Strange people
I think you should all know about this.
Moosh and Fwapper are currently in some public house in London, making arses of themselves. Easily done, trust me, I’ve seen these things happen.
They’ve sent me a series of over-excited texts about one Steve Punt. Precisely, Moosh was sat opposite him; Fwapper has “seen” him.
Moosh has flapped and probably made the poor Steve Punt wish he hadn’t actually chosen that pub to wander into for a wished-for quiet pint.
It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t know that Fwapper is nursing a semi thanks to him. I’m sure Fwapper will be making full use of his erection and his memory of the “fwap hot” Mr Punt just as soon as he can. Fwapper not previously known for comedian love, will now never be able to live this down. (I shall make sure of that!!!)
These people are to be avoided for your own safety. I’ve taken all inoculations and vaccinations against them, so I will be safe in their presence.
Protected: Not dead
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Something I’ve been meaning to do….
So, here I am, back from the near-dead. Not really you understand, but something quite close to it all the same. Joyfully, I have a computer that I can sit at in almost total comfort and far removed from any smoking or general tosspottery. My lovely Ubuntu laptop is currently not playing ball, so I have moved on, to a supa-doopa widescreen, duel-core Toshiba laptop.
Anyway, the reason I’m sat here right now is to share something I’ve been meaning to do for fucking ages.
Moosh and I haven’t been out on one of our little jollies for quite a while. Actually bastardly ages. We have this wee thing of recording totally random thoughts or points of topic’s of conversations into one of a couple of ickle notebooks I have. And I keep saying that after these, or more often during, nights out I should/will blog it. But I haven’t. Cos I forget, or I’m actually too lazy to do so, or it’s a less than pleasant way to recover from a great deal of beer and dancing. So I present for your delectation, the first part of:
Random Bollockness From Pubs
Occasion: Pre-Halloween Drinkies
When: Before Halloween, obviously
Location: Stroud, as far as I can tell
Britain: Wall to Wall Lettuces!
Russia: Not so hot on the lettuces.
Moosh said: “I love big wavey mustaches!”
There is then a picture of two heads with Russian hats on and what mostly looks like sheep bodies with feet sticking out the bottom. This was actually Moosh’s attempt to draw us dressed as lettuces, Russian lettuces. For Halloween. Yes, that really makes sense, doesn’t it?! That was the plan for what our Halloween dressing up was to be that year. It was revised for something a little more sane – Russian military.
Russian lettuces. Bad idea?
30/9/06 Prediction – brunny
blokes –
either secret transvestites with big fake boobies (inflatable balloons – which hilariously get popped at 11pm)
OR
dress up like the crow/scary vampires
women –
slutty things
And the difference between that & normal Saturdays is….?
Bea loses voice saying “quim” in the Retreat.
Cardigan Flasher!
I’ve forgotten how to write!
Damn you internet!
Minge, quim, vulva, clam something, flaaange, cunt, fanny, box.
A small diagram of an equilateral triangle with the words quim at the top, flange at the bottom left & minge on the other corner. Then a circle with arrows going anti-clockwise with the word cock pointing to it. And what looks like a shoe a kid would draw, with tied up laces, that has the word penesse written within it. I think we may have been discussing the various slang words for genitalia. Where I get that idea from I don’t know! The penesse might be due to us talking about penis not being spelt the way it sounds, or something. I’m at a loss to understand the pictures.
Searching for camel toes.
= unfruitful
(thankfully)
FACT: Tights cause camel toes
says Bea
“I am a great slut” said Bea in the Retreat after the book was put away.
It’s not just muffin tops people should be aware of – it’s whole cake spillage.
*Everything in purple text was written by Bea; everything in pink was Moosh’s note-taking. But that doesn’t always mean the writer is recording their own musings.*
End Of Part One.
Bea Whale
Nothing (much) To Report 