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.

What's in a name Fuckface?

Wouldn't a goddamn rose smell the fucking same no matter what you called it? Didn't some one say that in some teenage angst play or other. Well?
While pondering where the invisible mariachi band had come from this morning, and why they were playing quite so close to my ears, I wandered lonely as a puddle of gloop to the kitchen to make coffee and inject pain killers directly into my veins. Sitting there, in my robe, bare feet, my hair as curly as orphan Annie's, I tried to make sense of certain things I had learned the night before.
Here is what I learned. Take heed folks, you may need this list to compare some day.
1) Cocaine is now de rigueur at any social gathering.
2) People who ingest cocaine bore the absolute shit off me, okay dude I get it, your mind is like totally expanding man and your early inhibitions have flown the coop so now you can wax lyrical on just about any subject you choose.
3) Small light people cannot handle a lot of booze.
4) However fill them with Redbull and they think they can-thus they drink more than normally possibly-and get very very aggressively drunk.
5) Girls called 'MiMi' (that's right, second capital) ought to be rounded up and studied. If we can isolate whatever gene it is that makes them impervious to cold we should isolate it and the one that makes it difficult to breathe and blink at the same time, we ought to crush that one.
6) Running into old 'friends' at social gatherings, while awkward and uncomfortable can be done, unless girls called MiMi are nearby.
7) People who say, 'Didn't like, you, like used to be, like friends? Ohmigosh, well, you know, what's that saying, we're all together as one?' exist.
8 There is no such saying as 'we're all together as one.'
9) False eyelashes are like totally expensive but there's like an amazing girl in Temple Bar that can do them, it I should ever like you know, what to 'do something' about my own eyelashes.
10) And this is where I came in. Not taking your husband's (future or otherwise) name as your own once you're legally hitched is still seen-by some- as being an act of subversion. Pointing out that your own name might have served you perfectly well for any number of years and you might like to keep it, is also considered, 'strident.' And 'bogus feminist crap.'
Telling cocaine filled wanklords to cram it is not considered strident, that's just considered 'hostile.'
Offering to show cocaine filled dude the true meaning of 'hostile' invokes near gnu like panic in the surrounding herd, except for MiMi who was busy trying to scoop one of her false eyelashes out of her drink using a straw and then her thumb.
Rum will sooth all ruffled feathers, at least surface feathers.
Ow.