Unparalled special status

How spazzy can I get? I've passed all the beginner classes and am now on a whole new level. Hang on - just had to retrieve my slipper that boinged off and got stuck under a chair a good 5 feet away in the dark. Where was I? Oh.

Back in business now I've picked the fluff-strands from my biggest tasseliest jumper out from between the keys. Getting good at picking these bits out of things. Lots of practice. I wouldn't normally bother but they look like pubes a bit. If you had black pubes. Which none of us do. Which just makes it worse. But it's my favourite jumper at the moment so worth the hassle. Where was I? Uh.

I'm supposed to be in bed but have dedicated my evening to catching up on some bloggy stuff instead. Bad idea to catch up with Grit. It's now morning. But I feel calmer in meself that I'm up-to-date with My People. Some of them. Will catch up with meself diary-wise tomorrow. The Bad Book has been neglected due to spazziness of the Advent Fairy kind. Got up-to-date - and even ahead of the game - with all that utter stoopidity last night. No more pins, ping-y gold thread or finger-fucking wire button loops. Just slide off pre-selected flag with accompaning button and serve chilled. Also have spare re-wired buttons to accommodate the daily flinging of personal button down the side of the bleedin' chairs by Ungrateful Small Bastards (official term). Not getting cross at all. Smile and slap pre-mentioned USBs round head 'by accident' with wrapping paper inside bit. Feeeels gooooooooood...... Eric Sykes is always with us in spirit.

But just how spazzy would one be to have already designed next year's mind-fuck December-blatter? Really really spazzy. And it's the third design this month. I think Father Xmas's robin has been spiking my mince pies with Stepford sap.

But it's pale in comp with my new injuries. All self-inflicted. Well - I know you're dying to ask........ Last Sunday (which was supposed to be cancelled but I forgot and got out of bed by mistake) - Thuglet twice flung his full weight onto my neck while I was in edge-of-chair-looking-at-the-telly-like-I'm-gonna-stand-up-soon-like-a-grownup-who-doesn't-sit-down-watching-telly stance which causes a whiplash-type sensation just like um whiplash. Shooting pain both times and lots of shouting with my PROPER cross face. I was so convinced that I was gonna wake up like Ann Widecombe (helped by a second night on the settee downstairs to keep Little Rock Vom-Monster company) that I wedged a hot water bottle down the back of my neck and stayed all warm and propped up til morning. Hooray - I can move my neck I thought as I stealthily hooked Thuglet's pain au choc towards my wakey-uppy coffee cup. Feels a bit scratchy tho'. Still felt a bit sore a couple of hours later. ' 'Ere babe - have I got a diggy-in mark where my neck-chain clasp was pressed against the hot water bottle? Can you have a look?' 'Fuck! What the fuck have you done?! You've got a blister the size of a £2 coin! Didn't you feel the burning you numptie?' 'Oh' The nice hot water bottle must have waited for me to fall asleep and then heat up the neck-chain clasp. Nice. Dr Roving Blade held his breath and burst it for me today. Felt the pus snake all the way down my back. Held off on having a shower for another couple of hours tho'. Low on oil in our tanker we are. Next approximate delivery date could be January 14th. Not stripping off 'til ration evening heating on. But what's another blister to me. It can have martinis with my thumb blisters. Created by shovelling snow with a heavy spade that's got no handle. And then deciding that shovelling snow into a washing-up bowl and then dumping out the way is more efficient. And then discovering that washing-up bowlfuls of snow make great igloo-inspiring ice blocks. And then laying the foundations of the greatest igloo ever built, big enough for actual human habitation. And then carrying on despite the tugging pain in my right forearm. Which by today now has a bulbous lump on it all squishy and agonising. But what's another lump? It can choose curtains with the bump on my head from forgetting I live in a dwarf cave after five and a half years.

But the oozing lip-volcano has cleared up now. And fish-scale gloop has stopped emanating from certain parts after a nice foreign man stuck sticks of silver nitrate up there last week. (I'm mouthing this like Les Dawson - and Miranda.... What? Don't you ever watch telly?) And the scab-mark of Zorro is fading a bit from my knee. And my singed taste buds have recovered from that carrot debacle the other day. And I'm sure the rest of my cuticle rips will have healed up a bit by Xmas lunchtime. And those gnat bite prints between my eyebrows are definitely less noticeable now.

In fact I feel a song coming on........

Tonight we resurrected the Spunk Lyric Game for Xmas songs. Not as cracker-ing as one might hope but it put a sparkle in my bloodshot eye. How about:

Little Spunky, Santa Claus is coming to spunk, Deck the halls with boughs of spunk, Oh spunk all you faithful (not much different to the original), Oh cum all you spunkful?, Rudolph the spunk-nosed reindeer, Let it spunk, let it spunk..., Last Xmas I gave you my spunk, I'm dreaming of a white spunk, Frosty the spunkman, I spunked Mummy kissing Santa Claus, In the bleak mid-spunk ........ oh it's just so childish! But they do say Xmas is for the children. Oh I've just lost me bloody slipper again.....

One last song to send me off to bed then....


* * Was Xmas eve babe ........ in the spunk tank ...... * *


Sing along now......