Unfortunately, just as I was moving in for the snog, his wife suggested that it was maybe time I left.

Damn! Bitch!

All this is just making it worse for Mikey, when I eventually catch up with him!

Mike Hunt Widens Considerably!

Initial investigation indicates that Milkey Mikey may well have moved elsewhere in Thanet.
As 'they' say, you can run but you can't hide!
I'll catch up with the fool!

And after that, I may have a go at weeding out that ECR fella. I know that Dr Dead didn't have a lot of luck, even with the backbone of MI5's IT department at his disposal, but my methods are probably a lot more unethical, and have often brought back good results in the past.

Though, on the other hand, 'ECR Hunt' doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

Maybe I'll go for 'Dick Hunt'.
I'm certainly no stranger to that!

The Plot Thickens In Mike Hunt.

After being told tonight, that Milkey Mikey has also claimed that I can hold my boobs under my arms, hunch forward and do an almost perfect tortoise impersonation, I'm starting to wonder if 'friends' aren't ragging me a little. But if he is saying these things, when I catch up with him, he's going to spend the next week looking like he's walking barefoot on hot cobbles!

I will get to the bottom of this thing.
In the immortal words (almost) of that heron like French crooner, Celine Dion, Mike hunt will go on!

Mike Hunt Is On!

I just heard yesterday, that that errant milkman, Milkey Mikey, has been telling people that I liked to call him Michelle when we were making love.
I think I'm going to have to track him down and have this out with him, as my reputation, in that respect, has suffered quite enough over the last year.
And for the record, yes, I did like to call him Michelle, but that wasn't any reflection on MY sexuality!