Glitzy Big Boobied Bitch

Morning my fruitful freaks of ‘full of.’ I woke up this fine Saturday to the soothing sounds of friends African/Yorkshire stomping out the lyrics to ‘Rehab,’ littered with hand claps, hollas and unhealthy ‘it’s 8.32am’ sounds of the devil. This isn’t how a Glamour Puss wakes up. I have shit friends. I mean, why burst into ‘singalong- wake up call’ (fairdos, i’ll give you the fact that it was a song about refusing to refrain from being a drunkard,) yet we all know that before any ‘open eye’ occurs in Wunnaland… you fricking check my pulse! I don’t sleep, i pass-out. I might be dead..and you fools were stomping and hand clapping ‘Rehab’ at me inconsiderately. I need my wake up process to be: Pulse check, Prod, Gentle coochie coo alerts of ‘oooh,’ followed by handing me my diamond chandelier earrings, then passing me my left over wine. I will then rise, place on my tiara, throw on my robe and sit on my throne. (‘Loverboy’ called me ‘Mentally ill’ last night at 1.58am via the fine art of pink Black Berry. The fact that he called me it, whilst he was stood outside a 24hr Tescos in Hemsworth (ewww)  at around 2am, desperately needing a bottle of wine, in order to beable to get any sleep, would suggest he was not in a position to judge my level of lunacy.)

Due to being over worked and therefore an exhausted little Kitten of ‘waa waa,’ my Friday night was reduced to popadom eating. If i’m the Queen of Party, then yeah i major much suck. I’ve been out a lot, and i’ve enjoyed life deeply. I’ve tinkered and tangoed, in the times of the world. I’ve lived dangerously, bra-less and with a boldness that could only get a floozey with these eyes, into the largest amount of trouble. I want you to live your story and tell it to the world.

Last night on Saturday, June 5th 2010, i spent the night in pyjamas eating popadoms and i loved it! I currently feel like the Queen of the world and just knowing that around me, in the dark dark depths of the night, were ‘beings’ young and old, celebrating their ‘ooh laa.’ It made me a happy bunny. I had that ‘my job here is done’ smile. Then i played ‘Truth or Dare’ with a random boy of facebook that i knew was a secret pervert. It humours me when boys think they can fool me with their amateur jiggery pokery. I know life, i know men and i know ‘game.’ I’ve played it well and rather devilishly throughout my entire twenties! (Eww *flashback* of that odd tattooed guy i met in Burbank, LA. I woke up in his bed, after no sex. He brought me a peach rose  from his garden, and told me he went to ‘pussy eating school.’ God knows how i ended up in his bed? Then I had a ginormous nose bleed. I had never in my LIFE had one, until that morning. Even my nose was trying to commit suicide.) Anyway, yeah…i ended up having to delete that Facebook pervert, after he told me what he intended on doing to my vagina. Men can be gross. They never grow up! (Note: If you’re hot…you’re allowed to be gross!)

Other then all that, i was called a ‘Whore’ (Yippeee) and told to ‘go back to whore island,’ (booooo,) followed by a delicious ‘You glitzy, big boobied bitch.’ I’ve missed Mikey Kardashian. I adore the pimpness of this gay and enjoy the fact that whenever i see him on the streets of Soho, he always suggests i go to ‘Circus.‘ He once crossed my cyberland path and claimed that if i didn’t invite him to my next bit of ‘party party,’ he’d put ‘dynamite up my cunt and blow my box up!’ 🙂 Only the gays can get away with saying that!  I love it! Last night he told me to ‘finger his mussy,’ and that ‘Wunnaland was always open…like my legs.’ All i wanted was a gin! I get offered ‘privates‘ all the time. Gay ones, straight ones, male ones, female ones…young, old, rich, poor. There must be something in my manner that may suggest a sexy disposition? Which would be odd, seen as though i’m all pure, kind and virginal. I mean i’m the kinda gal you’d take home to your mum….(but only so i can meet your dad and sleep with him.) Woohoo!

You can totally tell i’ve inspired! It’s sexy, delicious, happy and abusive. [Wait, there’s a noise??] A hardback book has just stumbled it’s way down the stairs. It’s God trying to throw me down some rules! It’s bizarre how that book stumble mirrors my life! My life has been one big, bumpy, stair fall…Yet at the bottom i was left without a single dent, a smile and hunger for more. (God, i’m delicious!) Pass me my fucking fur!!

I’ve got nothing else to say except, i’m sick of getting felt up in fairground/theme park haunted houses! Everyone else runs out screaming or pretending they weren’t terrified. I stagger out..late…and  like i’ve been ravaged by apes. The haunted houses where monsters jump out on you, and touch you should be banned. Know that they’re  going ‘booo’ at you, and pretend ‘i’m so scary’ clawing your arm. But when i strut in, they’re going ‘booo’ and trying to wedge their HAND up my lady of  ‘whoop-dee.’  This happened ages ago…when i was in America. Never again! Next time i’m taking  a knife.

I have an afternoon with Loverboy. Love you! *Wink*