So here we go, i’ve finally had time to write a wee blog. Unfortunately, i’m gonna have to do it with cat food smeared on my face, as a dear darling of a bastard, believes it’s quite funny to deliver the words ‘Here kitty kitty’ whilst rubbing a hand of ‘Felix-turkey in gravy’ kitten food upon my ‘money maker.’ (My face, incase you are wondering what i’m referring to. You evil sons of guns!)
Went on an adventure to Manchester this weekend, with a dude (from Facebook) who assured me he would show me a dandy old time in the city, so i could have a taste of what Manchester has to offer….other than slags and footballers. It started in Middlesbrough, (i love how my adventure to Manchester starts in a whole different town) where i watched the Man U/Middlesbrough game and become a footie hooligan (with a boob job) for a good wee while. I’m a ‘watch a football match live’ virgin, so it was kinda scary, for a floozy who’s really not too scared of anything, but hip hop midgets with large willies. (I swear if i get dry humped by one again, i’m just gonna fucking knee it in the face and call it ‘bastard!’)
The football match was actually AMAZING! I loved it. I really got into it and went dressed like a hooker. It was just a massive bundle of drunk sweaty men, screaming, chanting and yelling, whilst throwing bottles of beer all over each other (Quite homo- erotic actually,) swearing, looking at my boobies and cheering on their team. The stadium was smaller than expected, and the pitch was tiny. Like on TV they glamourize it sooo much. As really it’s just a bunch of boys who get paid loads, on a little pitch kicking a ball around. It just seemed so normal…and a lot less flashy. The best thing about it was the fact that i gave it my all! The atmoshpere was AMAZING. I hooted, i hollered, i waved my boobied self in the air… I chanted, i cheered and i swore like a fucking sailor on Smirnoff Ice. I can’t actually remember any of the chants, except one that sounded like ‘Agadoo,’ one that was racist and one that was going on about ‘rather shagging a bucket with a big whole it in??‘ YES!! LOVED it! Very different to my usual glamourous life, but i got loads of delicious attention. Thank god i went dressed as a whore! I’m now addicted to Football. FUCK YEAH!
Ended up out in Manchester that night, with a bunch of funny boys, who although odd, we’re pretty decent actually. One looked like Robin Hood and had tourettes, the other was a kind of London suave, another kept looking like he was about to smash someone in the face, (because drunk slags) kept bashing into him and the final suitor commited to trying to get me drunk so he could make me ‘put out. ‘(It didn’t work. I guess i’m a lot more frigid then i ever thought! I’m turning into a bit of a hard pull now. Oh stop the booing. There’s still a slag in me somewhere.) All the boys were amazing. I actually do love them.
So I ventured to Panacea, Circle and then 235 Casino. It was fun..but i did get a bit tired. I’m like a sorry excuse for a socialite. It was 5 am or something random like that, and i remember this weird old, geeky looking guy in a suit, who thought he was ‘Arthur Fonzirelli’ but looked like a news reporter or a paedophile. He wafted a £400 cheque in my face, and suggested a night of passion…or a ‘nosh off.’ When he was brutally shunned (i was too tired to get felt up,) he FARTED and walked off. He did this twice. Hilarious. When i grow up i want to be him.
Apparently lots of the gals in Manchester (according to most people i spoke too) only go out to try and snag a footballer and see every other girl as a ‘threat’ and won’t speak to a normal boy, unless he is super rich or can get them nearer to their goal of being a WAG. So funny! I’m really not that kinda of girl, as i’m far too much of a useless, egotistical Glamour Puss, to care about being a WAG. I’m the Queen of Greatness. What matters to me are ‘good times.’ I’ve made myself. I don’t really need a dashing suitor to fumble his way into my life right now. This bitch is gooooood and i’m flying it ‘Solo.’ (Girls, you do not need a man to pay your way, or make you Famous. You can do it on your OWN!! You just have to believe it, know it and DO it. Or give really good blow jobs, to all the right people.)
Anyway left the Casino at about 5am. It rained all over me. I went straight to bed in boy shorts and a training vest. The ‘boy’ tried to have sex with me, (as always) but i slept in the spare room. Woke up, intended to go home, instead ended up at ‘Dukes’ this bar restaurant, that has a massive outside patio, with live music. I had pizza, hung out with the same glorious boys from the night before, who although are a bit bitter about ‘Love’…CRACK ME up. We ordered food and talked about fisting, slags, the fisting of slags in Salford, fingers up girls anal holes, blowjobs, hiding from the Paprazzi, holidays and stealing Gucci knickers. I got on a train, after i lost my sight and travelled all the way home, with another bunch of drunk boys on the train who insisted on telling everyone on the train that they loved my ‘rack.’ They even tried to make them sip Strongbow. My boobies are flirts. They just giggled in my shirt.
I’m now exhautsed, and still on the go. I’ve spent the whole of the day out and about, with a life sized Robot. (Don’t ask.) My life is hotting up, but i don’t think i can handle it.