Joggers are twats

Woke up this morning being tickled and wishing it was January. I mean how long does December need to be?? It’s one day of  ‘goody goody’ (and i count that day, as my birthday) then it’s all bargains at Debenhams and 20% off socks at Asda. Snooze fest! I hate sales. It’s full of  ‘grabby grabby grannies,’ with elbows.’  Bring on 2009! I feel lucky!! (Shimmie, shimmie, thrust!) Decemeber is soooooo 2008!!

At noon, i had a minor nervous breakdown…which i’m not supposed to get until i’m 32, after a little bit of fame overload. I couldn’t get on my site (which i use as therapy) and when i consulted the mastermind behind CHRISSIEWUNNA.COM (Wazza) he very technically said..’Yep, it’s fucked up badly.’ (Oh fucking SHIT! Bruce-Lee…my kitten has pissed all over my magazine. On Peter Andre’s FACE!!) Anyway, now my site is up and working after a few moments of panic, a coffee and a feel of my there’s no need to fret (even though none of you bloody did) ‘Wunnaland’ is back up and running. Shit! I have this Christmas left-over buffet, set up for me to munch on. I can’t seem to walk past the table without shoving a whole potatoe in my mouth! I’m such a fat bitch!. God, everything around me smells like kitten piss. Ugh! I need tea and slaves and limelight and dwarves. There’s something about Peter Andres face. Everytime ‘Bruce-lee’ sees it, he wants to sit on it and piss. (Come on Katie, scratch my eyes out…i dare ya. Lol…)

Nothing much has happened today, as i don’t even know what day it is?? When you don’t know what day it is…you’re either a jobless chav, a lady of leisure, in prison, in space, with Willy Wonka or on magic mushrooms. I’m still figuring out which catergory i’m plonking myself in?? SoI’m gonna go with…i just don’t know what day it is….or space? I don’t live my life by days. I live it by magical moments. Today i’ve had i’m gonna go on a jog.

Joggers are morons who are too lazy to just watch TV. I  jog, dressed like a slaggamuffin, in order to find adventure. So it’s okay! It’s kinda like being a Prozzie…but worse because you don’t get laid. You just aimlessly run up and around street corners, looking at every man that walks by. Infact, there’s no actual jogging on my jog. But lots of stopping and sexy posing. Lots of sticking out the ‘love humps’ and stretching. Lots of subtle bedroom eyes and naughty smiles. Who am i kidding, i’m not going on a jog! I can’t be arsed with dodgey men following me…where it  might end with me actually have to run a little…and break a sweat. (Note, i don’t sweat…i glow.) I get enough of the ‘creepies’ in LA! My walk to get milk, is a stream of hoots, hollers, ‘i have a 9 inch dick’  and ‘hey baby’s.’ I do actually love it, so i don’t know why i’m complaining. (lol…) GIVE ME MORE!!

Men are always weird around Me. I make them feel uncomfortable. I don’t know why? But i have a reputation of apparently being able to simply ‘click’ my fingers and have them all at heel. But i think that’s after the awkward stumbles, the whippings and the verbal abuse. As soon as a guy becomes my friend, he starts being all suspicious, jealous and a bit of a nuisance. And since, i’m ALL of those things…it really doesn’t work out so well.

Chrissie Wunna x

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