Once More, With Peeling

I figured the most important thing you could possibly know about me at this point in time, is that I bought the wrong facial moisturiser last week, and my forehead now resembles that of a Chernobyl victim. I'm not sure why either.

Anyway, that isn't the sole reason I'm here. I'm here for a couple of things actually. I'd like to ask you a question to start with: Who asks a person to come over and watch porn with them, and then only wants to watch porn? Yeah you read that correctly. I got an invite for some porn-watchin' shenanigans the other night, which is usually code for "I'm too nervous to initiate sex, but if we jerk off together it'll go a lot smoother" Hell, even if all we did was jerk off together I'd be happy.

But no, the invitation was purely to watch porn. And not even the kind I could get a kick out of. I was polite and sat through a good 45 minutes of girl-on-girl bum fun (does that even happen in real life or is it a scenario devised purely to cater to the straight male ego?) and somewhere about the seven-minute mark of the second DVD (which at least featured some peen) I decided to leave.

God knows I tried to initiate some interest, y'know the usual questioning about hardness, turned on-ness and here, check out my bulging package-ness. I wasn't prepared to whip it out and start flogging though, after all this was one of those fragile 'hetero' lads. I'm so confused though - did I miss when watching porn became a purely platonic activity? Back when I was a lad 'watching porn' was never a euphamism for actually watching porn in the company of friends with a cup of tea and some cheese and tomato ryvitas.

Ruminations on mutual masturbation aside, I'm here to make a very important declaration. Ever since I signed up for the soul-sucking time-vacuum that is facebook, I've felt like I was being a dirty rotten cheater to this here blog. Blog posts bacame shorter, more disjointed and then finally waned to the point where I may as well have not bothered.

Then the photos started. Sure you had some nice things to say, which I truly appreciate but this aint no photography blog and clearly, I'm not even a photographers arsehole. So facebook is on the way out. I was going to be all symbolic and back the fuck out on May 31st which is supposed to be International Quit Facebook Day, but instead I'll get around to it some time this week.

Now, don't get me wrong, there's all the usual rubbish about murders and security and privacy, but I like think I kept my profile buttoned down tighter than a Snickers bar at a fat farm, besides you want to find me, you can probably do so by taking a peek at the electoral role. What I want to bitch and moan about most is what facebook does to creativity.

I'm reduced to relaying my life in four-sentence bursts. That just doesn't pound my prostate like it should. I'm all for a long-winded diatribe. Worse still all I seem to do is portray that I'm some kind of angry little man. Actually, come to think of it nothing changes there, but if I'm going to bitch I need endless paragraphs with which to do so!

I will not be stopped, but facebook soon will. To those buddies who follow me there, I'm sure you'll survive. It has been fun finding out all about what you had for breakfast, and what your kitty cat did to the arm of your sofa, but hows about you all man the fuck up and get back to blogging!

See you back here soon. Kisses.