Random Thoughts - Week Four

Why is it when you get older that everything either cracks, aches, droops or falls out? These days I’m like some arthritic alopecia stricken 50 year old llama, they’re about to put down. I mean the hair thing, its never the bastard grey hairs that fall out is it, oh no it’s always the longest, fullest, most amount of dye on it hairs that go hurtling towards the plughole. So you’re still left with the wiry little grey pubes springing out the top of your head, and you can never get the fuckers can you, cause they always shrink away from you the minute you try to pull them out. It’s like those monk’s that can retract their bollocks. The same can be said for my wiry grey hairs, they retract back into my noggin if I as much as look at them with the pluckers glint. And what about the bloody relocation pixies? They come in here in the middle of the night moving my things, leaving me looking like an utter tit in the morning. You go the bed knowing exactly where your pants are, in the pants drawer of course. But oh no come the morning, you’re in a rush to get to work and all of a sudden the pants have disappeared. You’re bimbling round the bedroom, racking your brains as to where they can be secreted. You’re having to run the semi nudity gauntlet in front of your flatmate with just a pyjama top on as you go on some sort of deranged pants treasure hunt. Eventually you give up and think well I might as well have a cup of tea only to open the fridge door to find your pants illuminated in all their glory!

I dread to think what they’ve done with the damn milk!

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Being single I have plenty of people giving me suggestions of how I can go about getting myself ‘some’. The most recent being a Valentines, ‘men in a row’ display in a busy part of our town. (They stand in a line, you make a note of theri number then ring the local radio station to see if you can get laid).

Of course I did try suggesting that maybe I’d actually quite like to fancy someone if I want to give them a crack at it and men standing in a row desperate for dates are probably a right bunch of munters, but apparently according to my mother I was just being picky!

However we then came up across the perfect idea for any single young ladyeez out there. We’d make them all wear hoodies over their heads with only the important bits on view. Hey presto hopefully no munters on display.
Of course this would lead to the world’s number one dating show - Guantanamo Bay, Debbie does Detainees.

So Jessica which of these lovely terrorists would you like to shag tonight?
Will she choose number 1 – Achmed - the hunky suspected terrorist who likes nothing better than to set the world alight with his stunning pyrotechnics
Number 2 – Saeed, the 15 year old weakling who has been tortured to within an inch of his life because he smelt a bit marzipany
Or number 3 – Derek, the bloke who looked a bit muslim and got carried along with the crowd as he thought he was going to a Razorlight concert.

Tonight Jessica the choice is yours
'Oh well its so difficult I just don’t know who to choose cause I just love a man with a beard. But on reflection I think I’ll go with Achmed cause I do like a big bang, *giggle*'.

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I do feel sorry for men when they have to give a wee sample. For women it’s quite easy as it’s just like holding a bucket under Niagara Falls, so you’re bound to get some of it in the container eventually. However for men it’s like trying to take a sniper shot at someone but they’ve replaced your gun with a bowl of blancmange.
I’ve also come to the conclusion that penises must come with attachments. Most men I know seem to have opted for the watering can attachment, you know the one that sprinkles liberally all over the place. Up the bloody walls, in the carpet, even the cats have learnt not to walk past in their normal nonchalant way when men are having a slash. Little fluffy is shouting to the other cats ‘Hey girls get your rain bonnets out I think we may be experiencing some inclement weather shortly’.

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Everyone has people in their office who are always in early desperately showing you up in front of your boss as you try to slink in at 11 o’clock with the hangover from hell and a mouth that feels like its been on a stamp collectors convention.
But you shouldn’t worry about these early fuckers cause they’re not actually up at sparrows fart to impress the boss but have snuck in early to nick all the stationery supplies. Go on check their bags and coats and you’ll find a pile of fucking biros, highlighters and bloody post its. The best way to nick post its is to apply them to you body, no really cause I know post it’s themselves actually defy their name and don’t stick to bugger all but the very last one with the stiffer backing is actually quite sticky. Obviously the smoother the surface the better the adhesive qualities, so for that reason I generally recommend to couples that you let the women nick them. The other great thing to pinch is lever arch files, cause they’re quite a bugger to get out the door at 5 o’clock, but the key to nicking them is to just be totally nonchalant. The theory goes like this, nab a lever arch file from the stationery store at about 4.30, but also make sure you nick some of those fiddly 12 part dividers. Then spend 15 mins printing out rubbish from your pc, doesn’t matter what it is, Tesco shopping bill, Amazon wishlist or porn just as long as you can print some old rot out without anyone seeing. Then make a big old show of stuffing all the paper into the lever arch file. At 5 o’clock walk smartly out of the office ensuring you hold the lever arch file to your chest. For added effect make sure you have a briefcase and if possible a handbag banging against your thighs and really make an effort to look like you’re struggling with all the work you’re taking home. True office professionals can actually pull this off using a box file, which is perfect camouflage for pens, highlighters, stapler, hole punch, biscuit tin, desktop printer anything you can think of really. But I wouldn’t recommend it to an amateur…start with post it body buffing and work your way up.

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Ok so not exactly inspired in the toilet of the gig this time, but just one of the very random things that occurred to me tonight:

I think sex lubricants and baby oil are a really excellent boon to any relationship.
They certainly add an element of physical dexterity and surprise to any sexual shenanigans.
Women all over the world are busy practising their pelvic floor exercises and running on Stairmasters, just so they can be prepared for oil based bedroom antics.
Cause sitting aside what is basically a greased pole is one hell of a workout.
Its like those R&B shoulders and head, side to side movements.
That's where the whole dance move comes from - hundreds of women desperately trying not to fall off their man.

Then there's the whole dismount debacle. When you try to manoeuvre him into the wet spot. You've basically got 3 moves to consider.
The on top shuffle
the from behind, slide and jiggle
and the missionary pincer movement where you move crab like across the bed.

A seasoned professional (or slapper as we single 30 something’s are known) will of course ensure she leaves her best pelvic tightening moves until she's executed the perfect wet patch position. When she's finally got the guy where she's guaranteed not to encounter any dampness, that's when she does the final flick movement. Followed by the quick gymnast style dismount.
8.6!

In technical circles I've been assured it's known as the
W.I W.I W.O (sounds like a new Sony x box thingy)
WIWIWO - whip it in, whip it out, wipe it off.

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That old chestnut if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it still make a sound?

Of course it bloody does, it goes ‘fucking ow’ like the rest of us. Then goes ‘what did you do that for’ cause lets face it it’s hardly going to fall down of its own accord, it’s going to have been pushed over by some rampant tree gang member with an ASBO tucked under his branch. All the other trees are ganging up and shoving the weaker saplings, taking the piss out the fact they’re only 4ft tall, have no bark and a lack of rings.

This is of course where we first got the expression ‘turf wars’.

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Because I’m so kindly, I wanted to bring you another infamous ‘let me be a lesson to you all’ post – designed to help everyone through the trickiest moments in their lives, by carefully NOT repeating any of the dumb ass things I’ve done.

So one of my earliest total tit moments happened when I spent my 16th birthday on one of those action holiday's. You know the type where parents and nutrition are banned and canoeing and tuck shops ruuuuulle.

Because I was 16 and had a ‘proper’ boyfriend at the time this elevated me to a slightly loftier status amongst the 14 year olds sharing my dorm. Being 16 I desperately wanted to impress all the cute 18 year old instructors, so every night, out came the silky black nightie and dressing gown and I would sashay my way down the corridor towards the nearest midnight feast. However the instructors were known for being the spawn of Satan and would wake us up at ungodly hours by running down the corridors banging saucepans.

On the now, infamous ‘staircase’ night they decided it would be an absolute hoot to have a fire alarm drill at 4 in the morning.

Cue me – jumping out of bed in my slinkiest best and bombing towards the very steep spiral staircase. I joined dozens of children exiting the floor, who were doing so in, for once a very calm and controlled manner.
However, ‘Total Titty’ the Lord of embarrassing moments was not smiling kindly on me on that moonlight night – as he whipped my feet from under me and proceeded to ensure I hurtled down the staircase at break neck speed as my silky attire gained momentum on the flagstones.
Imagine if you will a silk encased, slightly precocious teenager careering towards the bottom of 2 flights of stairs taking countless bemused and scared children with her. Uprooting children from standing positions as the force of the ‘silk projectile’ knocks them off their feet and somersaults them into the air.

When they eventually found me, bruised and battered under a heap of children, the static electricity created by the descent into hell ensured I looked like Don King on a particularly bad hair day but it also ensured that for the next 6 months I could switch on a TV by just walking near it – Quite a handy skill to have and one I wished I'd put on my CV.

TM 'Let me be a lesson to you all' brought to you in association with Jools is a total tit Inc.