blowted

Following the morning at home yesterdays remaining hangover cleared pretty fast. In the office it was business as usual though perhaps a little more optimistic. When I did get home I was actually feeling rather calm about everything.

Myfwt’s was due later so I decided to make a lasagne following hot on the heels of the triumph of last week. After I’d made the sauce I decided to have a quick bash on Tomb Raider. Up until this point the game has been challenging enough to keep ones mind occupied, the graphics are the best they’ve been and there hasn’t been any really silly points where a hitherto impossible move, after pouring over a walkthrough, suddenly becomes the only fucking way to move the game on. As I say, up until this point.

Predictably the game is beginning to get increasingly frustrating. Why do game makers do this? It’s not as if I’m going to be gaining in intelligence/motor skills as the game progresses so why do they insist on making things incrementally so difficult it soon becomes virtually impossible to play outside of having 3 hands, 38 fingers, two brains, one with psychic power, and a spare arse to sit on.

When I let Myfwt a few hours later in my rictus grin melted into one of admiration and fancy, standing by the front door was Cunt talking to some bloke with a clipboard. I saw him wish her a good evening and she responded similarly, but as she did cut him a look similar to the way I might regard a broken turd in a gravy of lumpy blood. He physically withered under her gaze and I had to stifle an actual chortle, remember them, and the desire to punch the air and hoot Jerry Springer style whoop.

The lasagne was better than last weeks; we both overrate but managed to keep a lid on the quantity wine of wine consumed, which was just as well. For the first time in 6 weeks I’m not in a position to do a booze free this week so the next best thing is to not overindulge. We spent the rest of the evening farting in front of the box before heading off for an early night, bloated to the point of mild discomfort. Even now I’ve no desire for food, fucking lovely it may be but I think next time I’ll eat it the night before…

Meanwhile in bed, Myfwt lay her sweet head on my chest, after a few minutes she switched position. Her hair had become entangled in my 3mm stainless steel circular bar bell in my nipple and tore out a clump of her hair.

Short Piqued today, I have a lot to do over here, I’ll leave you with this. If you don’t like this there is something not right with you. He says.