Somebody call the fun doctor, we've got a case of shite craic over here!
The start of the new semester also marks the release of a ripe batch of freshers, bar crawling their way across Belfast; armed with newly established independence and a 'fuck it!' attitude. Quite literally. Being out among the Hollister clad herds of them I feel like something of a twenty-one year old cougar, having a fresh faced boy yell "CHEST" at me. Is he so devoid of female presence that he's taken to playing body parts bingo when he's out on the rip? And if so what's the prize for a full house - a semi?
If so god help his anti-viral software when he discovers the dark side of the internet...
Though I really can't claim the status of a together, mature individual either. Nothing reflects on the current state of your life quite like having the thought, "FUCK, where should I hide the multi-pack of Mini Cheddars currently sitting on my desk?!", while your friend ascends the stairs to your room.
They're behind the TV, just in case you were wondering.
*they is now it. What can I say, they're bloody small bags.You know what else makes you question your capabilities as a supposedly functioning adult? Standing emptying your knicker drawer out in front of your young, handsome landlord at 8pm on a Sunday. He was replacing a broken set of drawers in my bedroom btw, this isn't how I try to impress men.
"Hey baby, wanna come watch me pour an ocean of heavily elasticated knickers on to the floor?"
Anybody? No?
I'd say your loss but that's an utter lie. Oh well. I've got a bag of cashews and a copy of Mary Berry's Baking Bible screaming my name. Nuts and buns lads, nuts and buns.
À bientôt, you beautiful bitches.
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