» Cringe!

And I never had sex ever again...
This is one of those stories that sounds like something that isn't true, but unfortunately did happen. Even more unfortunately, it happened to me.

Now, we've all had those exes. The ones with whom you split up reasonably amicably, and therefore still see on nights out. Nights where the talking together becomes drinking together, becomes touching, becomes kissing, becomes going back to their place...

There's a time and a place for this sort of encounter, of course. The time is not University, when everyone you know is living in shitty accommodation, with flimsy walls and flimsier locks, and perhaps sharing a house with someone who is good friend of yours. A good, devout Christian friend. With views about this sort of thing.

Certainly, if you're going to picture this, picture yourself drunk, and tied up in a very revealing position. Imagine you haven't locked the door. And your devout housemate bursts in, yelling 'Guys, I need a lift to the hospital! My dad's just died!'





Now imagine failing to keep a straight face.

Oh. God.
(Wed 3rd Dec 2008, 21:25, More)

» I hurt my rude bits

Not me, but I did wince
This, as you can tell, is the story of someone else's (self inflicted) genital adventure. It is also the story of how I saw my first vagina. Excuse me if at any point this starts sounding like underage lesbian porn.

At the tender age of fourteen, I discovered that I could get served in the skanky alternative pub in the town near where I grew up. I say 'pub', the place was called Cellar Bar, and was indeed a bar in a cellar. A damp one. Sometimes with rats. Nevertheless, you avoided the chavs, the music was good and the shots were £1 each. Also, the barstaff were lax about IDing their patrons, since half the bar were 16 year old goths. Anyway, I was relatively innocent, and also at that stage where my friends were all getting belly button piercings. In the ladies, I remember asking a stranger what she thought about them, given my unpopular opinion that were tacky. The stranger was a gothy looking girl, fairly pretty, and would a few years later probably have inspired some more serious flirtation on my part. At this point, though, she just grinned at my innocent little face, and asked if I wanted to see her piercings. Sure, why not?

Still grinning the grin of one who is about to provide a lasting mental image, she sat elegantly on the sink in front of me, parted her legs and lifted her skirt to show me her two matching rows of labial rings, five in each lip.

Which were carefully laced up with a shiny black ribbon.
(Thu 20th Jul 2006, 21:24, More)

» Housemates

Not everything on the internet is good
I live in a house with three boys, and as the token girl, you can imagine that a lot of the arguments come down to cleaning. I think it should be done before mould grows, some disagree. I can't understand how you get pubic hair on the ceiling, but it gets there, and it's something I have to accept. That's the joy of shared living, though, and I can live with that. Unfortunately, our arguments mostly centre around Housemate 3, whom I shall refer to as The Twat, because that is what we call him.

Now, The Twat is not an easy man to live with at the best of times. He would charitably be described as arrogant; he knows more than anybody else on any given subject, since apparently a degree in Sociology confers upon you omniscience. Believe me, when he's just torn the cover off an out-of-print edition of a book by my late Uncle, it was good to know that 'It's not a good book anyway'. He once spent an hour lecturing one of my housemates on the difficulties facing families with a parent in prison. When housemate 2 tried to point out that he knew about it, having spent most of his childhood with his father in prison for smuggling? 'Yeah, but I did a course on it, so I think I know more about it'. He also makes terrible racist jokes all the time, with such frequency and fervour that the 'Just kidding, I have great respect for the Muslim community ever since I did an essay on Halal mortgages' bullshit sounds like, well, bullshit. In fact, several of my friends have been offended so badly they won't come to my house anymore. Though naturally when I told Twat this, and other housemates agreed that it was offensive, we were totally wrong to think this, and in fact we were victimising him.

So far, yes, he's a twat. Add his inability to understand the concept of cleaning as something that involves him, and his tendency to help himself to anything he wants in any of the cupboards (cheese, bread, wine, vodka) and you could see why he'd be annoying to live with.

The real problems however, only surfaced after housemate 2, the ex-army fella, and a mate of mine from school went into Twat's room unannounced, to borrow his printer. This day proved to be the end of any attempts to befriend Twat.

The smell was the first thing to tip off Army. We'd noticed a certain 'unwashed' sort of fragrance in the landing, but mostly ignored it. The smell was coming from Twat's bed. Army's braver than I am, and he flipped back the covers, and as you may have guessed, they are not only obviously piss stained, but they're caked in shit. He has actually been sleeping in a bed full of his own excrement.

So, Army decides to grab the printer and run; discretion being occasionally the better part of valour. To do this, he had to see what was on the screen. Please read this bearing in mind that I'm b3tan, and my tolerance is pretty high for most things. Tubgirl? Two girls, one cup? Pterodactyls? I've seen and laughed at most of them. And who doesn't love porn? Porn is great.

He likes rape porn.

Rape. Porn.

Not because he heard of it, was curious, went 'Heh heh ew' and logged off. No, he wanks to videos with taglines like 'All she can do is cry' 'Features three chloroformings' and 'Watch her bleed'. I've asked the advice of the most hardened perverts I know, and consensus is the same; this is severely fucked up. If we were in an episode of CSI, this would be a clue pointing to the fact that he did it.

I can't stand it, and the only reason I'm still living there is I love the two other guys. Sorry for the turn toward unfunny, but he genuinely creeps me out. An important sidenote to the story would be that two weeks later, Army went back in there... and Twat hadn't changed the bed.

Length? Well, if he can't get a girl to consent to it...
(Thu 26th Feb 2009, 15:35, More)

» Running away

Not away from home, but very much away
Despite being a sweet and innocent looking young girl, fresh faced and blonde, for some reason old people always hate me. You know how in horror films, dogs start barking at the approach of evil? It's much the same with me. All I have to do is walk past a Nursing Home and you can hear the inmates wailing and pissing themselves in sheer outrage at my presence. Fortunately, I don't like old people much either, so this generally doesn't bother me.

A few years back, when I was still attending Sixth Form College, we had free periods, during which we were allowed to roam the local town in our school uniforms, being model members of society, etc. So I was taking advantage of this, and had wandered out to get a sandwich and enjoy the sunshine and a brief respite from Organic Chemistry. A little old lady appears out of nowhere, her hunchback casting a shadow of gloom on the pavement before her, glaring up at me through NHS specs and a cloud of fluffy white hair.

'Shouldn't you be in school?'

'I have a free period at the moment,' I replied, very pleasantly, and attempted to sidestep her.

'DON'T LIE!' she screeched, and started hitting me wildly with her handbag, still wailing like a wrinkly siren. This left me with a dilemma. I could fight back, and be an out of control teenage granny-beater or I could try and reason with her. Except she was hitting me pretty hard, and I didn't like it. So I ran. I ran as fast as possible.

These days, I cross the road when I see an old person coming.
(Sat 12th Aug 2006, 0:41, More)

» Celebrities part II

The Sith from the Shit one
Those of you fortunate enough to have experienced the concrete roundabout emporium of Milton Keynes nay know that the shopping centre there is host to an annual sci fi convention (stars tend to range from the recognisable to the unknown). At any rate, Ex was a massive Star Wars fan, even by internet standards, so off to gawp we go. And about half way through the day, Ex decides to get Ray Park's autograph. For those of you who've managed to block out the Phantom Menace, he's the one in all the red and black face paint.

Given that I'm basically Tim Bisley when it comes to George Lucas opinions, I wasn't that into meeting him. However, there was something just spellbinding about Ray. Captivating. Shiny. Something truly, I don't know, Hollywood about him. So when the Ex had got his autograph and got his few minutes of banter, Ray turned to me and asked what I thought of Star Wars. Unfortunately, I was only able to say one thing:

'You... have... AMAZING teeth.'

Yes, folks. I've made a Sith Lord back away nervously.
(Thu 8th Oct 2009, 23:01, More)