Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Splishy-Splashy

Well now! Sploshing, darling reader, is when you use 'copious amounts of substances are applied to clothes or skin for sexual gratification'. I know this for two reasons. The first is because a delicious writer friend of mine was employed to do a script for a saucy TV show where sploshing featured heavily, and was duly dispatched off to a local prostitute to get some research notes, where I would presume that point number one on the details list was which Sarah Lee gâteaux is the easiest to get out the tufted shag. The second reason is that a friend-of-a-friend of mine is into it (although secretly I think it's my friend and he's just shy about it) and tells tales of 'his friend' boiling up huge vats of custard and laying down enough plastic sheeting to dispose of the bodies of the whole of the Pussycat Dolls, before rolling around in something that looks like a Nickelodeon awards ceremony, or Jessica Simpson's kitchen these days. What lengths to go to in order to get your jollies, dear thing! Isn't that a lot of effort? I mean, all I do to prepare for an encounter is sluice myself out and make sure their name is written on the back of my hand in biro in case I have to yell it out at one point.

Completely by accident, I came about a new Gentleman's Recreational Film that involves sploshing. Well, I didn't know when I got it that this was included - I just saw swarthy men with beards and cold, dead eyes and instantly clicked the 'oh yes, I'll have me some of that' button. I didn't half put me off my stroke when the sploshing turned up, as it comes out of nowhere. The scene is thus: some lucky fellow is being dealt with by three people and is basically air-tight when the one at the front removed himself and then starts covering everyone in the Jane Asher's party cakes that were lined up at the back of the room. Then - THEN - he slaps a handful of cake in the one in the middle that was formerly a penis pinata. I found this funny for two points: one, all the gays watching will be going 'Oh. My. God. CARBS! This IS a fantasy!' and two, they really don't show him swallowing.

Seriously, they cut away!

Which is wonderful as they don't cut away from him swallowing the other stuff. I mean, really - he guzzles that like he's trying to make the back of his throat look ten years younger than the rest of him, bless.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Still Cold

Well, this snow's quite nice, but not what I was expecting, alas. When Ryan said I was going to get seven inches in the morning, I just made sure I was awake nice and early and brushed my teeth.

I'm at home. After the travel madness of yesterday I'm staying chez Glitter today, propped up on a warm bearskin and several Vicodin. I'll get the BBC to send a bike with my work for the day, and hope the rider a) doesn't slip in the ice, b) is hot, or c) a combination of a) and b) where he slips over on his hot ass by my door and has to be nursed sexily back to health over a matter of days. Oh it would just be like 'Misery' - only this time it would be a musical, and the 'hobbling' bit would be caused in an entirely different route than a sledgehammer, thank you very much.

Don't you just hate it when delivery drivers just weren't worth washing your parts out for? The last one I had stuffing anything up my slot had a face like he'd been using it as his brakepad. I felt like screaming "I've been standing here at the door jam in this wafty see-through housecoat for three hours hoping you'd catch me unawares, and look what they've sent! Bob Geldoff's elder brother!" But I didn't, because I'm a gentleman.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Angel Wings

London in the snow is pretty much like a fat girl in a new party dress. There's a novel prettiness about it for a full half-hour, but you just know by the end of the night it's going to be miserable, wet, and look like shit.