Jiggling Jugs!

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No Diggity – Chet Faker 

Tough week. Realised a few things. Such as: My ability to make women puke is still going strong. Take yesterday. Setting up to DJig. Girl comes over to me. Big. Drunk. Mexican. (Big as in overweight. Drunk as in demented. Mexican as in Meximerican.) Stands in front of me. Starts pointing. Swaying. Pointing. Slurring. ‘You’rrrre verrree goood luuk inn.’ Why thank you. Suddenly her head dips. And then she pukes all over her own feet. Delightful. Looks back up at me. Smiles. And before I could ask if she was OK, she puked again. Beautiful. Thankfully her friends carried her off (with one oddly rubbing her breasts the entire time. Giving me dirty looks when I looked at her do so. Is that a girl thing?)

More good news: My ability to make girls fall over is also ploughing on strong! Take that girl yesterday. Big. Drunk. Asian. Pointing. Swaying. Pointing. Walking. Pointing. Standing. Pointing. Slurping. ‘I jusssd wanted t’say you’re tjhe hott est DJhh here.’ Why thank you. I’m also the only DJ here, but let’s skip that pointless point. ‘No! I said you’re hot. I like youuu. You’re good lukkk innn.’ Hmmm. I think I know where this is going. You’re also very… Eh… Looking… At…  Me? ‘Can I has eh hug?’ Then she quickly closed her eyes. Opened her arms. Leaned forward. And… Fell over. Against a pole. Off a table. And into a bush. Well, more bounced than fell. Slow motion bounce. Quite funny. To be true. (Well if that’s what you find funny. Of course. I didn’t laugh. Obviously. Even is she did try to hug with a 6 feet distance between us. And hugged sideways. Mighty hugging!)

What's The Craic With So Much Crack...

Now face down in a bush. Crack of her ash in the air for all to see. Give the obligatory… Are you OK? Mumbles something about nothing. Doesn’t really move. Go to help her. Her buddy is over before me. Starts lifting her up out of the bush. Gay friend. Big beard. Big squeal. Big hairy crack now also in the air while he’s lifting her up. Two crack lines in my eye line. Tried to look away. Unfortunately, for some bizarre reason, I could not. Kind of odd. Anyways, helps her up. Pulls a leaf out of her hair. And then she introduces me to him…

‘This iss the hot DJhhh. He’ssh the hottest DJhhh herrr.’ Her friend looks at me. And says ‘Maybe. More like the joint hottest guy here.’ Cheers. Actually. Pardon? Only joint?! Who am I joint top with… Points over at a guy standing behind him. Who looks like a bald scarecrow with glasses. Wearing a black Death Metal t-shirt tucked into his two-sizes-too-short black jeans. What can I say. He was a good looking man. Ha. Can’t beat magnificent compliments… ? Better than joint last…? Ahem.

Pee Puwww. Tubbers...

Finally: My ability to horrify women is doing very well indeed. Thanks for asking. DJigging a swanky Chanel party. And by swanky, I mean ridiculously hot women everywhere. Quite. Mighty. Looked like the cast of Baywatch. Just all dressed up in expensive clothes. In fairness to trophy wives, they do dress well. Good laugh of a party. Particularly when, once again, my pants exploded open. No reason. (No. Not trophy wife related.) First song in. Just standing there. In my suit. Admiring the views. When… Pa peuu! Pe puwww! Clasp pops off. Almost takes an eye out. Zip quickly unzips. Out flops my… shirt. Obviously. Quite embarrassing. Standing with my pants open. Untucked shirt for all to see. Particularly when you take a chance and go underwear-free. I joke. Horrified women moving as quickly as they could away from the DJ booth. Mighty mighty.

All in all, fun week. Buckets of jigs. Now all jugged out. On the upside. Raining green honey. On the downside. Not enough writing. Tut tut. Not jiggling the jugs with all my gibber at all. Or is it juggling the jigs with the jibber? Anyways. Time to focus. All talk. All dancing. Not enough writing. Time to get it done. Which is why I’m setting myself a deadline. First draft of book two to be finished two weeks from today. Ambitious, as funk. But. Deadlines are necessary. Otherwise nothing will get done. New mantra: Deadline. Done. Dumb. Farewell real world. Ciao ciao, jiggling jugs. See ye soon. And now… Time to go down the writing well!

Out Of The Rain (Sebastian Krieg & Roman F Arena Mix) – EDX

P.S. Is it true O’Bama is writing a book about his adventures in Ireland? Apparently. Its called… Grand, Um? The Adventures of an American Guy  in Eire. All jokes aside, go on the O’Bama! Speaking Irish. Chugging Guinness. And now being introduced to The Fear! Curled up. Wondering where it all went wrong. Schoolboy error, O’Bama, schoolboy. Cursed! Tut. Welcome to really being Irish!

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