Wednesday 23 April 2008 Things which irritate me: 5-star build-ups giving 2-star orgasms
So since I am laying my soul bare in this journal, I have decided to see if I can spot an orgasm trend and plot it along with my mood and biorhythms. You know, as if it were actual science and not just a record of a bored, horny kid who wanks too much. As it is, I will now keep a star rating at the start of each entry and then analyse the data once I have a sufficient amount. Hooray for introductory statistics in the maths course I'm taking; I appear at least to be able to handle that part of the course for now. Anyway, without further ado:
Drum-roll... **. It was shit. It started well, but the finish was kinda half-hearted, kinda "...who, me? Oh right – sorry!"
So D&C played our virgin football match yesterday. There was at least one actual virgin on the pitch – me; hopefully several others as well but no guarantees, I suppose. On the plus side, we won. It wasn't exactly a prison-rape with us squeaking out 2-1 winners, but the score doesn't tell the whole story. We were under the cosh for the first half of the first half and found ourselves a goal down within two minutes. Fortunately, I was not on the pitch at that stage. It was dubious, though; pretty sure our man Tim got fouled something chronic which let them through, but credit where it's due, the goal was well taken. But then we were all over them like stink on shit, as the saying goes, and it was only thanks to their `keeper having a complete blinder of a game that we were still 1-0 down at half-time.
We did a personnel switch; Russ and Danny were traded for Siya and Tebogo and it was quick interplay between Siya and Tim which netted us our equaliser. Tim and I then traded and I did okay as sweeping cover at the back, holding Meads at bay and outpacing their very slow winger to keep them under pressure before a quick cut from me to Paolo to Tebogo and we were up 2-1 which we held, narrowly not getting to 3-1 and then 4-1 thanks to their man in goal.
So it was a good start, and the games were pretty well-attended by the other teams checking out the competition. We popped in on Monday to watch and see what it was all about – wow, it is going to be a massacre for us in some matches, I think, but I don't think we'll disgrace ourselves too badly, which is good.
Still no word on Mandy's imminent progeny; also no word on the imminent arrival of Great Uncle Joe. Not quite sure what is happening on either front, and since I'm not supposed to know either of these things it is quite difficult to play Holmes and find shit out about it. How in the living fuck Holmes actually managed to get any snooping around done without getting rumbled is beyond me. On a random tangent, I wonder if he was a looker and a hit with the ladies. I imagine Watson as a fairly staid old fart; probably one of those more traditional English gentlemen and probably not the sort of man likely to set anyone's nethers a-tingle when they spotted him about town – probably because of the gigantic mutton-chop sideburns and handlebar `tache he probably sported, I suspect – but I reckon Holmes probably only played the role he presented while cunningly being quite a demon in the sack. For no good reason, I imagine he was probably quite the adventurous type – translated, basically I reckon he stuck things up his bum from time to time because he knew it would feel mmmm-good. Not necessarily anything attached to another man, per se, but I'll bet his back door was used to two-way traffic of some or other sort, the dirty sod.
Hooray for character assassination! -C