Liquid Dreams

This week has been pretty good- less teaching and less interaction with foul fiends that inhabit musty classrooms. Teaching is not an entirely pleasant job but it is the lesser of two evils- the other being long boring hours at work, being stuck in a routine, being forced to perform mundane tasks, and forced on a short leash with two measly weeks of leave a year. Any self-respecting buffalo would choose to teach rather than endure the atrocities of a mind-numbing, soul-crushing 9-5 desk job. 12 weeks of holidays a year, school holidays and celebration days, a reasonably good pay... its enough to keep me comfortably nestled in my cozy kennel at this little corner of the staff room. Of course life would be better if my sow of a best friend could periodically look up from her boss' dick to reply to my messages on MSN but in this day and time, it is too much to ask. Bootlicking Cocksuckers Abound in the private sector.

I'm kinda hungry. Just in case my hunger pattern intrigues you, no matter what I consume, I'm always hungry at 1030. My digestive system awakes from its sweet slushy slumber and the juices start pumpin' and my stomach starts its jumpin'. I've been feeling better for the past week because I'm eating better. Still, I’ve yet to have a taste of sweet manna from heaven and nothing makes me feel better than having sweet.liquid.love past my lips…. via the alleys of appetite and into the chambers of love. The perennial conflict… Pistachio Almond or Mocha Almond Fudge? Just typing out these names sends a tremor of delight through me. I have sworn not to take a sip of milkshake till Raz returns but it was a foolish endeavour to begin with. Tomorrow I shall dine in style. How I long to lift that glass to my lips and let it seduce me with its saccharine loveliness as I ascend to Gluttons Paradise. The ends of my mouth are drippin’, all this talk has got me trippin’… As they say, sex is in the head so one must always prepare oneself for the gastronomical orgasm if climax is to be achieved. Activate salivary glands, Lubricate Piehole…. And ATTACK!

Sigh. Perhaps I should wait till tom before psyching myself up like this. My excitement is a little premature, considering the only stash I have at hand is bottled water and oatcakes with hummus. Oh btw, motherfucker got a haircut and he actually looks halfway decent now. I’m at a loss for words… a fundamental pillar of my Principles of Aesthetics has been challenged. If a measly haircut can modify human response to a mofo… then my theory needs major reworking. It MAY actually be possible for the very ugly to clean up their act.

This revelation is astounding. In the near future, there may come a time where the sight of a mofo will not seize my heart with dread, freeze my bladder and get my colon in a major twist; such that in its deep distress, my rectal walls collapse into a fistula.