Amazon war on society, is it nothing more than a feminist myth?

Fabian Wildman was awake when I came downstairs this morning. He said thanks for what I did yesterday. I told him it was nothing and he said he thought he was fucked. I asked him what he was doing there and will Zim Van Bindle send his amazon army after us. He said he didn't know anything about an amazon army. I told him that Zim Van Bindle was trying to get an amazon army together to bring about a sex war that will topple society.

Fabian Wildman said he hadn't heard of this but that it sounded like something that crack addled fool would think up. He said he hadn't seen any girls in the livingroom last night. Much less roid addled amazons.

I puzzled over it all morning on my way to work. I quickly forgot about it when The Punchbowl Girl took me into the Disabled Toilets and wasted £4.83 of the company's money.

I told her what happened and that it was actually an ex of Betty Blue's that I saved. Then this twinkle came into her eye and she said she wanted to know more about him. That was silly of me. I'll not mention him again in front of her.

Getting Paid for Having Fun

So the results of the poll are in. 68% of you voted for me to use my wee doggy to meet other sexy dog walkers. This is a good plan as the rest all involved some form of danger (potentially life threatening danger).

I was going to implement it this evening. I was even sitting at work thinking about what route me and Battle Cat could take when The Punchbowl Girl came up to me. She had Betty Blue's book on her and was talking all about how she couldn't wait to get started on it. It was gonna be so cool. She was going to go home and stick on some grunge and hit the books, or book.

I chatted with her a wee bit. I was thinking that I should start getting to know her and thinking about her as a person and not just someone I want to shag. When she said to me:

"Don't go back to work straight after break."

She told me to follow her and she led me into the disabled toilets where we humped like Puffing Billy.

We came back to work a whole twenty minutes late but I wasn't bothered about that. It was great to be getting paid for humping. A whole £1.94 (rounding up) but what happened was worth so much more.

How Do I Get Rid of Leotard Parties Next Door?

Fabian Wildman left half a bottle of real piss in my bathroom. I don't know why he didn't piss in the toilet? He's used it many times in the past. I threw it out in the alleyway but then I became paranoid about a wino finding it and drinking it so I put it in the Leotard Girls' bin. I hope it attracts rats to their house because I'm sick of being woken up in the night by their shit leotard parties that I'm never invited to. They had one last night that ended up with a mad scrap in the streets (two spides digging each other in the mouth). The leotard girls stood out in the street cackling away.

I stuck on the TV and watched retards sleeping on Big Brother. Lucky bastards, they don't have spide fuelled leotard parties going on nearby.

Sent Home From Work

Today before work I needed some dutch courage so I downed a whole bottle of fizzy pink champaigne in the bath. It felt great and I marched off to work telling myself that I didn't give two flying monkey's fucks about what happened with Kissy Boy and Betty Blue. I believed it too, until I walked out on the floor and saw the two of them sitting beside each other (or in adjacent booths). They were having a laugh and giggling. They saw me and waved me over, I waved back but I didn't go. I went and sat at the other side of the room from them.

Three phonecalls in I couldn't take it any longer, I could feel the alcohol climbing up my throat. Wee bits of sick in my mouth, I swallowed them down but they just came back up bigger. I started to cry.

I ran down the corridor to the disabled bogs, which were thankfully empty and boked all over the place. I sat on the toilet seat and fell asleep. I only slept about ten minutes but it was enough to make me feel hungover.

I cleaned the place up as best I could and went back to the floor.

My supervisor asked me if I was alright and I mumbled something about not being well enough to come back to work, she was really sympathetic and said I should go home and get better, they'd pay me for the day.

I can't believe how nice she was, in the last call centre I worked in that would have been it over for me.

I walked home wondering if it was a good idea to open that second bottle of pink champaigne in the fridge.

Maybe not.

How to Make The Tastiest Pancakes

This morning I was coughing up chunks of green stuff. It's all the walking about drunk in the cold, Wino Jo says, he says he's an expert in this stuff. It seems his being back on the drink was a temporary thing as he's not been drunk since that night.

There were streaks of red in the coughed stuff and I'm not sure if it's blood or colouring from the pink champaigne. Either way none of the others in the house seemed too bothered and I just struggled out of bed and made my way to work via the off-licence and custom house square. I'd hoped that some pink champaigne would give me strength to get through the day but I've been sitting shivering in the disabled bogs since I came in.

No fucking pancakes. Book Boy says it's just a commercial holiday and that the marketting ploy that starts every year after Valentines Day is sickening. He was near in tears when he said it but I think that's because he doesn't have a sweetheart or anyone to make him pancakes either.

Pink Champaigne and the Pleasures that will be Mine.

I've taken to sitting at the masonic compasses at custom house square now in the mornings before work, as you know. I've also taken to downing a full bottle of pink champaigne before I can face going in. It makes things just bareable, though I had tried vodka the first morning and all I did was stagger to work (falling a few times) and spend the morning boking in the disabled bogs. I was sent home, I said I had food poisoning. In a way I suppose it's the same thing.

Champaigne isn't cheap though I buy the cheapest bottle I can find. I like it to be pink, it's tastier and it is a soft colour that reminds me there are things in this city that aren't bleak and trying to slap you into your place, wherever that is.

I'm staking a claim for my home now, so sometimes in the morning I sit in the bath and have a shave, whether I need it or not, and snuggle up to foamy bubbles and a bottle of pink champainge. If I have it in the morning then I don't drink one at the masonic compasses.

I will one day drink this pink champaigne in a bath full of lovely ladies and the radio blarring Snoop Dizzle, for now it's all I can do to keep from falling asleep in it, that's why I never drink a second bottle in there.

The Disabled Bogs Are Flooded

The disabled bogs in work is where most people go for humping and pumping or self congratulations, but not today.

When we all got in this morning the disabled bogs were flooded, crying because Kissy Boy had left, Little My said, but everyone looked at the floor embarrased for her when she said this.

Truffle Shuffle and The Huffy Tortoise (who owns the building) were all parading about outside looking angry as fuck. The Uselss Arm Pit (the owner's brother and all round building handy man) was salivating and kept shouting "DON'T CALL THE POLICE!" They did of course and we were all ushered into our work cubicles. Here speculation was rife that Kissy Boy had fucked them up majorly when he went, no one could be sure but London Girl came in with a face like her heart was breaking and said:

"Kissy Boy flooded the disabled toilets," as if he'd done a turd on her living room carpet and rubbed her face in it, which he couldn't because London Girl is ex-TA and could put his head through a wall if she wanted.

Everyone was saying I told you so, and though it probably was him it could just as likely have been everyone else who hates working here. They've no more proof that Kissy Boy flooded the bogs than they do that he licks his own balls, and he's a lucky bastard if he can.

I think The Useless Arm Pit was wanting to go round his house and beat him up but I don't think he could bear himself in a came of Who Comes First?

Going into Work Drunk

Today was the first time I went to work drunk. I was still drunk from the night before so it's not like I'm being irresponsible.

I fucked up my first few calls and the customers gave off about me being shit. I hung up on them even though you're supposed to give them a warning.

My call handling time is not as good as it should so I hung up on a few folk. One of them I said "smell your ring, yeow!"

I don't know why though, I went to the toilet and boked my ring up. I heard some grunting noises coming from the disabled toilet and I was sure it was humping and pumping going on in there. I guess that's the sex meet up point. Gonna keep my eyes peeled and hope to get some hot lady in there with me at some point.

I noticed today how some people like everyone to hear their calls, they speak with a loud authorative tone so that people on the other side of the office can here them.

This was pissing me off loads so I walked past one of them and said "smell your ring, yeow!" so the customer would hear. Not the smartest move, because the guy who took the call eyeballed me then came up and asked if I'd hung up on the customer earlier. I told him that I didn't hang up on customers and receited the company motto. I think he fell for it. I hope so, I want to keep this job for a bit.