Snail Porn.
Day something of the flood...no wait! It's not raining. It's threatening rain, but so far so dry. I'll take it. I also hope it stays dry for I am going to Marley Park to see Crowded House this evening. Actually, Peter Gabriel is the main act, but I'd rather suffer cholera than stay for that, so once the Finn boys pack up I'm outta there.
Also! I was assaulted in my very sleep. Early this morning the Paramour bopped me on the nose. Not very hard, but then bops on the nose don't need to be.
'Yeaourgh!' I said, awakening from a dream where I was reading a magazine where every picture of every person in it was Matt Damon (imagine if you will, a Dove ad, the saucy lady is looking at you, arm pits raised to the world, but instead of a womanly face it was Matt Damon, terrified you turn a page and it's an add for a some bloat defying yogurt, the lady is leaning against her kitchen counter in pale lemon Capri pants and a tight boob hogging white shirt, a blonde bob, but it's Matt Damon)
'Son of a-'
'I'm so sorry!"
'Ow. You bopped me.'
'I know, are you alright? I'm very sorry, I was dreaming and there were vortexes every where and I was being sucked down into one.'
'Right.'
'Are you okay?'
I tell him about the Matt Damon dream, he looks suitably horrified. We return to sleep, well he does, he lies there wiggling and making scared sounds. This is why older wiser couples sleep in twin beds.
In truth my nose is the very least of my problems. Remember I went for a 20k road run yesterday. Remember I was all, 'Oh my god I totally need to be like you know running on the road and stuff, here let me tell y'all like you know about it, and how like, I sooo gonna do it?"
Right, well obviously that was some kind of dream too, clearly I didn't run anywhere, no no, what must have happened was I went to a near by building site and lay under some of the machinery, yes that must be it, perhaps a JCB ran over my lower legs, and a couple of hod carriers kicked the bejayous out of my lower back, and then for shits and giggles, clearly I asked someone else to run over my shoulders and upper torso with a fork life. Yes, that must be it.
Ah shit! It's raining again.
Which reminds me, all this rain is causing the snails around here to go mental at night. They congregate is vast numbers outside out back door, the slimy little brats. Last night as we rounded up the cats there were about forty of the buggers out there all criss crossing each other's slime and doing weird snail figures of eight. There were even one or two pile ups. Which begs the question, how can they crash into each other at the speed they're going at?
'Look Paramour.' I said, gently throttling the bigger of the cats who was desperately trying to escape.
'What? said he, listing to one side under the weight of Puddy, while the one-eyed one tried to eviscerate him with his back claws. Oh they do so love going to bed at night.
'Snails. What are they up to?'
We stuffed the cats into the garage and closed the door and make out way gingerly through our molluscy guests. One or two more seemed to have joined the pile up.
'I wonder what snail porn is like?" I asked.
'Slow.' Said the paramour.
And on this note we retired.
Also! I was assaulted in my very sleep. Early this morning the Paramour bopped me on the nose. Not very hard, but then bops on the nose don't need to be.
'Yeaourgh!' I said, awakening from a dream where I was reading a magazine where every picture of every person in it was Matt Damon (imagine if you will, a Dove ad, the saucy lady is looking at you, arm pits raised to the world, but instead of a womanly face it was Matt Damon, terrified you turn a page and it's an add for a some bloat defying yogurt, the lady is leaning against her kitchen counter in pale lemon Capri pants and a tight boob hogging white shirt, a blonde bob, but it's Matt Damon)
'Son of a-'
'I'm so sorry!"
'Ow. You bopped me.'
'I know, are you alright? I'm very sorry, I was dreaming and there were vortexes every where and I was being sucked down into one.'
'Right.'
'Are you okay?'
I tell him about the Matt Damon dream, he looks suitably horrified. We return to sleep, well he does, he lies there wiggling and making scared sounds. This is why older wiser couples sleep in twin beds.
In truth my nose is the very least of my problems. Remember I went for a 20k road run yesterday. Remember I was all, 'Oh my god I totally need to be like you know running on the road and stuff, here let me tell y'all like you know about it, and how like, I sooo gonna do it?"
Right, well obviously that was some kind of dream too, clearly I didn't run anywhere, no no, what must have happened was I went to a near by building site and lay under some of the machinery, yes that must be it, perhaps a JCB ran over my lower legs, and a couple of hod carriers kicked the bejayous out of my lower back, and then for shits and giggles, clearly I asked someone else to run over my shoulders and upper torso with a fork life. Yes, that must be it.
Ah shit! It's raining again.
Which reminds me, all this rain is causing the snails around here to go mental at night. They congregate is vast numbers outside out back door, the slimy little brats. Last night as we rounded up the cats there were about forty of the buggers out there all criss crossing each other's slime and doing weird snail figures of eight. There were even one or two pile ups. Which begs the question, how can they crash into each other at the speed they're going at?
'Look Paramour.' I said, gently throttling the bigger of the cats who was desperately trying to escape.
'What? said he, listing to one side under the weight of Puddy, while the one-eyed one tried to eviscerate him with his back claws. Oh they do so love going to bed at night.
'Snails. What are they up to?'
We stuffed the cats into the garage and closed the door and make out way gingerly through our molluscy guests. One or two more seemed to have joined the pile up.
'I wonder what snail porn is like?" I asked.
'Slow.' Said the paramour.
And on this note we retired.
posted by fatmammycat at 9:49 a.m.
9 Comments:
No need for commercial lubricants though.
You there! I have a Friday Foto for you. Hold on until after toast.
Oh dear God, a Friday Foto. If there's one hair of Danny Bonaduce in it, I'm walking. I mean it, you and I are so not friends any more. I extend that warning about Carrot Top too.
I could never eat escargot again after living in Oregon with snails everywhere. The climate is just like Ireland's.
Matt Damon is like 5ft 3 inches and looks like a frat boy date rapist. Ew.
Yeah, but he rocks in the Bourne film, the newest of which am waiting for all twitchy like. And in the Talented Mr Ripley? He was superb.
Jude Law, on the other nostril, skeeves me out.
"'I wonder what snail porn is like?" I asked.
'Slow.' Said the paramour."
Actually, violent. Scroll down to where it says "Doping scandals" for the info on your common garden garden snail.
And you're dead on about Matt Damon as Jason Bourne (and Jude Law besides). I have him up in my "Honeys" section in my sidebar. Also freakin' brilliant in "Ripley." 5'3" is well tall enough for my short arse, and he can wash my hair any time.
Okay, he can act, and he was good in the Bourne movies.
But how about the whole Southy thing with that Bawston movie?
Never saw it, but I doubt they'd make a mob movie without any Italians in it.
Birdie, correctomundo.
Medbh, "Okay, he can act' is pretty much all I require from my actors. After that they can just be eye candy ( which poor Matt can never be)
ugg boots
jordan 4
nike blazer
ralph lauren outlet
cheap oakley sunglasses
broncos jerseys
ugg outlet
fitflops sale
pittsburgh steelers jersey
bills jerseys
Post a Comment
<< Home