Old Man

My dad is pretty old. He looks really good for his age. Looking good for your age is something that is in the genes. Alzheimers is also something that I am told runs in the family. At least when he is running around the old folks’ home with his cock in his hand he won’t be too wrinkled and letting the side down.

  My father may be fairly older than me, but my uncle (related to me by marriage [also went to school with Osama – BOOM] ) was born when his father was 73. I don’t know if that is common in Arab families, I would appreciate it if someone were to let me know. My sister is ten years younger than me, and doesn’t know our dad anywhere near as well as I do. It is quite an amusing situation, because my sister is intelligent and hard working and entirely unimaginative. She will go on to be a doctor or lawyer or something equally boring and wealthy and respectable. She will be just kicking everything off when he kicks the bucket. He won’t get to see her greatest achievements, wonderful house, family etc. I, however, am far more interesting. I’ll be living in a rented home when I’m 45, there will be less a family and more a woman that doesn’t love me and children that live far away and I don’t see often, will be poorly paid and eclipsed by my siblings and a general failure. Fortunately, I will continue to show promise for another several years, and by the time that I am tied to the track to a middling existence my dad will pushing up daisies and my mum will still be working in Asda and my grandparents are all already dead so it won’t matter.

That Moment

There is a moment in every man or woman’s life when they think back on something in the middle of some horrible sexual frustration and think, “oh my goodness why did I not do that? She’s a lovely girl with a great bum and I was brutally finger fucking it. I could have totally taken advantage of her; she needed what she thought was love and I needed to buttfuck her. All it would have needed was a little more time. Why do I have to have a conscious? Damn my parents for raising me so well.” Or, “why did I not fuck that nurse in the ass when she was begging for it? Yea, she had no self respect at all and seemed to exist only to please a man (daddy issues?), but I could totally have persuaded her equally messed up identical twin to get involved. Why oh why did I have to have been sleeping with that wonderfully self-respecting, strong, feminist woman right before?”.

  I used to occasionally have those moments. I’m over it all now though. I’ve left all those scruples and morals bundled up in a box in my dad’s attic. Hello debauchery. Next up: how far will a fresher go?

On Friday night I went to a friend’s house for her birthday drinks and annoyed and flattered a young woman who was the coolest and best looking member of one of my favourite bands (I say young woman, I don’t really know how old she is but she looks about twenty three(see, my mum always said I was such a flatterer)). I was looking through the Facebook event beforehand to see if there were going to be any hot chicks there, but it isn’t obvious from her profile picture that she is the same lady I remember signing my ticket all those years ago (it was on my wall for years). I spent the majority of the evening sitting talking to a couple of friends, getting drunk, and didn’t  really speak to anyone new apart from a girl who lives with a friend of mine. But then I realised that the good looking girl at the other end of the table, who I hadn’t even made eye contact with and was obviously in some kind of wonderful new relationship, was incredibly familiar. I mentioned to my friend that her on the other side looked like the former bassist from this band, as I had taken him to see them a couple of times, but he had no idea. I asked the birthday girl who this other lady was and she came straight out with it, because I wasn’t quite drunk enough to walk up to a stranger and ask if they used to be a band I love. It turns out, however, that I was drunk enough to probably make a little bit of a fool out of myself in front of a good looking girl (I don’t have to be drunk). I think that maybe she was a little annoyed to begin with, but then I soon got her engaged (obviously, my mum says I’m really witty and charming and good looking). I think I impressed her by expressing a knowledge of the difficulties and hardships of being a professional musician (my dad used to be a drummer but he wasn’t cool and exciting – he didn’t get drunk until he was twenty four, the first time he got stoned it was by accident, getting high from second hand smoke from American G.I.’s returning home from Vietnam via Germany, and my mum left him because he was boring – although it does provide a platform from which to chat shit). Apparently she now lives in the same town as me and plays a lot of Nintendo. I don’t really care for Nintendo, but I don’t mind that she does.

Today then being my first chance, I immediately went onto Facebook and found her. I didn’t add her as a friend, because I don’t want her to know how stalky I am. I did find her blog though, which further proved how cool she is. The first line I read was “Millions of dollars/pounds/euros and knuts”. If you don’t understand why that is cool, I am not going to explain. There is other cool stuff on her blog, but that quote is enough. Maybe I will just send her a message and be all cool, something like “Hey, I met you on Friday night, you recognise the moustache, let’s be friends”. One of her recent blog posts is about Valentine’s Day and one of the things she said to do was “just propose. Seriously. Even if the love of your life has no idea you exist then propose to them. They will get so confused they will just say yes.” I like older women (I can only assume she’s older because they met at university whilst I was still at school) and I don’t actually want to be close to any women (thankyou, mother) so I probably won’t do that, but maybe I will. I haven’t decided yet. As I don’t actually want to be close to anyone she will just be the next far away person I fixate on for a day or two. But I met her! Such a fucking loser, and I don’t even really like music that much.

Problems

Lots of people have problems. If you’re normal then you have to just get the fuck on with your life or end it. You can come to terms with your problems, or struggle on with them, or bury them. I like burying them deep. If you’re rich, you can just throw money at the problem until the money runs out or you die.

For the past year or two I’ve been spending most of my time with mostly quite common people, all going to work and then consuming various substances (alcohol) to enable us to continue with our lives. I was raised in a well to do upper-middle-class environment and I still cling to that, because it’s all I have. My parents came from nothing and that is where they have returned to. My dad’s dad was an immigrant (A BLACK MAN!) and my dad’s mum was of poor (obviously) Irish stock (niggers of Europe). For the past several years my dad has been one of those dole scum that you hear about, stealing our benefits money, getting loads of women knocked up and killing their kids for profit. My mum’s parents are Scots and that’s where she’s moved back to. She’s quite well to do, lives in a nice area, but it’s all fucking relative. You should see the place, then you’ll understand why I love the South of England so much. 

So I make do with what I’ve got; my charm, wit, intelligence and good looks. I am like the Irish chap from the Woody Allen film about tennis where he falls in with the English Upper Classes and Brian Cox becomes his father-in-law (hehehe) and he kills that young American woman that the guy from Entourage is into. Oh, and sheer bloody luck,

I get on with things. I had forgotten that you could throw money at your problems to make them go away, until my friend told me a funny little story about a minor television celebrity paying for their child’s cosmetic surgery. That just seems to be the thing to do. Self-esteem only costs several thousand pounds. 

On a completely separate note: you can live in a house that is worth 90 times more than I earn in a year, but you can’t buy taste. You can buy expensive interior decorators to make it look like you have no taste. I’m sure that you can still be a lovely person?

I love the middle aged alcoholic mothers on my Facebook

And my mother doesn’t use Facebook. She gets too many messages from guys wanting to hook up. She is a P.I.M.P. It kind of runs in the family … My brother is gay and loads of women want to sleep with me. He just hasn’t found the right boy yet.

 One time a man tried to sleep with me. “But Hugh!” I hear you say. “Lots of rich and powerful and intelligent and attractive men want to sleep with you”. Yes they do, and I am straighter than my gay brother. What can I say. But this one, even though he’d read English at Oxford, and made a lot of money, and had a lot of drugs, didn’t like The Hobbit. He didn’t have time for fantasy. And that’s a quote. Obviously anybody who likes books knows the importance of fantasy! When I met my new bezzy, who has read a lot more than me, we immediately recognised each other for fantasy fans and started a firm friendship based on being losers. 

But back to Dave, gurning his cheeks off. He told me he hated The Hobbit. A girl told me that Brave New World was a masterpiece and I was all over her. I ranted to an English student about such deep poetry and she didn’t call me back. Bitch.

Sex With Homosexuals

  I’m not talking about gay sex with other men. I’m talking about a gay man having sexual intercourse with a straight woman.

  This is quite a funny story that an old friend told me recently. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a time and we got drunk with another old friend that I hadn’t seen in an age and started shooting the shit and he told me this story about a homosexual fellow. This guy hasn’t had sex with a man but he is gay. He was, however, given alcohol and poppers by his straight female friend who is in love with him and coerced into having sex with her. He was just horny is all, and meh. Warm bed. Company. Comfort. Not being alone like how you’re gonna die.

  So he put his willy inside her and then he saw that there was blood all over his willy and he started feeling sick, as if he wasn’t nauseous enough already, and he told her to leave. Poor girl. 

  They’ve been sleeping together for a while now, when the occasion takes them. Never in his room though, he doesn’t want to contaminate where he sleeps when there is a spare room next door. It happens maybe once a month. It is a good-oh way to annoy her mother. Thank the stars Granny is so deaf. She is lovely. 

  She hasn’t slept with anyone else since she started sleeping with this bloke. Neither has he, but he hasn’t found the right guy. It’s dead cheesy but it’s true. She has, however. He is like her gay boyfriend or something. It’s an incredibly moving story. One young woman in love, one young man just incredibly apathetic.

  He did get pretty pissed off when I told him that I once had oral sex with a man and almost reached penetration but all this was before lubrication so we didn’t actually do that. He’ll get there one day. He’ll find the right boy. Filippino. 

Death and Sex

  I think that sex is on my mind and my tongue so much is because that way I don’t have to think about dying. When I’m somewhere wonderful or do something amazing and think “wow, if I was having sex now then this would be so much better”, I am at least not thinking “wow, I could be dead now and this wouldn’t actually be happening at all”. 

  I don’t actually have lots of sex and go with lots of women. I know reading all of this may lead you to think otherwise, but it’s the truth. I invented a relationship with a woman and kept up the charade for a few years just so that I wouldn’t have to awkwardly answer any awkward questions. I did put my penis inside a woman once, but it was all bloody when I took it out so I told her she had to leave. That event and my mother have put up quite a barricade in my path to a fully functioning sexual relationship. 

  Another very good reason that I don’t pursue sexual relationships, aside from all the fears and insecurities and anxieties and all that kind of the stuff, is I want to practise for when I am old and alone. 

Middle-Class Kids

  I had planned to spend Saturday evening masturbating in all the rooms in the house and drinking a beautiful toasted coconut porter from Hawaii. My best friend from childhood invited me to a barbeque and to buy me food and chocolate milk and beer, so I did that instead. 

  The night consisted of sitting around a kitchen table with a bunch of guys (and a token girl) eating food cooked by our host and drinking beer/cider/whisky. We all went to primary school together and I hadn’t seen most people gathered for several years. The last time I saw our host was when I had an proper place to actually live. 

  It was a nice evening. They were nice people. They all had names like “Thomas” and “Alexander” and “Benjamin” and “Reginald” and “Daniel”. My friends are all called “Thomas” and “James” (hawhaw) and “Frederick” and “Benjamin” and “Peter” and “Robert” and “Edward” and “William”, though, so I don’t know what my point about the names is … I don’t know any girls?

  When I’m with my friends and we make jokes and comments about black people and brown people and poor people, there is no actual feeling behind it. Yes, we all are secretly bigoted and racist and prejudiced, and the jokes are funny because they’re true. Sitting around with all these middle – to – upper – middle-class young people who are desperate to become The Establishment, there was real vehemence in their comments about black people being a joke, and Chinese people being the worst, and poor people being shot. I didn’t ask them, but I can only assume that they/their parents vote Conservative. This isn’t necessarily bad, it just helps build a picture.

  When we weren’t discussing sports (with facts and statistics being nailed down all night by the resident Aspergers chap), or watching sports, there was a lot of talk of joining The Establishment. A few people have just finished their degrees in law/architecture and were discussing becoming a barrister/joining a practice and all of that kind of professional stuff that you do. Bleurgh. I didn’t realise that this mindset existed any more. It seems to belong to certain groups. I thought our generation was mostly different, but nothing really changes does it?

 Work hard at school, do well, go straight off to university to study something employable, work hard, do well, get a job, find a spouse, buy a house, contribute to the destruction of the planet through procreation, work on, have an existential crisis and realise that all the hard work and effort and achievement has been for nothing that can be adequately described as “real”, fuck about a bit with looks and motors and money and sex before realising that you’ve got to just get on with it until you die, with little enjoyment and a sucking sense of failure and disappointment and a feeling that life wasn’t made for this.

  I know I am in a very similar boat, and these people will at least have lots of money and few worries about rent and the mortgage and accommodation and going nice places and everything nice that goes with a nice, well-off, middle-class life, and my life won’t be able to match up to theirs when using their standards, but I also know that I am simply not as dull as them. Thankyou Mum and Dad. 

I’m A Waiter

All I want to do is sit here and write but I’ve got to go and abuse myself and be abused.

Anal Sex (for women)

Anal sex seems to largely be a thing for girls who want to be liked and have low self-esteem. This is based on a very small sample and a few insinuations. It may not be true. There may be a whole horde of strong, independent women who love willies up their bumholes. 

This isn’t talking about men being anally penetrated, because there is a perfectly sound biological reason for a man putting a willy, fleshy or prosthetic, up his bottom. 

 

 

 

It seems like a lot of these posts are about sex. I don’t really have anything else to think about.