Self-harm

Goodness, my liver hurts.

Drank vast quantities of Calimocho on Friday at a party in my road. Calimocho, for those of you who don't know, is a Spanish drink. A Spanish peasant drink. Well, not only peasants, but young pissheads too. Anyway, it is a mixture of red wine and Coke. Sounds revolting but tastes like Sangria. Only better.

Anyway, went to this party with BSP (BIG STRAIGHT PHIL) and drank and chatted and perved. There were several attractive people there. I met a guy who apparently has a beautiful schlong. His face gave no indication as to the beauty within his pants though. He was repellant. No, that's not true. He just isn't as attractive as my friend he was courting. But doing a terrible job of it. Breeders should leave the courting to benders. We're wwwaaayyy better at it.

Woke up with the worst hangover ever. Fucking Spaniards. Went into town to help BSP choose spectacles (whenever he tried on a ridiculous pair, I squeezed his testicles). Spectacles...testicles...it almost rhymes...it does if you say it in a gay way.

On Saturday evening, Tom, Natasha, Aaron, Jenny and Jack came around for supper. I am slightly in love with Jack. By that, I mean that I want to have sex with him. He is a rugby player and I can think of nothing better than waking up beneath him. Well, I can think of several things better than that but they are too obscene to be posted here. I am willing to demonstrate so get in touch if you are even the least bit curious. And attractive. Do it now. But send a photo too.

Jack stayed after the others left and I casually brought up the subject of pornography (I'm getting quite adept at that)...short story, long...we ended up watching a film called 'Mrs Steele, My First Sex Teacher', in which some silicone-titted slut rolls her eyes as she talks dirty and refers to her pussy in the third person before taking a load in her mouth. It was well hot.

On Sunday, I went to the Remembrance Sunday service in Magdalen Chapel. Just like a normal service but it started at 10:55 instead of 11:00 and we sang 'God Save the Queen' at the end. I think we should sing GSQ every week. Or at least monthly. Nothing wrong with a bit of patriotism. Ask Nick Griffin.
After Chapel, I went to brunch where B and I were cornered by Lord Hurd (as in Douglas Hurd, the former Foreign Secretary). Lord H gave the sermon and it was exceedingly poor. The only excitement during the service was provided by Jesus in the form of:

-My phone going off during the service. I turned around an glared at the woman behind me so everyone would think it was her. If it works for flatulence why not mobile telephones?
-An incredibly hot boy (whose name I now know thanks to facebook)
-A woman dressed like a Nazi dominatrix/Nun (fish-net tights, short skirt, black leather jacket, poppy and a fuck-off-huge jewelled crucifix around her cum-soaked throat. I made up the bit about her throat being cum-soaked. But it probably was. Filthy whore).

After chapel, I had fencing which was tiring but good. I laid waste to some bitch who wasn't gracious enough to accept my apology (for telling her to shut up a couple of weeks ago).

The way to a woman's heart/anus:

One must rub the head of one's penis against the labia majora, followed by the perineum and finally, the anus. Plenty of lubricant is, of course, mandatory. With regard to men, skip the labia majora bit and the lube bit. It's not really necessary.

Just kidding. Use oil-based lubricants. Latex condoms work especially well with them...