When you go on a date and he spends the first half hour describing, in detail, a documentary that he watched the other night about 7 Swedish Singing Pussies, you know you haven't met your prince just yet. In fact you've not only not met your prince, you realise that, even though you've been kissing frogs your entire adult life, you're still not done with the spawny lips of the deviants just yet. 'Will it ever end?' I mouthed out loud as i massaged my temples in circular motions and stretched my eyes as if somebody had switched out the lights (i think they may have in this guys head). Luckily he was too enthralled in the art, or flair of the foofs, to hear anything that came out of my mouth. Maybe i should have whipped off my under crackers and broke into song, that is if i had cared about trying to impress him - i did not.
I had to at least get something out of this date for myself so i told him that my mother did that for a living, in fact it was probably her that he had seen. The twat believed me and i got the hell out of there before he followed me home and asked my mother for a private show.
Not gonna lie though, it did intrigue me and i did check it out on a dodgy site and i have to say that my world is that little more disturbed for it!
No comments:
Post a Comment