friendship

Big pants.

pants, relationships, love, lust, sex, men, women‘We should be honest with each other’ she said. ‘Over everything’ she said.

This of course, is a blatant lie. Or rather it’s a trap. She doesn’t want honesty, she just wants to know what I’m up to so that she can maintain the relationship high ground whilst at the same time gathering increasing amounts of weaponry with which to beat me back into place whenever the need arises.

It’s a trap I fell into in spectacular style this evening.

With her psycho brothers wedding fast approaching and the search for a suitable dress having taken me to the edge of madness, I returned home to find yet more packages on the bed from the never ending stream of online retailers who have no doubt made millions from the exploitation and suffering of saps like me.

However, among their number was a dress that she actually liked. So much so in fact, that she actually put it on. And to be fair, it didn’t look hard bad. Nice cleavage, shapely arse…. there was just one minor issue.

At this point my inbuilt diplomacy gene stepped in and I stated my approval and told her that she looked awesome. She smiled, I smiled, job jobbed. Or so I thought. Because even as my mind was turning to dinner, she opened the dreaded trap door.

‘What about my tummy?’ she said. Pointing at the bulge around her midriff which, to be fair, was the flaw which had previously caught my attention. It wasn’t that it was big (it isn’t) it’s just that it was, well, there.

Now to be fair, in any normal circumstance a response of ‘it’ll be fine, just wear some big pants’ would be a perfectly reasonable one and more importantly, it fell firmly within the ‘honesty’ criteria she has insisted on from day one. But as her face crumbled and then hardened into that all too familiar hate-fuelled glare, it rapidly became clear that on this occasion she hadn’t wanted honesty. She’d wanted a lie dressed up as flattery. A fact underlined in thick black pen when she told me that she already had some on.

So now, through no fault of my own, not only am I in the proverbial doghouse and facing a weekend traipsing around the hell that is Bluewater for my trouble, but I have to face it all in the knowledge that the only way I could redress the wrong she had dragged me into was to tell her that I’d pay whatever it takes for the right dress. Something I suspect, was a part of the plan all along.

Women, devious bastards all of them.

Billy.

Follow me on Twitter – @BillysBlogged

This blog is based on the best-selling novel, Billy’s Log, which can be downloaded from Amazon by clicking here!

Sequel is on the way!

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A warm welcome to my troll.

twitter, troll, blog, social media, facebookI have a troll!

Yes, that’s right. Less than a week into my blogging career and there’s already someone out there in social media land who has made it their business to climb onto my case.

Whilst normally such a discovery would send normal mortals into a frenzy, it’s safe to say that if anything, I’m actually quite flattered that someone thinks I’m important enough to be bothered with. Although it’s also safe to say that it’s fairly obvious that whoever is involved in this madness doesn’t actually know me personally. After all, I am actually not bothered about being fat nor am I adverse to the odd bout of masturbation so being called a fat wanker isn’t exactly wide of the mark,  nor is it particularly hurtful.

Similarly, the mate I’ve been accused of betraying would willingly pay good money to any sad soul prepared to take his pig of a wife off his hands and anyone who has ever met my sister would know that she is more than capable of giving most blokes a decent kicking. Especially her little brother.

My only real concern involves the motives behind it. After all if the plan is to either worry me or simply piss me off, it’s failing badly. Similarly, the notion of revenge suggests that I’ve actually done something worthy of that and if I have, I can’t think what it might be and surely I’d know! That doesn’t leave much scope for an objective unless it’s someone setting me up for something. The question is what? And why? And who?

Normally, my first thought would be that it’s one of my mates but since they all regard me as a twat anyway (and visa versa) they wouldn’t have any problem going public with that opinion. They certainly haven’t in the past. And to be honest, the only one of our group with both the imagination and mental capacity to initiate a sting of this kind is me and I know I’m desperate, but not even I’m likely to troll myself. Besides, I’d know.

It could of course be something else entirely. What if it’s my mum, or my sister? Finally giving public airing to long harboured thoughts about her only son/brother? Or my dad? Mind you he’s never been too shy when it comes to slagging me off so that at least is unlikely.

Of course it could have quite the opposite meaning and instead of being a troll, be some love-struck female who is too shy to actually come out and admit to having lustful thoughts about me. Then again, if that were the case it’s highly likely that their apparent shyness is a result of their looks and/or personality and who would want that?

No, the most likely truth is that I simply have a crap troll. But whatever it is, sure as eggs is eggs it’s going to run and run.

Welcome @IYF84.

Billy.

Follow me on Twitter – @BillysBlogged

This blog is based on the best-selling novel, Billy’s Log, which can be downloaded from Amazon by clicking here!

Sequel is on the way!

comedy, humour, brimson, writing, author, screenwriting, greenstreet, bridget jones, revenge, sperm, hate crime, troll, trolling

Revenge.

revenge, men, drinking, life, sex, masturbationI found myself dragged into a lunchtime session yesterday. Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly a reluctant participant but reflecting on it now, it has already become clear that my participation is going to prove to be a huge mistake.

 For like most Sunday lunchtime sessions that take place when football is lying dormant on our calendars, we ended up fixated on a particular subject. Yesterday, that subject was revenge.

As a natural born coward and a firm believer in the concept that revenge, whilst obviously best served cold, should also be accompanied by a side order of smug self-satisfaction, I tend to fulfill my desire for retribution in ways which are so childish that I really wouldn’t want the details made public anyway. For me, simply knowing I have done something is usually enough.

However, if you think about it this does kind of miss the point. After all, if someone has wronged you enough to make you want to extract some kind of justice, surely it is far more effective if they actually know what you have done and why. And if everyone else also knows, it would surely send the message that you are not someone to be trifled with.

Sadly, imparting this opinion after a few Budweiser’s was clearly a mistake as in our alcohol induced state, everyone seemed to agree. As a consequence, we spent an afternoon filled with tales involving clingfilm, laxatives, superglue and porn sites which eventually deteriorated into the abuse of social media etiquette which in some instances bordered on illegal and inevitably, the use of bodily fluids.

Ironically, in spite there being six of us involved in this conversation all of whom have known each other for years, not one of us had the balls to admit to extracting revenge on each other. That was until someone let slip that some years ago, they’d had occasion to repay a debt to one of our number. A revelation which resulted in an instant change of mood as each of us considered the idea that it might be us whilst hoping to god that it wasn’t.

Of course, not for the first time it turned out that I had been the victim. News which clearly came as a huge relief to the others who then insisted that the guilty party divulge the nature of that revenge.

As a consequence, I discovered that some years ago, for the crime of drinking the last can of lager in the fridge –in spite of the fact that I had paid for it!- my ex-flat mate once wanked into my bath whilst I was on the phone to my mum. Hence, I now have a new nickname; Spunky.

Fabulous.

 

Follow me on Twitter – @BillysBlogged

The best-selling novel, Billy’s Log, can be downloaded from Amazon by clicking here!

comedy, humour, brimson, writing, author, screenwriting, greenstreet, bridget jones, revenge, sperm, hate crime,