Jessica Alba’s rock hard abs…

I’d crush ice on them!

Not because I am a lesbarooney (cause despite what my brother tries to imply, I am not) but because…

A) I love crushed ice – incidentally did you know this is a sign of anemia known as a “pica” – a craving for something unnatural, a lot of pregnant women get them e.g. eating soil or paper. I do not have anemia though, just for the record. Not a lesbo, no anemia.  With me? Good.

B)  Her abs are just the best.  I love the movie Sin City, fucking fantastic! Beautifully shot,  grimy and sexy,  dark and wrong.  Bloomin marvellous. Not as bloody long as Watchmen either.  I did like Watchmen but… well, I will review it in  my next post.

Where was I… hmmm, oh yeah.  Her abs are sexy, these are the abs I want. Therefore I have changed my avator to her abs in Sin city. I would love to dance on a bar top with a whip and assless chaps (dodgeball reference).  I always thought if I was an idiot, I’d be some sort of show girl. I’ve got the boobies for it!   Also, I dont want my avator to be my face, I am a masked marauder, typing from the depths of the unknown, coming to a computer screen near you!

Aye, I should go to bed, I know..

 

You’ve got to pick a pocket or two

Much like Russel Brand I have big hair and a big love for anything dickensian in nature. I am having a bit of a problem at the moment, constantly referring to Fagin and his troupe of thieving orphans when dealing with every day, run of the mill, boring as shit situations e.g.

My friend and I in sainsbury’s

Friend:  These spuds look good

Me:  That’s what Fagin might say, then the arful dodger, omg I love him, he’d stash ‘em in his pantaloons and jig his way out the door.

Why I gots a pain in me gulliver, sir!

And  so on and so forth.  Another thing I love about Dickens is that everyone is exactly what they say they are… on the tin. I know this sentence makes no sense but I am dumb, forgive me.   What I mean is, Oliver’s surname is Twist suggesting he’s a slippery bugger, Billy Sykes – well that just sounds ‘ard as nails that does.  You got Mr. Bumbles… speaks for itself. I know there is a word for this type of thing, onematopea? Hah, I know it is *not* that dyslexicky looking word, for sure.

Anywhoo, I sometimes thing the world t’would be a far grander place if we could all wear top hats and dress in coats and tails.  I’d be a right shiesty character, what with a good part of me  being drawn to the darkside.  If I were a Dickens character, I would be someone with a cloak and dagger, for sure. Except I’m  brown, so perhaps a slave .

I like to speak with grandiose purpose, it makes my friend, English Rose, laugh a lot.  If it’s r aining, I look up and say “forsooth, the wetness on my palm, denotes ill foreboding”.   Course, I dont do this all the time, otherwise it might be the reason why I am still single.  I only do it with certain people, whom I am sure are sufficiently hoodwinked into thinking I am not a mentalist.

I forgot to ever mention the conclusion of house idol, the german won through. He is a strange fucker, but there you go and as the Irish would say, “what odds” (this means the same as a shrug or “what does it really matter?”).  Ze german had diarrhea the other day, hah, I was watching tv and I could HEAR IT, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Oh no, more poo in my blog. Must I ever be haunted by it’s evilness? MUST I?

Furthermore,  after my 3am post about 3am boy (I have decided this will be his moniker),  I emailed him and he emailed back.  I skipped a heartbeat.  We are sporadic in our contact, mainly 3am-ish.  I just opened my box (not the best choice of words) and there is one from 3am boy.  It’s lovely.  I feel that both of us feel a bit lost, perhaps as if,  we were islands which have not yet been chartered, you know put on a map so we can see our place in the world. So we don’t know where we are, but we know we exist.  This is a turn up for the old saying “no man is an island”.  Perhaps he is not an island, perhaps he is a rock… that I could lean on? I am an island though.  I think my island is great! Naked hula every thursday!

 

Jessica Rabbit, tigers that burn and the men down under

I  had another dream with the tiger in the forest.  The tiger, tiger burning bright in the forest of the night!  I have had this dream before and I know it stems from my love of and constant singing of the song “Tiger in the Night” by Katie Melua.

My favourite line being “I live like a wild and lonely soul”, ahh it’s very beautiful, trust me.  I also love tigers, not physically, stop dialing the RSPCA!

The tiger in the dream is stunning, he has ember eyes and he sleeps. In the clearing of the forest, which has a stream nearby. I can’t see the stream, I only hear it but I know it’s pure and if I drank the water I would be immortal. The tiger drinks the water, I never see this, but he must. His fur is the richest colour of fire you could imagine with  velvet jets of black . He’s very regal, I would liken him to Aslan though not to Jesus, which is what CS Lewis aka “creepy religious dude” was getting at.

I want to speak to him but I’m not there, it’s just my spirit watching the tiger and his breathing, up and down, so soothing. Just like the soothing sound of the heart beat.

Much better than the size 0 boy-girls (that surely only a catholic preist could love?)

I was having my lovely tiger dream when my phone rang and who should it be but none other than Jessica Rabbit (so called because she has huge boobies, that’s it really). Rabbit is one of my bestest friends.  Rabbit is a cockney lass and her parents are originally from the Caribbean but I like to piss her off and say she is from Nigeria. Rabbit is the one that taught me the most offensive thing you can tell a black woman is that they wear a weave, ha ha.

Anyway, Rabbit has been gone for a long time,  and before that I was gone for a long time.  So now we  are back in each other’s lives and it is a wonderful thing, like the dust that might fall off a shooting star as it travelled to earth!

I will see her tomorrow but from what I gathered, she had a great time away. Rabbit usually only dates black men but she said and I qu0te, “I didnt want to go to Australia because I thought they might be a bit racist, but oh my god, the white boys there, they’re so fit!”.  I have to agree with her.  We reeled off a quick list why australian men are possibly the hottest white men:

1)  Tall (on the whole most are tall)

2) Tanned

3) Good at sports like surfing! Sexy sports. Over here it’s mainly rugby and the men that think they are good at rugby but are not professionals, well… they are fat and gross.

4) FUN – the most important thing, they really are super laid back and enjoy mucking around.  These british boys are very anal, let me tell you.

5) Confident but not cocky – if a guy over here in the UK is confident he tends to be arrogant and a bit of wanker.  Over in Aussie, they’re confident but down to earth. They actively come up to you and ask you out. When I was in australia,  I can say, with modesty, I got a loooot of attention. A lot more than you get in London because everyone is terrified of everyone and english men are too “stiff upper lipped” to approach you.

So yeah, it seems the men down under have tempted old Jessica Rabbit. I told her the kiwis are nice too.  The Kiwi guys are really sweet, maybe even a bit shy.  They are the nicest though. Of all the men in the world that I have met and like to racistly stereotype.

Rabbit asked if anything was going on  with me, I told her I’d fill her in on all my scandalous-yet-still-virginal escapades when I was away when we met up for an official marathon exchange of travel stories.  I told her that I think I am finally ready to have a boyfriend. I told her how I was a bit jealous the other day when my friend was watching a DVD with her “non boyfriend”, the Puppy.   I said I like DVDs! I want a boyfriend to watch one with.  To which Rabbit replied, in her usual way of spoiling my PG fantasies “yeah watching DVDs naked with a guy is nice”.

 

I love to eat space-food

I love space food.

Many people I know have an abject horror of space food, I am not one of these people. Obviously as a) I am not one of the people I know and b) I love space food.

My personal brand of heroin

Space food is any processed powder type of food that you add water to or comes in unnatural colours OR shiny, silver packets. The type of food an astronaut would live off if he were sent on a mission in a tiny, tiny spaceship and had little space for banal necessities such as kitchen utensils and whole chickens and the like.  The beauty of space food to me is this – it appears unedible much like a pile of gravel or tree bark YET you can eat it and it will keep you alive. Fascinating.

SPACE FOOD!

My friends (I have acquired some, not unlike a leper acquires a hideous face through years of rotting) do not share my love of space food. My friends do not like it when I eat the following items that I class as space food:

1) processed radioactive “cheese” that comes in wrappers

3) pot noodles that not only are dry-powder-cardboard-food but ALSO COME WITH A SHINY PACKET OF “SAUCE” – space food criteira filled to the max!

4) Radioactive green or blue “juice” drinks

5) Yellow powder that becomes custard  on addition  of water!

6)  Dry macaroni that comes in sachets and when you add water it still tastes of plastic -  i love the plasticky non-food taste of this “food” or should I say… SPACE FOOD!

7) An isotonic drink I used to have when competing – you guessed it, powder until you add the water then BAM!! space food extravaganza.

People have to understand however that the gum that Mr. Wonka created in Charlie and The Chocolate Factory does not qualify as space food as it was a gum and although there was a shiny wrapper involved, it was merely gum. Just gum.

 

My desk v.s JK Rowling’s desk

Like 6 billion other people, I am going to write a book or two. I plan to write novels about a character not at all like Harry Potter but along the same genre. His name will be Gary Popper and he will be a homosexual drug fiend. Naturally these books will be aimed at pre-school children.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with JK Rowling’s website, it is themed on her desk. I have thieved a pretty picture of it for your viewing pleasure:

Now here is a photo of my desk, annotated for your pleasure. I’m all about the pleasures.

1. I love lamp

2. fruit-tella wrapper

3. Novelty giant mug with squash – glasses are a fine thing in this house

4. Wine glass with residues of milk – I warned you glasses were rare

5. Empty wrapper of digestive biscuits, consumed in record time of 4 hours

6. Notepad

7. Un-used ink well, merely for display purposes only (much like the melons, eh?)

8. Worlds oldest laptop. Much love for you though, Archie (Archie = laptop, not sheep).

9. Ex bucket of marshmallows, now Bucket of Pens.

10. novelty inflatable wand

11. TPTWFAD (The Printer That Worked For A Day) I SMASH IT SOON!!!1

12. Empty can of Tuna, I like eating things out of cans, when I was small I wanted to eat the dog’s food, it smelt and I quote “irresistable”. My family laughed at me as I said this and so I never spoke of it again and never acted upon my shameful desires.

13. Stylish plate

14. Re-used empty bottle – A glass, a glass, my kingdom for a glass etc

15. Empty tin of mints

16. Unread papers

So, going on desk alone, who ought to be the more successful writer? This is a rhetorical question, no wrong answers will be acknowledged.