Sunday, 18 April 2010

Drunken Bitterness, Black Knickers and Religious Retards

I have realised that as fun as drinking alcohol is at the time, you need a lot of it to actually blur out the nagging voice in your head that you are in fact being a bit daft by puffing away on Camel blues when you don't normally smoke and your hangover is going to be a right bastard.

I had vowed not to drink to excess again but on Friday had been informed that my recently "rugby ball shaped" left eyeball which had carried my short sighted right eye for 39 years was deteriorating to the point where it was probably going to stay like this. Short version: Spacky vision from now on and no hope of repair without lazer surgery.

Last weekend I went to a picnic with Couchsurfing. A rather delicious American girl that I knew was there along with a few other people and we spent a pleasant couple of hours soaking up the sunshine and munching on a few snacks. I was completely knackered from a 2 hour sesssion in the gym and had originally vowed not to drink any more. Then someone offered me a bottle of home made red wine and before I knew it I had slaked my thirst with half of it. Two Polish birds were there and one had a lovely green dress on. She was playing volleyball and every time she went for a smash shot I hoped her dress would ride up so we could see her arse but no such luck. She then crouched down in front of me to chat and get some wine and it took all my willpower to keep my eyes on her face and not on the black, lacey, patterned knickers she was wearing.

My memories of the evening slowly got more blurry as time went on but 4 of us ended up going to an Italian guy's house where he dusted off some bottles of nearly finished Martini and rum and I got more obnoxiously pissed while the two girls played Never Have I Ever with me, which was a non-starter as both were sober and I was the only one drinking.

It had dawned on me earlier in the proceedings that the delicious Yank I fancied (and had taken out on a date a few weeks before) was with our host who had gone for a shower...alone, as he needed to "freshen up" before we went out again. He was nauseatingly sensible and while I was stinking of booze and fags it struck me as painful that a bird I wanted to woo, would choose a guy who would leave her with me in order to bathe on his tod.

Now...I'm an insecure chap deep down and while I knew I had no claim on this girl I was very annoyed that she had shacked up with him when she knew I liked her and all the emotions I felt that normally wouldn't have bothered me and I would have dismissed as childish and immature, became tenfold worse through a haze of alcohol. I remember being vaguely insulting about him during the drinking games and later when we went for dinner they sat next to each other while I sat next to another American bird who had a cracking pair of tits.

The litre or two of house wine made my paranoia worse, especially as he was remaining poker faced while caressing her leg under the table. After mucho wine, swearing and general self pity and wondering why she would do this monstrously evil thing I ended up making the remark "I don't know how we can trust your opinion when you've got your hand between her legs!" I also vaguely recall offering him out at one point and him referring to me as "Mr Fuck You" due to my constant stream of cursing.

They ended up going to a club, I fucked off home to sleep and spent an entire Sunday in bed, getting up only to eat, shit and drink water. I sobered up enough about 4pm to send him an e-mail apologising for my obnoxious behaviour and thanking him for his hospitality BUT avoiding specifying what I was actually apologising for. He replied the same day to say thanks but then spoilt it by telling me to drink less, smile more and speak English more slowly for those who aren't able to keep up.

Ashes to Ashes series 3 (and final) has started and by about lunchtime Saturday you can download the episodes. Gene Hunt's best line so far has to be to an irate female cop who has just screeched at her male colleagues to leave her alone. Gene snaps "OI!!! If you're riding the cotton pony you can go home and do it!!!".

One of my students is a 20 year old Sicilian woman with a wonderful pair of breasts and a delectable squidgy arse. We've been having English lessons at her house for about 2 months and last time things got very heated when I leaned over to point to a mistake she'd made and she kissed me. After a short pause while I stared at her in disbelief and she giggled and then blushed, I picked her up and threw her on her bed and the rest of the lesson consisted of getting her to understand "no I haven't got a condom but don't worry".

Things were working out wonderfully and she'd managed to keep her screams down to a muffled squeaking when we heard the key in the front door.
She immediately froze, wriggled out from under me and started throwing my clothes at me while whispering furiously for me to get out as soon as I was dressed.

Like most unmarried Sicilian women she lives with her parents and to say her father would have been displeased to find me in bed with his youngest daughter would have been an understatement. Luckily they live on the ground floor so I only had to climb out the window but the tap on the door meant I left in only my socks while she quickly rearranged the bedsheets and then lay down on top of them, affecting an innocent look with a copy of Twilight while I slunk off round the communal garden of the apartment block before her loving padre could catch me. Luckily I had my trainers in my bag from the gym, minging with sweat but better than nothing.

Hopefully I'll get the boots back this week. Irony is they were my police-issue Magnums.

I was interviewed in the Macclesfield Express last week about my book STAB PROOF SCARECROWS due to the chapter about my involvement with local band The Macc Lads.
A generally well-rounded article but one big problem was that the article had a photo of a band that aren't the Macc Lads but are in fact Ć arlo Akrobata, a Yugoslav, 1980s, alt rock band. Turns out this is the first photo you get on Google if you type "Macc Lads" as search string.

Lazy fucking journos!

Other problem was that they titled the article "In Bed With The Macc Lads" which considering they were a homophobic, sexist punk rock version of Chubby Brown and/ or Bernard Manning is not exactly appropriate.

Someone sent me a link to a video on YouTube called "Why Women Date Bad Boys, But Marry Nice Men". Don't need to watch it and can sum that up in one sentence: "Better at sex, more exciting yet ultimately not reliable wage earners".

One thing I HATE is when people use religion to justify anything inexcusable.

I had two 14 year-old students on punishment for lying to me on a summer camp 5 years ago. The ill-behaved brats still wouldn't tell the truth after 2 hours and were sat outside my office, missing the disco. Their group leader came to me in tears to say "they would not lie. They are Muslims, Allah is watching them".

She then scurried off bawling after I snorted and went "well I'm Agnostic so that cuts NO ice whatsoever!!!"

while my junior colleague winced and went "that REALLY wasn't appropriate".

Now it's the story of a little 12 year old girl in Yemen who was sold in "marriage" to some pervert over twice her age who clearly couldn't pull women. He killed her due to genital bleeding after they had sex (which is rape no matter how you look at it). Attempts to point out that this is a disgusting and loathsome traffic in child sex slaves to paedophiles has been met with Islamic scholars (read: cunts with beards) righteously carping on amidst a flurry of spittle about how Allah said child marriage was acceptable so what's wrong with it and a group of the country's highest Islamic authorities declaring those supporting a ban on child marriages to be apostates.

At least Catholic priests have the decency to sneak around and lie about this horrible shit.

Rome won the football (for Yanks read soccer, pronounced Sock-urr NOT "soshur") derby against Lazio on Sunday 18th April and for about 5 hours traffic roared past my house with the horns playing merry tunes. Below my flat is a social centre/ youth club type thing and some drunken teenagers were playing football in the street. Not normally a big deal, did it myself as a kid...BUT these twats were doing it on a busy main road where traffic roars past at about 50 miles per hour. I caught one impromptu deflection on film (ball hit a motorbike rider, who I hoped would come back and thump the kid but simply rode off) and then they managed to bang the side of a moving car. I called the Carabinieri who listened to what I had to say and then the operator simply snapped "that's a job for Vigili Urbani NOT us" and hung up.

The joys of Italian law enforcement.

Oh and is it just me or is Doctor Who's new assistant Amy Pond the horniest bit of ginger stuff to ever step into the Tardis? I was bereft of bodily fluids after that first episode where she's in a Police strippergram's uniform and the following one spent most of the time hitting "pause" on the computer to see if I could get a look up her nighty.

Think we should get her into Torchwood with Captain Jack Harkness and get them both drunk and naked.

1 comment:

  1. Maybe they should have included you and all the women you encounter in the Spartacus series, since you surely provide us with a lot of sexual content. But only camera angles focused on the women of course... ;)


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