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I can't poo

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» Singing the wrong words

I've never understood why i did this....
As a 7 or 8 year old, and after hearing the early 90's hit 'love changes everything' by Michael Ball, my mother was rather disturbed to find me changing the once beautiful lyrics to the following:

Poo ploppy willy bums,
Smelly features,
Dangly bits.

This was then repeated and followed with:

And anything your bum desires is usually poo.

She still reminds me of this at opportune moments, e.g the arrival of a new girlfriend. The old scrint.
(Sun 30th Jan 2005, 23:51, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

After a lovely evening out on vodka and red bull, me and my mate jonboy decided to go back to mine for a spliff. After skinning a couple up in my conservatory, me and Jon smoked the aforesaid j's and proceeded to chill out. This unfortunately happened all too quickly for Jonboy, as Jonboy only ever smoked hash and not skunk. And not very often either. So Jon turns a lovely shade of grey and whites out. Thinking that this is awfully hilarious, I leave Jon to his semi conscious ramblings and skin up again. This proves to be my downfall, as soon after I cannot move my head without spinning my tits off. I eventually manage to fall forwards onto the fall and crawl to the open conservatory door, where I lay my head on the edge and puke onto the patio. At some point I remember Jon leaving over my garden fence, and i pass out. I awake in the morning to bright sunshine, and a pool of red bull vomit. Looked surpisingly like sweet and sour sauce. Next door's cat was gently licking at it aswell, which caused a relapse and another pint of puke to exit my body at high speed. Red bull vodka and skunk do not mix. Period. Ha, I said period.
(Fri 16th Dec 2005, 14:17, More)

» Near Death Experiences

boozy ciggy whoopsy
About 4 years ago on New Years eve I got a mite plastered (as the rest of the population of Gloucester does to great extent). Upon carefully entering my house and only knocking a few bits over, I decided a final beer and a fag would be a great idea. Then a small amount of beer-blankness covers my mind.
Upon waking at 8am in my conservatory with a blanket on and a slightly concerned mother looking over me, she explained how she had heard me come in at 5ish. When I had not come up at 7, she came down to find a now dead fag butt on my rummy-tum-tum and a 4 inch burn mark in my brand spanking new shirt. How in the name of greek buggery I was not burned to shiteroo is a mystery to me. Suffice to say I now no longer smoke. But I do wank. A lot.
(Wed 1st Dec 2004, 21:22, More)

» Teenage Poetry

6th Form English Lessons
Two poems written during english when I was 17 about my mates who sat next to me. Found in an old clip file in my loft last year.


Deany Dean.
Deany Deany Deanity Dean.
How marvellous it must have been
To have your parents name you Dean.
And I wonder if you've ever seen
A lima bean or a naked queen?
And do you ever use Mr Sheen
To keep your house so nice and clean?
Well Dean?
Do you want to join the team?


Craigy McCraig O'Craig Craigahan.
You are a big twat.
But not fat.
Or in a hat.
You don't work in Badats,
Or like to fuck cats.
But you are a big twat.
Bjat, bjat bjat.

Oooo, the wit and mastery of the text is sublime(ly fuckwitted).
(Sun 14th Aug 2005, 14:40, More)

» Beautiful Moments

After a night round my mates house on the pop, we found ourselves walking to college the next day. On ther lovely two mile walk in, I felt a small twinge in my cackhole. Never mind thinks I, be there in 5 minutes. Unfortunately with each progressing step, the twinges became more regular and paniful, to the point where I was almost leaking. My chum found this somewhat amusing, to the point of poking me in the ribs as I waddled down the road, sweating profusely and cursing the day I ever drank before an early college start. As i finally made it through the doors, I painstakingly jogged, arse cheeks tighter than a jewish accountants coffers, to the awaiting shitters. Gingerly, I eased my trousers down to my knees, lifted the lid and prepared for the worse. However, the worst was indeed the most incredible and beautiful moment of my life. Walking into the classroom, brow dripping and botty aching, my lecturer questioned my lateness. Telling him the reason was the second most beautiful moment of my life.
(Wed 16th Mar 2005, 23:59, More)
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