Gone Troppo
My partner has been up in Queensland (Gold Coast and Brisbane) for almost the past two weeks. She has been going semi-troppo from the ordeal. Disgustingly hot and humid sub-tropical Southeast Queensland, how despicable art thou!
They have insects up there – bugs and mosquitoes and cockroaches and some unbalanced, passive-aggressive ex-housemates of a friend who, each in separate incidents, ventured down from there, moved in with my friend, fluttered their inane vagina-sensing antennae whenever females visited him and then left, the grotty critters they, to return to the dank bedwombs of their parents’ home turf, where you can sweat yourself stir crazy to the soul pillaging drone of lawnmowers – millions and millions of lawnmowers – a locust-like swarm on any given Sunday afternoon!
There were warnings of race violence starting this night time on the Gold Coast, similar to that currently pounding the streets of Sydney. She is at the Gold Coast tonight but she is staying indoors, where the Blu-Tak melts and the poster edges curdle.
Well, she comes home this evening next. Yay!
In the meantime...
Last night time, Rupert and I ate fish and chips, squirting tartare sauce whilst watching and critiquing slick, factory-made porn. I agree with what he wrote at Muffbox - that 'there is something sexy about regal orgies performed in period court scenes but this particular one chucked together a bunch of actors with no flow of response to the imagery, the setting or the movement of bodies.'
Twas an amusing night we had. On his mobile telephone's video camera we recorded the most ridiculous mock advertisement for frozen potato chips imaginable. I haven't laughed so heartily in numerous weeks! We'll see if we can adhere it to our respective blogs soon and so share our glorious rubbish with you.
They have insects up there – bugs and mosquitoes and cockroaches and some unbalanced, passive-aggressive ex-housemates of a friend who, each in separate incidents, ventured down from there, moved in with my friend, fluttered their inane vagina-sensing antennae whenever females visited him and then left, the grotty critters they, to return to the dank bedwombs of their parents’ home turf, where you can sweat yourself stir crazy to the soul pillaging drone of lawnmowers – millions and millions of lawnmowers – a locust-like swarm on any given Sunday afternoon!
There were warnings of race violence starting this night time on the Gold Coast, similar to that currently pounding the streets of Sydney. She is at the Gold Coast tonight but she is staying indoors, where the Blu-Tak melts and the poster edges curdle.
Well, she comes home this evening next. Yay!
In the meantime...
Last night time, Rupert and I ate fish and chips, squirting tartare sauce whilst watching and critiquing slick, factory-made porn. I agree with what he wrote at Muffbox - that 'there is something sexy about regal orgies performed in period court scenes but this particular one chucked together a bunch of actors with no flow of response to the imagery, the setting or the movement of bodies.'
Twas an amusing night we had. On his mobile telephone's video camera we recorded the most ridiculous mock advertisement for frozen potato chips imaginable. I haven't laughed so heartily in numerous weeks! We'll see if we can adhere it to our respective blogs soon and so share our glorious rubbish with you.
posted by S. Gregory | 3:22 am
2 Comments:
I told HIM, I'll tell you... I'm pouting. I'm pouting because y'all had fish 'n chips... and it's summer... and you critiqued porn... :( and i wasn't there. :(
You'd be more than welcome anytime you'd like to catch a plane 'round, Darkneuro. I've got worse porn than that one and it deserves all the critiquing it can get!
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