On anon
Stitch that eHarmony, juveniledementia is the new young turk of the internet dating world.In other words, I am trying to bring Busty Anon and dear old Dr Terror together in the real world.
Wish me luck. And them, for that matter.
Of course, in this fickle world, who's to know what will work out and what will not?
Which brings me, quite neatly, to my new gym membership. I have joined the Workout Warehouse, my local gym.
It's not that I intended to do loads of rowing and running, you understand, I just misheard what the salesman said and thought I was signing up for a much more exciting way to get fit.
(geddit? Warehouse - whorehouse, oh I give up with you people).
posted by Peter The Great @ 3:33 PM
15 Comments:
You should totally copyright 'Workout Whorehouse' for future entrepreneurial endeavours.
No good'll come of it. Just you see if it don't.
What the whorehouse or the dating service? I think that the whorehouse could be go-er, ho ho.
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Oh god yes - blog me like you mean it.
Oh sorry, forgot I wasn't going to do that any more... my apologies to PTG and friends.
You did promise. And I came back, to listen.
Do you think that we can never be enough for each other…? My age, your rage.
Will you be normal, and even, when we meet? I hope not. I hope that you’ll play hard, unforgivingly and without a trace of self-doubt.
Meanwhile, Stuart has bought me a Mini-Milk. I think about Mum all the time (even during The Act), and all that is needed now is a 99 Whip.
@Barry: a blog of your own is the last thing you need. A grip is what you need - and on reality, not your swollen manhood!
Has 'Dr Barrngton Terror' been swiped already as a blogging persona? If not, then Barry - do your worst (please note - don't ACTUALLY do your worst, as that would involve probably you having vigorous sex with a dead tramp, in front of creche, in a tin bath)
Doesn't keep fit in the North simply involve dragging a loom across t'moor?
How about 'Dr Barrington Twitter'?
Why has Dr Barrington Twitter been deleted?
Censorship by The Man!
It's all true. I censored Dr Terror.
I am The Man. Yield to me.
Make me.
I was, indeed, censored… though for housekeeping reasons. This is fortunate, as the combination of the blog and CCTV footage of two sub-psychopaths wrestling with a giant rocket is not the sort of face I’d like to put forward to the world.
No, that face would be the perfect visage of a gilded, spoilt hedonist in the eternal beauty and splendour of youth, rather than the decaying, sodden portrait in the loft. Oh no… confused again.
Oddly, today I’ve been almost completely pain-free. It’s a strange, disconcerting and not altogether happy experience. I’m now forcing toothpicks under my fingernails and considering stuffing my foot into a threshing machine, just to keep my hand (well, actually, my foot) in.
Are you actually going to work tomorrow, Su?! I like the hint of a seething, unrequited game of sexual power between you and PTG. More please.
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