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Profile for ascorbate:
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British scientist, from Glasgow, but now living in South East of England. Mildly obsessed with parasites and vitamins.
Had my first sprog in September 2009, and regularly reading b3ta for tips on how to bring up a child.

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» My Biggest Disappointment

I used to love macaroni cheese
Our school was in quite a rich area, full of the children of lawyers and doctors, who had moved to the suburbs so they could commute into the city every day. The school grounds used to belong to an old mansion, and the only part of the original building left was an old tower, on two levels, attached to the school by a little bridge on the upper floor. The top level was Mr. Smith's maths classroom, and beneath it was a sandy-floored shelter.

The deer used to come to the round room. They would shelter under it when the weather was bad. I used to go and watch them at lunchtimes when I was going through my manic-depressive stage in third year, and wish I could be a deer, it seemed so much easier than school. Then the fourth years discovered that the walls under the round room served as an excellent hideout for all kinds of forbidden activities.

I remember the time I knelt in some deershit under the round room. It was the day I lost my innocence.

At fifteen, I was the school geek, the sad, lonely one who sat in the corner at lunchtime, nose in a book, whilst the other girls, the cool ones, chattered excitedly about boys. They all had breasts, and wore tight, short skirts, tight like clingfilm around their little hips, and they knew about kissing and what fucking and screwing meant. I was still flat as an ironing board though, known as "Holland" (after a particularly excruciating geography lesson), and had no idea what the other girls were talking about. However, when I hit sweet sixteen, I was flooded with hormones, and I discovered the previously hidden attraction of BOYS. I was besotted with one of the cool kids, one of the unattainable sixth years, with his amazing body, and clear skin, and deep voice. Unfortunately, so was everyone else, so I was left with Andy, the other geek in my year.

He was a tall, lanky, piss-streak of a boy, with greasy ginger curtains for hair, which he continually swept to the side, to get them away from his glasses. His hair was combed into a centre parting, which ha obviously been done using a ruler, so straight it was, and it was as greasy as a chippie floor. He also had the worst acne I have ever seen. A face made of pizza with extra mozzarella, which had been under a grill for too long. Some of his boils had obviously burst when he wasn't squeezing them, and a thick crust had formed over them. His nose, forehead and chin (the infamous T-zone) were like a field of boiling lava, with the constant `put! put!`s of exploding plooks. He also had a large hairy mole, which was continually being threatened with drowning in the pus, on his left cheek. We used to watch it in horrified fascination in classes, waiting for it to make a bid for freedom, but it never did.

My memories of him are full of pus and grease and the metal braces on his rodenty teeth. But it never bothered me, because he was gagging for it, like me, as horny the school orchestras' brass section (which, owing to an enthusiastic brass teacher, was exceptionally well endowed with horns that year). Like a dog with two dicks.

It was at lunchtime that he made his suggestion. It was macaroni cheese for lunch; we were in the school canteen as usual. The macaroni was being dropped onto plates by the clinical-whites clad tyre stacks that were employed solely to put pupils off their food. They all had bristles on their upper lips, evil in their hearts, and stank of sweat and cabbages. The macaroni that day was leaden in weight, and as solid as could be in consistency, like week-old porridge that has been left out in the pan, consolidated crud. It didn't taste much better, either, but we were starving. It was whilst we were eating that Andy put forward his proposal: "So, we gonna do it today, or what?" He wasn't renowned for his romantic tendencies, more for his onanism, but we were both such raging masses of hormones that we would dry hump a fence post, so I took him up on his offer. Of course, I knew this meant a trip beneath the Round Room.

We sat on the hill next to the round room, kissing wetly in the well-pounded grass, indulging in a bit of dry mutual masturbation as we waited for another couple to finish up. As we kissed, his spots were bursting, and when we eventually broke away for air, I could hear the crackling of dried pus breaking its bonds from where it had formed a little bridge between us. Eventually the other couple left, in a blushing post-coital hurry, and we headed into the pit of iniquity together.

Once beneath the high roof of the circular chamber, he unzipped his trousers, and whipped out his little willie. Well, I was shocked. These things should come with warnings - I had never seen anything so ugly before, and remember I had seen his face. It was all red and raw looking down the sides, as if it had been rubbed furiously with sandpaper for weeks (which, in retrospect, I presume it had been), but the top of it was purple and surrounded by a crust of what looked like cottage cheese. And the smell! Did you ever read those reports in the paper of a body being found after six weeks because neighbours complained of the ripe odours emanating from the room? Now combine that smell with ammonia and stale piss. I near boked then and there! However, my teenage hormones overcame the initial repulsion, and I was fascinated - did all boys have one of these? It explained so much! Andy was holding onto his little one-eyed trouser snake with such delicate tenacity, that I wondered if it would fall off and break if anyone else touched it.

He looked up at me then, and said "blow it for me". Well, what's a girl to do? I bent down, and blew gently on his mini-truncheon. "No, not like that, like this!" He told me to kneel down, and I did, putting my knee in a pile of deershit (still warm and squidgy, it seeped through my tights like soft cheese through a sieve), and he put his hands on the back of my head, and forced it towards his middle leg.

Do you remember the smell I told you about? Well it was much worse close up. Accompanied by an equally repellent taste. I couldn't help myself. I vomited. Copiously. Huge great chunks of macaroni cheese and incredibly liquid bile covered his now limp cock and spilt down into his grubby boxers and the trousers, which were crumpled around his knobbly knees. The vomit was almost everywhere on his lower body. There was a small silence before I struggled to my feet and ran away. My last image was of him standing there looking pathetic; white beneath his cheese encrusted face, flicking spew from his fingers and his marshmallowed penis.

Disappointingly, it put me off macaroni for a while.


Apologies for length, or lack of it in his case.
(Thu 26th Jun 2008, 14:46, More)

» Schadenfreude

More baby hilarity
The other day, mr vitC was changing our son's nappy before bed time. As he did so, our delightful child pissed right up in the air, hitting mr vitC all over his face and down his front. Naturally, I fell about laughing, especially as baby had a mischievous grin upon his face.

Mr vitC asked me to take over so he could change his top, so over I went, still laughing, and tickled baby on his tummy, saying 'ha ha, you really got daddy, didn't you?!' As I lent down to kiss his soft little cheek, he vomited, and shat at the same time, covering my face in sick, and my hand and much of my arm, plus the wall behind the changing mat, in shit. I heard my baby boy laugh for the first time that day, although it was somewhat spoiled by my other half actually weeping with laughter as I dripped excrement and regurgitated milk over the baby.

It's over a week later, and mr vitC still dissolves into giggles every so often remembering it. The bedroom wall still has a faint 'baby-faeces-motif' to it.
(Sun 20th Dec 2009, 12:09, More)

» Gyms

My GP
told me to try and join a gym at my appointment today, as I've got a bit of a tummy.

Or, as I would put it - I'm 29 weeks pregnant.

He blushed quite beautifully when I pointed this out...
(Thu 9th Jul 2009, 14:39, More)

» Nightclubs

Trying to get into the Garage in Sauchiehall Street
on my 18th birthday - a friend had given me a toy dinosaur as a present, so when they asked if I had any weapons with me, I pulled dino out of the bag and shouted 'RAWR! I have a vicious man eating lizard, does that count?'.

They then asked if I had any identification to prove that I was over 5...
(Fri 10th Apr 2009, 15:12, More)

» The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

Penis mightier than the sword.
I wrote this handy guide for a man who is rather enamoured with both swords and his willy.
Thanks to Viz for inspiration.


Everyone knows someone who owns a penis, and many of us also know someone who owns a sword - but which is better? Edward Bulwer-Lytton once said that the penis mightier than the sword, but is it really? We graded both sword and penis in a number of categories - read on to see the startling conclusion.

Harming other people

Penis - can carry STDs, which may cause long term harm. Also, seeing a gentleman of the road fondling his scabby member outside Camden Road tube station left the author with long term psychological damage. 6/10

Sword - excellent at causing harm, especially when applied vigorously to opponents body. Can even in some extreme cases cause death. Not so effective if opponent is armoured, however, on balance, the sword wins this round - 10/10.


Carving

Penis - not great at carving, unless the material to be carved is exceptionally soft and the owner of the penis is excited and impervious to pain. May be used for carving soft butter or custard. Penis doesn't do so well here - 2/10.

Sword - excellent at carving with its pointy tip and sharp sharp metal. Not very easily controllable however, as tend to be quite long, so person weilding sword for carving needs good hand eye coordination. 8/10.

Writing

Penis - great in a snowy area, as the penis can eject a stream of yellow 'ink' enabling the owner to write their name at least once before they notice how cold it is outside. 6/10.

Sword - see carving - a bit too long for easy writing, although can be used to mark a variety of materials. 6/10.

Reproduction

Penis - used to be an essential tool in human (and all mammalian) reproduction - when excited, known to spit up wriggly milk, a key element in the making of babies. Mad scientists have somewhat reduced the role of the penis in reproduction today, with crazed notions of cloning and basting tubes. Still, in the majority of cases, a penis is used to make baby, a fact the author observed about 11 weeks ago. 9/10.

Sword - not great at reproduction, unless you wish to reproduce smaller versions of the original by chopping the original in two. Actually, could work for earthworms. 3/10

Excretion of waste fluids from the body.

Penis - this is where the penis comes into its own (oo-er). Exceptionally good at removal of piss. 10/10

Sword - the sword is let down in this category by the fact that although it is also good at the removal of fluids from a body, it also has a tendency to kill owner of said body. 2/10

Entertaining of owner.

Penis - have you ever met a penis owner who does not enjoy some down time with madame palm and her 5 lovely daughters wrapped around his pink oboe? The penis clearly wins this round. 10/10.

Sword - Zorro was kept entertained by his sword, but unless you are caped crusader of some description, a sword can only keep you entertained for so long - not a life time. 8/10.


So, what are the final scores?

Penis - 43
Sword - 37

We have conclusively shown that the penis is indeed mightier than the sword. However, in a fight between the two, my money would be on the sword.

(Oh, and the shame element of this answer? that I spent time writing the bloody thing when I could have been doing something worthwhile)
(Fri 13th Mar 2009, 14:57, More)
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