my stuff
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find my diary through a random phrase and i'll write an entry about it. what fun!
Some lucky bugger found their way to this lovely skip yard of words I call a journal by searching for the phrase ‘bent over auntie’.
What the hell’s that all about? And more to the point, what the hell was I all about? I’ve decided not to read old entries of mine if I can help it (so to avoid that horrible cringey feeling and fighting the urge to go back and re-write it, making myself sound much more glam and sophisticated and witty etc. etc. etc.) so I don’t know what it was relating to.
It might have been a horrible dream I had once where I dreamt that Ron Corkhill from Brookside was beating my auntie up with a baseball bat. Who knows.
Talking about bending over auntie’s, unless we get involved in a game of twister this weekend, I will not be bending over mine. But I will be visiting her along with my mum and my gran. Yahoo.
Although I suppose I might bend over my auntie, if for example, she fell over and I needed to hoist her up. Being only 40 though, that’s unlikely. I might also bend over her if she fell asleep on the floor and I had to reach for the crisps that were behind her. When else might I bend over her? If she’s sitting in the middle of me and my gran and I need to give my granny a cuddle. But then that would be more leaning.
Ah. What fun. A whole entry stemming from some perve who wants to do things to his auntie. His poor auntie. Unless she likes it of course.
Kinky cow.
See what happens when there’s nothing interesting happening in my life?
Anyway, let me think of something wholesome that I can share. [thinking….thinking……thinking……]
Nope nothing. My brain is like a big empty warehouse with broken windows and bare lightbulbs.
Oh look, it’s time to leave work and go home.
Hurrah.
5:10 pm - 09 February 2006
