» I'm glad nobody saw me

In my horny and experimental
teenage years, I once came into a large'ish plastic syringe, inserted it into my rectum and depressed the plunger. I wanted to give myself a taste of passive gay sex. Didn't really do much for me. I think I'm pretty glad nobody saw me do that!
(Wed 2nd Feb 2011, 17:37, More)

» Letters they'll never read

Dear Jan Moir
You say it best... when you say nothing at all.

Love,

Steven Gately

PS Kiss my 'boy zone', you lonely, troubled bint.
(Thu 4th Mar 2010, 15:33, More)

» Guilty Laughs

I don't know why I'm posting this...
As it's utterly monstrous and you'll all hate me forever and I'll have to change username and build up a whole new identity - again.

Still, fuck it:

A mate and I were sitting in the back of a coach somewhere between Ankara and Cappadocia. The road was straight and the typical speed- demon of a Turkish driver was seizing the opportunity to floor it when we reached a small, unattractive town that had somehow developed along this stretch of dusty highway.

Driver maintains his speed; suddenly a wet, meaty THUD! The coach swerves back and forth and comes, eventually, to a screeching halt. My friend and I peer out of the back window and in the distance, but just close enough to discern, was the very dead body of a child, aged around ten, and the crumpled remains of his bike.

Being the only foreigners on board, my pal and I just decided to stay put. Some people got off the coach. Some locals began to remonstrate noisily with the driver; Hysterical man, clearly a relative, probably Dad, was being held back from physically assaulting the driver...

And me? I literally had to bite the back of my hand until it bled to stop the laughter. I sort of slumped forward so that I was invisible to the people still on the coach, my body shaking with mirth. And the more I knew that I would probably be kicked to death if anyone on the bus sussed me, the funnier it became.

I try not to think about it these days because it still reduces me to fits of giggles. Hull's too good for me.
(Mon 26th Jul 2010, 14:56, More)

» Worst Band Ever

U2
How can music so crap fill so many stadiums around the globe? What kind of moron calls themselves The Edge? U2's success just baffles me. And people listen to Bono speak as if he's some kind of Buddha. Come on, I've heard less vacuous platitudes from the mouths of stoned seventeen-year-olds! Random internet sample of Bono's divine wisdom:

The less you know, the more you believe.
Bono

To be one, to be united is a great thing. But to respect the right to be different is maybe even greater.
Bono

U2 is an original species... there are colours and feelings and emotional terrain that we occupy that is ours and ours alone.
Bono

We thought that we had the answers, it was the questions we had wrong.
Bono

I need to be bitch-slapped with my own severed genitalia.
Bono
(Wed 5th Jan 2011, 17:07, More)

» Caught!

Lazy, revolting teenager
that I was, I developed the habit of having a quick one off the wrist, catching the ejaculate in my cupped hand and then smearing it beneath my bed.

Previously I had been disciplined enough to race to the bathroom and wash my shame down the basin but the shock of encountering my brother one night on the landing as I tried to conceal a handful of dripping man-fat had made me understandably leery.

I was a boarder but each holiday I returned home to add to the spermicidal holocaust, its horrors concealed from the world by only a valance. On one occasion I mustered the courage to shoulder the bed aside and take a peak; The red carpet was all but obscured down my 'favoured' side of the bed by a 3ft by 1ft streak of glossy, opaque matter, which sent little puffs of white dust into the air when I gingerly scratched at it.

Naturally I did what any sensible adolescent would do. I vowed never to look again and just kept on adding to my spluff-cake. Back at school, my mother informed me during one of our weekly phone-calls that we were to be moving house. No alarm bells sounded.

I returned to a half-emptied home at the end of term but my room was still fairly unmolested... I'll have to finally tidy up the old jizz-monster, I thought, pushing my bed aside. Suddenly the room span. The whole fucking thing was GONE! OH CHRIST!

Its texture and location could have left no doubt about its provenance, surely. And somebody had spent an entire day scrubbing the carpet free of literally pints of my dried sperm and it could only have been my mother. My MOTHER who I'd never even heard fart and who didn't like Four Weddings because Hugh Grant said 'fuck' too many times at the start.

To this day a tiny part of me hopes that she was so naive she assumed it to be an especially labyrinthine spider's web or perhaps a dollop of ectoplasm left by some ghostly apparition. Could she have thought such things, dear reader - or am I kidding myself?
(Wed 9th Jun 2010, 10:44, More)