English Accent

Tomb Raider (the Hollywoood movie) is on in the background. How much more fuckable is Angelina Jolie with an English accent?!

She doesn't do anything for me normally.. those lips are plain scary, not GFB. Just my opinion. But with her fake English accent, fuck me she's hot.

To chuck .. or not to chuck?

How long does one hang on to a loser because they're cute? How important is it that they're cute? Just wonderin'

Fuck With Me ...

This Blog's an outlet, really, a place to let off steam.

So today I'll just say .... I'm a gentle, placid, mild person. Good natured, even. I'm (believe it or not) unthreatening, I put people at their ease. This, I'm told frequently. And it's true.

But ... screw me over, and I will fight you tooth and nail to the last. In fact, I'll see it as a kind of sport and make it my goal to beat you on principle. You'll wish you never tried. You get the gist.

So, to the shitty little cheeky bitch who is trying to steal from my business, who's miring my name and reputation in claims of fraudulence .... you have fucking got it coming, sweetheart. If I have to pop round to your address and physically remove that money from you with brute force, I will do it. And feel better afterwards. You've been warned.

All else in life continues fabulously. And way more productively than last week. Though, regrettably, I have my food appetite back. I rather enjoyed losing all those pounds in thrall to sex.

Update

So how things panned put: yes I went out there, put forth, and succeeded. But having succeeded, decided I didn't really want it anyway, thanks very much, so have not taken this up any further.

Appreciate this means fuck all to the casual reader. But it was hella gratifying for me. 'Nuff said.

Things continue, life continues.

The Hot Date indeed texted me in their tipsy horny loneliness. Great, so that's human nature. I'm not going to score points out of it.

The Love Interest I have been seeing regularly (well, weekly, and that's not as regularly as I would like) and it's recently reached new levels of total fucking hotness, thanks very much.

All my life I've had this condition. Thanks to the privilege of living in 2008, I now realise my condition is not uncommon and that indeed there is a physical solution to this physical problem. So in the next few weeks I shall endeavour to resolve the life-long condition. What's a few grand between me and my fulfilled future? Exact-ly. That's got you wondering, hey.

Road-rage incidents I have endured / enjoyed of late (I do like a bit of motor-sport):

(i) A peasant in a peasant-mobile insists on doing 60 in the outside lane of a 5 lane motorway. I find myself tailgating him. He gives me the finger. I continue to sit behind him, not responding. He slams on his brakes, then swerves into the middle lane, totally reluctantly allowing me to pass. I pass, then pull into the middle lane on front of him, he gives me the finger again. I brake hard so he brakes, then zoom away easily in my 6 gear sports car. I emasculate him.

(ii) I zoom along (within the speed limit of course) in the outside lane at night (the stress of incurring middle lane slow cruisers who don't move over is too provoking). A small car in the middle lane starts flashing their rear fog light at me. This is common. I drive a new car, its lights are so bright, apparently I blind oncoming drivers who believe I have my lights on full beam and am too much of a tosser to dim them. I have my lights on their normal factory setting. Blame the manufacturer, not me. I gently flash my hi-beams momentarily to let them know my lights are NOT on their highest setting (fuck it, I'm a considerate driver). Still, they flash their rear fogs. I eventually pass them. Then the cunts put on THEIR high beams, blinding me. I step on my brakes and pull over into the slow lane. They pass me. Then I put on my high beams and leave them there, blinding the wanker, so they know just how wrong they've been. There is nothing in the opposite lane (m'lord). People need to be taught a lesson.

Why do I seem to attract such road-rage from people? Is it my car? Me - what/who I am? I've worked my fucking bollocks off for my nice car. Let no-one think I'm some ponce with an easy life who's eased their way into my nice motor. I have bruises, tiredness and long working hours to thank for my motor. And don't you fucking forget it.

If people 'front' me once I've overtaken them, I will slam on the brakes in front to respond and force them to slow down and see what happens next. This is crazy and inviting violence but I like the idea of worrying them to be honest. More so if it's a female driver, who is lets face it going to be all mouth and no trousers. If it's a man, I'll have a logical response at the ready so he doesn't think I'm simply provoking a fight.

Other things of note - none. The week has been a write-off, for all the best reasons.

Love Disinterest

With immaculate timing, the Love Interest, who I haven't heard from for a month, calls just as I'm getting ready to go out and meet a hot date. Despite everything, it puts a dampener on proceedings: you see, I still have Feelings. Groan.

So the hot date is not so hot, but after all I do get to see and play with the Love Interest the very next day, and very pleasant it is too.

I have to wonder whether my phone is bugged. The timing was just bizarre.

The other flaccid internet interests I have recede rapidly into the background. My loss, I dare say.

I also have to wonder whether the Love Interest simply got in touch as they were feeling a bit suddenly horny. Who knows, I shan't waste brain activity pondering on the subject. It was fun and I'm sure it will happen again.

This week is better than last. I haven't even been rude to my fellow motorists. Tomorrow will be the test for that. I live in an area with a rich motoring history. Landmarks to speed are all about: Maclaren, Aston Martin, Caterham, yet here there are the slowest most fucking frustrating roads in the whole of the UK.

Tonight I got a follow-up text message from the Hot Date (who I've known for several years). In essence it said "Shame we no longer click. Have a happy life". Which meant, shame you didn't shag me, I'll be in touch next time I'm in the bath naked. My stomach lurched at the sensation of being chucked, and about 2 minutes later, I'd forgotten, happily impervious as quite honestly I didn't really care. They were so frankly desperate they were a turn off anyhow.

I have things in the pipeline: just thought I would mention. This time next week I will know how things have panned out.

Road Rage

This evening I was in a filthy mood. I would normally put on a happy face for professional reasons, which would soon become a genuinely happy face through love of my work. But christ, tonite it was forced, and I felt I cast a gloom over my class, as they seemed stressed / unco-ordinated / uptight too. We all seemed to be having a bad day. I tried to perk up.

I don't even know why I was in a foul mood. Sure I was late, as I frequently am, due to my crap time-keeping / willingness to be distracted / lack of backbone / whatever.

As I pulled over to park, someone in a car drove at me somewhatly aggressively despite my indicating my intention to pull over and park. I was there first. They pissed me off no end, so I stood on my horn. They 'beeped' back. I stood on my horn full time, and would have swivelled round and chased them down the road, were I not late, and the road full of of traffic. I would have driven them over into the roadside and challenged them to discuss matters further, OUT of the confines of their safe little shitty boxy car. Me being me, I could have mashed their silly little head into their their car and taught them a lesson in being nice and polite. I pack muscle outside of my car as well as when I'm sitting in it.

But I was late, and so my aggression / misanthropia carried over into class. It did dissipate eventually. I am a good teacher, and try to not take the piss.

The Dating Game

I joined up with an Internet dating site. Mostly because I am single and therefore curious, and not because I am specifically looking for dates. (Especially from an Internet Site).

Things which strike me thus far are:

People – of both sexes – who are into extreme / excessive amounts of outdoor sports activities, remain single. The amount of profiles on there urgently declaring a love of snow-boarding / water ski-ing / mountain climbing suggests an overwhelming tendency of those types towards singledom. Heck I can see why. What a fucking effort.

Ditto people whose profile photos feature themselves:

a) Up a mountain (in goggles and copious outdoorwear, therefore conveniently covering a multitude of physical sins, in my opinion).

b) On a sailing boat. What’s the point? Man has invented motors so one can enjoy oneself. Such pre-industrial age effort is surely obsolete. Let go of the sail and join me below deck – lighten up already!

c) On a mountain bike. In Devon (ENGLAND). In December. Pedalling up a 60% muddy incline in lycra shorts but secretly visualising the pub at the end of the journey which will offer (i) relief from physical toil; (ii) a toilet / hygiene opportunity; (iii) a drink; (iv) comfort food; (v) a mobile phone signal if you’re lucky; (vi) thus the opportunity to ring for a taxi to get back to one’s tent. Really. There is no need.

P.S. – There’s no way on Earth you will get me to share your motherfucking sweaty cold tent with you, I’ll be in the nearest 5 Star Guest House. This being modern urbane England, there will be one not too far away. Thank you very much.

I therefore draw the conclusion that people who declare an interest in extreme sports believe that this is the fastest and most efficacious way to a shag / lifetime commitment / whatever they are seeking.

I plan to up-end this futile belief by positing a life of decadence, hedonism and apathy. I will keep you posted on the results. If I can be arsed.