Relationships


23
Nov 09

Len Fears for his Sexual Health

Apologies for the lack of updates, life, or more in particular, my Prince 2 practitioner studies and the other website I’m developing, slowly, have got in the way.

Len has a tendency to parade around naked and has ZERO shame. He finds it especially funny when he tucks his penis between his legs and pretends to be a woman or a man with no penis. I’ve never really asked him which and I suppose neither is that flattering. This and his farting are his only real skills/party tricks and anyone visiting our house shouldn’t be surprised to find him mid performance in one of the most outrageous and downright degusting drag acts this side of Bangkok. Surprisingly, it still puzzles Len as to why the authorities have reservations about him seeing his own son.

Anyway, the other day he casually wanders into the living room, naked, wearing a mask depicting the devil or certainly a close relation. I momentarily glance up, realise Len is doing nothing out of the ordinary for a Tuesday afternoon and go back to what I’m doing. However, this time Len wanted some attention because he had a sensitive issue to discuss with me. It turned out that he was naked so I could inspect his undercarriage due to a few complications. Now, I’m no doctor but I do know the difference between a healthy penis and an unhealthy one, within reason.

I inspect, from a distance, a few areas of concern when Len asks me ‘Is your dick ok?’ I’m momentarily taken aback with this question and the ramifications of what he’s f*cking suggesting. Is he suggesting that we have shared ANYTHING that might lead to me catching what he has? Has he been wearing my f*cking underpants and putting them back without washing them? He’s certainly despicable enough. Or does he actually think that sharing the same bathroom constitutes a genuine reason how a sexually transmitted disease might spread?  Unfortunately for this particular retard, he knows you can catch AIDS off a toilet seat but doesn’t realise that in order to do so, you have to sit down before the other f*cker stands up.

It transpires, this is nothing more than a hygiene/over usage issue and he has nothing to worry about, which is more than can be said for his future sexual partners/victims.

Michael


19
Nov 09

You know You’ve Lost a Bet When…

I’ve reached a decision on the ex last week and decided that she will remain the ex forever or until I find another girlfriend, who will no doubt become the ex at some stage in the future, whereas the ex will then become the ex ex. It’s all very complicated but you get the gist. The ex continually displays the traits of a psychopath and even this morning after my continued requests for her not to contact me anymore, she sent a text saying due to me not caring, she isn’t going to contact me anymore. The result being what I want but the method somehow going wrong, but right reminds me of the guy that tried to hang himself with his braces but ended up smashing himself to death on the ceiling.

My advice to anyone is…if you find yourself dating someone that attends AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), NA (Narcotics Anonymous) and CA (Cocaine Anonymous) simultaneously, for whatever reason, they’re not f*cking right. Run.

On informing Len of my decision, he bet me £50 that I’d go running back to her before Christmas. When I found myself bartering down the size of the bet, £10, £25, I realised I’d f*cking lost the bet already. My only hope is that I burn the bridge completely or I ask the ex to pay the £50.

Michael


15
Nov 09

A Tale of Woe – I Visit My Family…

Sod it, I really cannot be arsed writing this update but have promised myself a large pizza once finished. I’ll focus on one or two things but on the whole my weekend was:

Thursday: Travelled to Manchester and stayed at the most inhospitable place on earth, my mother’s house. She really is the worst host ever, pretending to be happy to see me and telling me I should visit more often whilst at the same time trying to think of ways she can move house without f*cking telling me. Then you have my sister, who now lives with my mother due to being abducted by aliens 6 months ago and taken to their spaceship before having half of her brain removed. This isn’t actually what happened but her version of events is f*cking unbelievable.

My sister never leaves her room and is on edge constantly, like a coiled rattle snake that’s just detected a rat hovering around its territory. This occurred to me on Thursday evening as I was hovering around her bedroom door, building up the courage to enter her dominion. There is a strict code of conduct in her room, do not make eye contact, do not smile, speak when spoken to and whatever you do, don’t f*cking challenge her. I should point out that by ‘challenge’ I mean anything that is defined in the current code of conduct or the daily amendments of the code of conduct that she keeps to herself. So me being me, I walk in and break every rule before opening my mouth and f*ck me, it was a scene from the exorcist. She was climbing the f*cking walls and I contemplated throwing myself out of the 2nd floor window before bolting for the door.

The evening couldn’t get any worse, or so I thought. My mother and her new husband, Fred, tell me about their latest acquisition in their world of hospitality, a top of the range (their words), expensive (their words) air bed that will be sure to guarantee me a good night’s sleep. They’ve bought this f*cking contraption from the shopping channel, you know the script, the advert features a couple looking for a suitable bed for the guest room and they stumble across a conveniently placed demonstration of the new air bed from this manufacturer or that. They’re so made up with the demo they can’t wait to part with their cash. Anyway, there is a flaw with this particular bed and the manufactures f*cking know it. I can imagine the conversation between the manufacturer and the actors prior to filming the advert – (Manufacturer) ‘Now then John (actor), we’ve got one shot at this. You and the wife are walking around looking at beds and you stumble upon our presentation. We go through all the features and you’re really impressed and want to buy one, BUT JOHN, whatever you do, do NOT attempt to lie on the bed, you’ll f*cking ruin us’.

I kid you not, this new bed was a cross between a bouncy castle and a rodeo bull. The f*cking thing threw me off three times and I’ve never had to MOUNT a f*cking bed before, either. It had all the characteristics of a cheap hammock, whereas at any given moment you could land on your f*cking face. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a wink.

Friday: Travelled back from Manchester, sleep deprived, very f*cking tired, M6 closed, lost in Birmingham area, traffic – bitch, seriously thought about digging out ‘Condor Man’ video to help rectify travel issues. Then realised, even if I did fabricate a working bird man suit and then find tall enough buildings in Southend and Manchester to launch from, how would I get the bird suit complete with ‘condor’ wings in any of the buildings’ elevators? I hate it when one of my ideas fails for no other reason than other peoples design flaws.

Pizza time,

Michael


5
Nov 09

My Housemate is a Moron

So I’m sat at home preparing to get through some long overdue paperwork (I haven’t opened much of my mail recently) and I feel the urge to make myself a nice cup of tea. I wander into the kitchen and go through the motions of making myself the hot drink in question when I suddenly realise there is no sugar in the sugar pot. Now, this is quite strange because my f*cking idiot housemate, Len bought some sugar only last night. I know this because 1. I had several drinks and had an abundance of sugar at my disposal and 2. Len bought ‘half spoon’ sugar by accident and due to him being f*ucking mentally challenged, kept putting too much sugar in his drink, prompting him to react each time like someone had shit in his mouth.

Because Len is a complete f*ucking moron, it doesn’t take me long to piece the puzzle together. He’s obviously thrown out the new sugar without giving a moment’s thought to me and whether I might like it, which was evident last night when I was f*ucking using it.

Michael


4
Nov 09

My Ex and I Go Shopping at Lakeside

…by shopping, I mean she shopped and I watched. However, the fact that we got along for a few hours was pleasant to say the least. We were also joined by the ex’s two year old daughter, Lilly, who I adore. Anyway, I used to like shopping for two reasons, the first being that I’m quite stylish (if I say so myself) and enjoy spending money on nice clothes and the second being the inevitable procession of the hottest women in the town, dolled up like its Friday night, all of which a perfect distraction for hundreds of bored husbands and boyfriends dragged around by their partners on any given day.

Obviously, the Ex cannot know I’m letching at said hot women and I get the impression every man in the shopping centre is thinking the same thing. The Ex is looking particularly nice today and I regret coming out because her looking nice is a recipe for disaster. Lilly, on the other hand is delightful, horrible, funny, moody, tired, spoilt, delightful, and funny again all afternoon as every two year old should be. She refuses to do anything mummy or Michael asks her to do but has a thoroughly good time.

I blame my non commitment phobia on Shopping centres, I may even sue. For all these hot women walking about the place isn’t healthy for any relationship, especially any relationship I am in! It’s like anything else, you have what you have and then you see what someone else has got and you want some of that also. Usually people feel this emotion towards inanimate objects but very many people also feel this towards people and relationships. The only way of combating it is genuinely being with someone you feel you belong with and, unfortunately, my Ex probably isn’t that person.  In fact, its nigh on impossible to ever find anyone suitable and I should know.  Whereas most people could probably have a happy relationship with one in ten of the opposite sex, even claiming them to be ‘the one’, when they’re actually ‘the one million’! People like me can only make a relationship work with one in a hundred women because we’re so damn fussy.

Anyway, I can’t think where I’m going with this so I’m going to stop writing and get ready to go round to the Ex’s….why do I do this to myself?

Michael


2
Nov 09

Churchills Nightclub, Southend

I’ve delayed this update until now due to excessive drinking over the weekend, resulting in a bad head. The night also caused a serious bout of resentment which I shall explain as I go along.

The funny thing about being broke is the desire to escape the reality of the situation by any means necessary. This leads many people to alcohol, the weaker of which become full blown alcoholics. I’m different, I think, because although I like the escapism of drinking excessively at the moment, I’ve always been tea total in and around the home and only drink socially. I don’t particularly like the taste of alcoholic drinks and see them only as a means to an end.
Anyway, the good owners at Churchills sell cheap drinks every Friday night and my friend, Len and I are regulars of said establishment. The way I see it, I cannot escape the reality of not being able to pay the rent and this will come to a head soon, so I may as well enjoy my last weekends out while I can.

A bit about Len. Len is the most unattractive man I have ever known. His lack of hygiene is legendary amongst his long term friends and being my landlord and us living in the same dwelling, I can confirm every story. He is quite disgusting on every level. When he farts, he doesnt just fart, he produces something that can only be described as one of the modern wonders of this world in a prolonged, (sometimes up to 30 seconds), very wet, steaming, stinking, stomach turning, fresh air shit in his pants fart that cannot be excused in any circles. No man can produce such a phenomenon without the occasional follow through and Len is no different. This is a man that has to dispense with underwear during nights out after such occurrences, opting to limp to the toilets as though nursing a dead leg but actually nursing a shit in his pants.

Amongst Lens other traits are a total lack of respect for himself or anyone else, especially women. He goes on nights out with one thing in mind – getting laid and has a technique that I can only describe as crash, bang, wallop – setting his sights on the most intoxicated women, pouring more alcohol down the throat of any women that allows him and then pulling her into a taxi. He is a real life ‘Sid the Sexist’ and some women find it quite amusing until they realise he IS actually f*ucking like that. It goes without saying that every woman he ever cons into bed, usually leaves the next morning, early and never wants to grace his presence again. We actually rarely see them again which either means he’s also a serial killer or the night of abuse they have just been subjected to has given them a much needed wakeup call.

However, Friday was different, hence my resentment as I’m about to explain.

We’d been in Churchills for about an hour when Len spots an opportunity. It isn’t straight forward though because its 4 young girls (21), one of which gave me her number 6 months ago and I never contacted her. Len’s spotted the prize, which happens to be an attractive friend of theirs, who wouldn’t look twice at Len in any parallel universe but for some reason tonight, he’s having some success following her around, not taking no for an answer. By success, I mean she hasn’t threatened to call the police as yet, which does sometimes happen. She avoids him and she and I talk but her friend, my former reject is watching with interest. I back off to avoid an awkward situation and Len moves in with the second phase of his strategy, dragging her onto the dance floor away from me or any other attractive male! He always settles for the deepest reaches of the dance floor and smoothers his pray like a human anaconda, only allowing her to surface for air for phase three of his strategy, intoxication. An absolutely essential element to his plan is not allowing her anywhere near her friends for the rest of the evening. This would only ruin what he has in stall for her because her friends would talk sense into her. Usually, I’ll not see him again after phase two and once he commences phase four, its all over, the anaconda is about to devour its pray and the process of dragging her into a taxi is a formality due to intoxication. She isn’t allowed to say goodbye to friends for earlier stated reason.

My resentment is over the fact that 1. She is hot. 2. He is disgusting. 3. I’m going home alone to have 1 + 2 rubbed in my f*ucking face. Not to mention the fact that for some reason she’s loving the attention from him and remains in our house all weekend shagging him like a rabbit. He surfaces every couple of hours to brag to me in detail about what they’re doing together and I get the hump and have to go for long walks just to get out of the house.

On top of all that, I tell my ex what has happened and she further ruins my weekend by getting jealous of the girl Len is shagging because I think she’s hot. I really cannot f*ucking win at this point.

Michael


30
Oct 09

My Ex Girlfriend Takes Me To Dinner…

My ex and I have had a very turbulent relationship. It hasn’t been helped by a number of factors, namely, her anger management problems and my commitment phobia, combined with our self esteem issues as a result of me not having any income and her not having me at her beck and call. I get the distinct impression that she relishes any opportunity to see me these days though, much like a cat stalking a mouse that will very soon be homeless, thus will have nowhere to hide.

Now she invited me to dinner and offered to pay in advance. I am a modern man and accepted her proposal as long as she took me somewhere nice and she doesn’t drag up the past. Anyway, we arrive in the area of the recommended restaurant to find it doesn’t f*ucking exist. My idiot mate, Len, who has a tendency to get things completely wrong on a painfully regular basis, has given me the wrong restaurant name. I find a couple of Thai/Asian people walking aimlessly about the place and ask them where this restaurant might be. They know immediately and send us straight to it, either that or they’ve just sent us straight to their f*ucking restaurant. They even had the cheek to tell me how and where to cross the road to avoid getting hit by a car and I’m left wondering whether I’ve over done it with the fake tan.

Anyway, we sit down and the past becomes the present within 5 f*ucking minutes. We spend the evening at each other’s throats, only pausing to order, chew, drink and pay.

You see, she has taken me out for two reasons. Firstly, she still fancies me and would quite like some physical attention. Secondly, she’s paying for the meal so she can say and do what the hell she likes, including spending the evening character assassinating the idiot sat in front of her. It occurs to me that I’ve become a prostitute for the evening albeit without knowing it initially. I’m sure the same thought crossed her mind much f*ucking earlier than it did mine. However, being a man it really doesn’t bother me and I’m quite happy with the arrangement, except next time I’d rather do it with someone that hasn’t got quite so much shit on me!

Michael