I realised that I've done such a good job of sanitising (both making clean and making sane) my online profiles, that I have nowhere to say things like the following. So I'm going to do it here. Please feel free to ignore it...
Ready...?
The insanely cute Italian girl who works in this building is about 3 months pregnant. Her bump is just starting to show and her breasts have already started to grow. She's still wearing incredibly well fitted, tight fitting jumpers and skinny jeans.
I have just two things to say about this...
1) I approve.
2) BEWBS!!!!!111!
Normal intellectual content (no comments please) will now continue elsewhere...
Ready...?
The insanely cute Italian girl who works in this building is about 3 months pregnant. Her bump is just starting to show and her breasts have already started to grow. She's still wearing incredibly well fitted, tight fitting jumpers and skinny jeans.
I have just two things to say about this...
1) I approve.
2) BEWBS!!!!!111!
Normal intellectual content (no comments please) will now continue elsewhere...
I feel like shite.
I still don't feel well. I'm still sneezing, still coughing, and still got a horribly upset stomach.
I've managed to convince myself that the bedroom has black ground beetles in it, so every time a hair shifts I flinch, convinced it's a beetle on me. Sleep is not happening.
I'm so twisted up about love and lust that it's insane.
I've no energy. No interest. No desire.
I just want to shut down and give up...
I still don't feel well. I'm still sneezing, still coughing, and still got a horribly upset stomach.
I've managed to convince myself that the bedroom has black ground beetles in it, so every time a hair shifts I flinch, convinced it's a beetle on me. Sleep is not happening.
I'm so twisted up about love and lust that it's insane.
I've no energy. No interest. No desire.
I just want to shut down and give up...
If any of you remember him, Major B'Stard is out of prison and back on the intermawebs.
Yesterday the doctor asked me if I suffered from "Seasonal Deffective Disorder"...
As you all know (yes you do) I don't normally remember any of my dreams. This last week I've remembered several of them. They've all been weird. Not "I was chased by a giant chicken that was actually my father but also a Ford mustang" weird, just "wtf" weird.
Take the one I had Friday night (which was helped by a bottle of port and a cigar)...
I ended up in a dream-induced lucid dream where I had my car stolen from apetrol station in Harlow. Phoning 999 connected me to a computer operator that tried to route me to the right type of policeman. Except it started getting difficult and started swearing at me, giving me options for how I wanted to swear back at it. "Press 1 to question sexuality. Press 2 to make allegations about parentage. Press 3 to make a phallic reference." etc...
I decided to walk across the county line into Herts, where the computer was replaced with a real person. A real person who refused to help me because my car was stolen in Essex.
Back over the county line, the computer had decided to have a sulk and refused to connect me to anyone. Instead it started offering me options on how to sweet-talk it into doing what I wanted. "Press 1 to say something comforting. Press 2 to threaten with physical violence. Press 3 to compliment."
I know that lucid dreaming involves being aware of your dream state and often lets you modify the dream yourself, but apparently my brain likes the idea of a Choose Your Own Adventure dream...
Take the one I had Friday night (which was helped by a bottle of port and a cigar)...
I ended up in a dream-induced lucid dream where I had my car stolen from apetrol station in Harlow. Phoning 999 connected me to a computer operator that tried to route me to the right type of policeman. Except it started getting difficult and started swearing at me, giving me options for how I wanted to swear back at it. "Press 1 to question sexuality. Press 2 to make allegations about parentage. Press 3 to make a phallic reference." etc...
I decided to walk across the county line into Herts, where the computer was replaced with a real person. A real person who refused to help me because my car was stolen in Essex.
Back over the county line, the computer had decided to have a sulk and refused to connect me to anyone. Instead it started offering me options on how to sweet-talk it into doing what I wanted. "Press 1 to say something comforting. Press 2 to threaten with physical violence. Press 3 to compliment."
I know that lucid dreaming involves being aware of your dream state and often lets you modify the dream yourself, but apparently my brain likes the idea of a Choose Your Own Adventure dream...
When I was at school, we had one of those days when old people from the town come into the school and tell you all about the dim distant past. One of the guys who came in was a proper old air force type. He wore his best suit with his medals proudly pinned to his chest. He had a huge bushy moustache that nearly joined up with his pure white mutton chops.
He started telling us about WWII, which he spent flying lancaster bombers over to germany to flatten factories. As you may know, when the lancasters went over the channel they took fighter escorts with them, but the little spitfires and hurricanes didn't have the range needed to protect them the whole way, so the lancasters had to rely on their own defenses for the last stage of the journey. This, he told us, was the frightening bit.
"We were flying over Dresden one night," he said, "when out of no-where a whole squadron of these german fokkers appear and start ripping us to sheds. Before I know it, three of our boys are going down. So I shouted to my gunman 'Geordie! Shoot those fokkers!' and he started firing at anything he could get his sights on."
"These fokkers were everywhere. Fokkers above me, fokkers below me, behind me and in front of me. If I take evading action then I risk hitting one of the other guys in the formation or one of these german fokkers. So I have to hold fast and just hope our gunners can hit the fokkers faster than they can hit us."
"It was a long fight, but finally the last fokker ran for the open skies and left us there licking our wounds. Half our guys were down. Those fokkers were fast. Maybe even faster than our spits and hurricanes."
Most of us were spell bound, but there were a few who were giggling at his language.
The teacher steps forward and explains to the class that fokker was a very famous and well respected aircraft manufacturer who designed and built a lot of the planes used by the germans during the war.
"Yes. Yes of course," agreed the old flyboy. "But these fokkers... these fokkers were all Messerschmitts."
He started telling us about WWII, which he spent flying lancaster bombers over to germany to flatten factories. As you may know, when the lancasters went over the channel they took fighter escorts with them, but the little spitfires and hurricanes didn't have the range needed to protect them the whole way, so the lancasters had to rely on their own defenses for the last stage of the journey. This, he told us, was the frightening bit.
"We were flying over Dresden one night," he said, "when out of no-where a whole squadron of these german fokkers appear and start ripping us to sheds. Before I know it, three of our boys are going down. So I shouted to my gunman 'Geordie! Shoot those fokkers!' and he started firing at anything he could get his sights on."
"These fokkers were everywhere. Fokkers above me, fokkers below me, behind me and in front of me. If I take evading action then I risk hitting one of the other guys in the formation or one of these german fokkers. So I have to hold fast and just hope our gunners can hit the fokkers faster than they can hit us."
"It was a long fight, but finally the last fokker ran for the open skies and left us there licking our wounds. Half our guys were down. Those fokkers were fast. Maybe even faster than our spits and hurricanes."
Most of us were spell bound, but there were a few who were giggling at his language.
The teacher steps forward and explains to the class that fokker was a very famous and well respected aircraft manufacturer who designed and built a lot of the planes used by the germans during the war.
"Yes. Yes of course," agreed the old flyboy. "But these fokkers... these fokkers were all Messerschmitts."
I'm pathetic.
One of the sexiest women I've ever seen in real life works in my building. She has a beautiful accent, a wonderful body, and seems to spend her entire life smiling. She also has a boyfriend (a fact made irrelevant by my wife, of course).
She seems to be spending the afternoon walking backward and forward past my office door. Every time she walks past, she looks in. Every time, my brain freezes for a split second and I spend the next 30 seconds trying to work out what the hell I was doing.
Can someone more grown up than me please give me a slap and tell me to get back to work...?
One of the sexiest women I've ever seen in real life works in my building. She has a beautiful accent, a wonderful body, and seems to spend her entire life smiling. She also has a boyfriend (a fact made irrelevant by my wife, of course).
She seems to be spending the afternoon walking backward and forward past my office door. Every time she walks past, she looks in. Every time, my brain freezes for a split second and I spend the next 30 seconds trying to work out what the hell I was doing.
Can someone more grown up than me please give me a slap and tell me to get back to work...?
I'm currently listening to a repeat of the wonderful Radio4 'more or less' series dealing with the reality of statistics.
This one is about the maths of prostitution.
According to the popularly held figures (ie, the press and MPs), 80% of all women in prostitution are forced into it by gangsters who have imported them from abroad and force them to perform sexual acts. Strangely, the Home Office doesn't agree with these figures. Why? Well because they phoned up massage parlours around the country and asked for prices for various sexual acts. While a surprisingly high number said that they allowed kissing, only 20% allowed more unusual acts (the nature of which wasn't given). The logic is that if you have girls you own and are treating as cash machines, you are going to allow any sexual act that makes you money. You're not going to turn your nose up at a bit of anal (for example) but a girl who is in the trade through choice may well decide it's not he cup of tea.
The Daily Mail and a Labour back bencher have both quoted the 'fact' that there are 25,000 sex slaves in the UK, each servicing on average 30 men a day. That's horrific, right? Well, yes. BUt it's horrific because that means that there are 750,000 men paying for sex with a 'sex slave' every day. According to the National Statistics office, there are 61 million people in the country, approximately 50% of which are female. "0% are under 16. So, we're down to 24 million males. That means one in every 30 men is fucking a sex slave every single day. And that's not taking into account those too old to get it up, or the youngsters who are still fucking anything that drinks Tart Fuel...
This one is about the maths of prostitution.
According to the popularly held figures (ie, the press and MPs), 80% of all women in prostitution are forced into it by gangsters who have imported them from abroad and force them to perform sexual acts. Strangely, the Home Office doesn't agree with these figures. Why? Well because they phoned up massage parlours around the country and asked for prices for various sexual acts. While a surprisingly high number said that they allowed kissing, only 20% allowed more unusual acts (the nature of which wasn't given). The logic is that if you have girls you own and are treating as cash machines, you are going to allow any sexual act that makes you money. You're not going to turn your nose up at a bit of anal (for example) but a girl who is in the trade through choice may well decide it's not he cup of tea.
The Daily Mail and a Labour back bencher have both quoted the 'fact' that there are 25,000 sex slaves in the UK, each servicing on average 30 men a day. That's horrific, right? Well, yes. BUt it's horrific because that means that there are 750,000 men paying for sex with a 'sex slave' every day. According to the National Statistics office, there are 61 million people in the country, approximately 50% of which are female. "0% are under 16. So, we're down to 24 million males. That means one in every 30 men is fucking a sex slave every single day. And that's not taking into account those too old to get it up, or the youngsters who are still fucking anything that drinks Tart Fuel...
You know Royal Bank of Scotland? The bank that produces the currency north of the border and owns a counple of other things?
You know that the Treasury have taken a 74% shareholding in the bank, right?
Did you know that RBS is the world's largest company (in terms of assets) and the tenth largest company according to Forbes?
Did you know that they own RBS (duh), Natwest, Royal Scottish Assurance, Drummonds, Childs, Coutts, Adams, Isle of Man Bank, Ulster Bank and Citizens Financial Group (the 5th largest bank in America), and that they owned 10% of the Bank of China until earlier this year.
What about Direct Line, Lombard, Mint, Streamline (the people who put PIN machines in shops), Worldpay, JamJar, Churchill, GreenFlag, Privilege and the Tracker network that helps the police recover stolen cars?
Oh, and they also do the insurance for the insurance brands of Tesco, Egg, Mint, Mini, BMW, Peugeot, Suzuki, Vauxhall, Virgin, Natwest, Virgin and Ulster Bank...
You know that the Treasury have taken a 74% shareholding in the bank, right?
Did you know that RBS is the world's largest company (in terms of assets) and the tenth largest company according to Forbes?
Did you know that they own RBS (duh), Natwest, Royal Scottish Assurance, Drummonds, Childs, Coutts, Adams, Isle of Man Bank, Ulster Bank and Citizens Financial Group (the 5th largest bank in America), and that they owned 10% of the Bank of China until earlier this year.
What about Direct Line, Lombard, Mint, Streamline (the people who put PIN machines in shops), Worldpay, JamJar, Churchill, GreenFlag, Privilege and the Tracker network that helps the police recover stolen cars?
Oh, and they also do the insurance for the insurance brands of Tesco, Egg, Mint, Mini, BMW, Peugeot, Suzuki, Vauxhall, Virgin, Natwest, Virgin and Ulster Bank...
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Take the pills, then drive to a pharmacy and buy some more.