I'm not a slut, I'm just vertically challenged

Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
in stimulation?
Endless Audacity zegt:
oh sweety I'm in the mood for just about anything
Endless Audacity zegt:

well, except goats and other assorted farmanimals

Short news:

1) Apparantly my name is an anachronysm for a sexual act. Unfortunately, I'm not too happy with the specific act.

2) You have to watch at least part of this video. It's very long yes, but it has some great parts. I'm not sure whether I should laugh or masturbate.

3) Britney Spears is thin again! Now if she just learns how to dress herself, she might be bearable to look at. Seriously, put on pants, bitch.

4) Jessica Simpson got dumped by John Mayer. Possibly because she's been out partying and acting like a (fat) slut for the past two weeks.

5) The awesome webcomic CTR+ALT+DEL did Spiderman the way it should have been.

6) Though I don't like arrogant guys in person, there is something about arrogant looking guys in pictures.

7) Thanks to Janti, I am now obsessed with Kingdom Hearts, and shall attempt to break into his appartment to play it as much as possible.

8) Also, Janti looks damn cute in this picture from sunday, whereas I look like a broad-shouldered, though totally hot, woman in this one, Karo looks deranged and like she might bite here and Kevin smiles in this picture, which I'm sure is a sign of the pending Apocalypse.

9) My obessive passion for Stephen Lynch was rekindled on sunday and I converted Janti. Soon we shall be numerous enough to abduct him to our evil (yet sexy) lair... *evil laugh*

10) I got a birthday gift from Karolien (my birthday was in october, but still, thanks!). She got me a book about the first season of Desperate Housewives, which is actually quite kicking.

The next update will be all about sex, Bob-style. Be warned!

Holy Abdomen, Batman!

Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
I'm supposed to be the selfish prick, not you!
Endless Audacity zegt:
you've rubbed off on me

This sunday, after yet another rather partiful weekend and a very late night, Tim somehow reminded me again of a discussion that's been going along on and off during the last years between Kenneth and Kevin, and whomever happens to be near at the time. Since I'm near quite a lot, I've discussed the topic quite a few times myself. The object itself is rather boring, possibly the reason that's it's been a while it's been brought to the table, but hey, I'm bored and have nothing else to say.

Position Kevin: everyone acts only in their own selfish interests.

Position Kenneth: people can act out of pure altruism.

Since both parties are usually very adamant about their respective positions, these discussions, benevolent as they may start, tend to quickly disentagrate into decibellicious (I know that's not a word, but it totally should be) he said - he said matches that not even Vlaams Belang politicians could do better. (author's note: all resemblance between aforementioned parties and Vlaams Belang politicians ends there.)

Since I'm a tad wishy-washy and very much a Belgian Boy, I always take the middle road in the discussion, granting that most behaviour is inspired by selfishness, but leaving room for the possibility of altruism (and basically deciding nothing, I only take a firm stance on very frivolous objects such as Sid Vicious pants {against}, leggings {against}, colourful underwear {in favour}, Paris Hilton {firmly against}, etc).

As far as I know, no winner was ever decided in the ongoing battle of me me me and the complete disregard of self. Both parties make some convincing points, though I usually am forced to agree more with Kevin's, which I don't really like, because I'd like to believe in altruism to some degree.

But, does it really exist? Of course, some people will claim that we very often do things we don't want to, purely for the benefit of others. But do we commit these generous acts simply because they are generous, or is there an underlying reason of self-preservation or -promotion of some sort?

When a friend calls, depressed and alone, while you are enjoying a good movie and he asks you to come over to talk, and you reluctantly abandon the movie, heaving a deep sigh and head over, do you do this purely for your friend or because of other reasons such as social conventions, the fact that your friendship needs to be maintained for your own future benefit, the Catholic tendencies that are still rooted in most our childhoods, or maybe just because, well, we all like a little drama in our lives, especially when it's not really ours.

Then there are those people who chronically seem to do things they don't want to, in order to help others. I know a woman who is constantly telling us how she drives around old ladies, babysits children, organises family gatherings, and generally supports an entire village with numerous acts, despite her own health problems. Yes, a brave woman indeed, but the sarcastic in me has begun to think that, yes, she does get something out of it. By mentioning these acts, usually in a sullen 'you should hear what happened now, why does everyone depend on me so?' tone of voice, she establishes herself as a near-tragic Saint, a Mother Theresa of the Kempen, often praised and pitied to her face (and derided as a whiny old push-over behind her back, but most of us are very unaware of what is said behind our backs, unless if it's in a bend-over situation, but that's entirely different).

So yes, she gets to feel like a martyr, a heroine, a great Personage of Good and it is a role she wallows and delights in, emphasizing it at every turn. Now, I'm not saying she's not a very nice, helpful woman, I'm only putting it out there that maybe it cannot be called true altruism.

When I was studying social work, we had a teacher who asked us why we studied social work, and a lot of people answered something along the lines of 'to make the world a better place' and 'to help people'. I was one of them, but being wishy washy and unfirm I selected the less ambitious 'to make a small part of the world a better place'. He then said we were kidding ourselves and that most social workers are, though kind (hopefully), selfish and trying to feel better themselves. They don't want to make the world a better place, they want to FEEL that they've made the world a better place. They don't want to help people, they want to FEEL they helped people and bask in the near-orgasmic glow of being a hero, a role model, a People Helper. A sentiment Tim echoed in our short conversation on the topic.

On to the next form of altruism: true love. If you truly love someone, you're willing to make sacrifices, purely for that other person's pleasure.

First off, if you consider it a sacrifice you're martyring yourself again, and that puts the selfish right back in there. Second of all, no one, no matter how loving, sacrifices and sacrifices without expecting some sacrifice from the other party in return.

An example often brought up in favour of the selfless theory has to do with a burning building. Why do people go back into a blazing fire to save their loved one? Well, you know, if you don't, you'll be alone. And if he survives, but it all burnt and stuff, it will be totally socially unexceptable to leave the ugly bastard and surgery be expensive, y'all. And if it's a mother and child, imagine being the mother who didn't lift a finger as her child was being charcoaled. She better move to a whole new neighbourhood, because all her kind, caring neighbours will be calling her 'that woman who let her child die' until the day she goes to meet her maker, who hopefully will be either a lot more forgiving, or non-existant.

Mother Theresa is always mentioned as well. Now, I never trusted Mother Theresa, there was something in that beak-faced leer of hers that always made me suspect she secretly hated puppies and various other unpleasant characteristics. It cannot be denied, however, that she gave her life to good pursuits and helped countless of people (though she did maybe kick a puppy or two). Of course, she was thrusted on by her religion, praised by the hatted man in the Vatican, loved by countless more than she helped and she became a celebrity. I daresay she felt pretty damn good about herself every time she glided through the slums on those silly sandals of hers.

So basically, we're all selfish bastards. It's the way we're made, we do what we have to in order to get on and fulfill our needs. And there's nothing wrong with that, it's what got us this far. And the ingeniosity of that system is that we actually need each other to fulfill those needs, thus ensuring love, friendships and family ties a chance of surviving our own selfishness. And heck, most of the time we really do believe we're helping out for the sake of helping out. And feeling damn good about that too, us tragic heroes.

(author's note: unwilling to seem as if I'm taking a definite stance against altruism, I hereby state that I'm sure it may happen from time to time, but the nature of altruism being not to brag about it, no one ever hears about these instances. That's why Jesus Christ, if he existed, doesn't count, because that bitch clearly made too much noise about his whole 'sacrificing myself for mankind' - schtick.)

And for those who got this far without getting bored and/or a little mad, and also because it's been a while, this sentence is ALMOST entirely composed out of boys!

Het Leven Zoals Het Is

- Ja zie, ik weet ni hoe da gij daar tegenoversta, ma voor mij kan da dus echt ni he!
* Uhuh
- Nee, da is volledig en compleet tegen mijn principes en mijn principes, die zijn heilig!

* Ja.

- Als ge een probleem met iemand hebt, moet ge da in die hun gezicht zeggen, en niet acherlangs hunne rug. Heb ik gelijk of heb ik dubbel gelijk?

*Uhuh, groot gelijk.

- Uiteindelijk, wa lost ge daar nu mee op, met achter mensen hunne rug te gaan sjauwelen? Niks, rien, nougabolle. Over nougabolle gesproken, passeert de pralinen ne keer langs hier.

*Alstublieft.

- Merci. Wa was ik nu weer aan't zeggen? Ah ja, ik kan daar dus ni tegen, dat ze zo achter ne mens zijne rug zitten te roddelen he.

* Uhuh.

- Allez, kan da nu, da die achter mijne rug, zonder da eerst tegen mij te zeggen, durft beweren da ik meer tijd verschijt op't werk me tetteren, dan met m'n job doen? Allez!!

= Mevroooouhouw? Ik ben op mijn knie gevallen en nu bloeit dat.

- Nu effe ni schatteke, ik ben bezig.

= ...

* ...

- Want da durft die te zeggen he? Tegen jan en alleman, maar tegen mij is ze de vriendelijkheid zelve. Hypochondrie noem ik da! Of allez, ge weet wel, hoe noemen ze da?

* Hypocrisie.

- Just, dadde, da bedoel ik nu zie. Da geroddel, daar krijgde alleen maar ne slechte atmosfeer van, een bad vibe, en dat komt het werk niet ten goede he, da's het ergste. Schuift gij die doos me wafels eens tot hier. Merci. Ma wa ik nu wou zegge, goei wafels amai, oei sorry, 'k heb wa op uwen trui gespeekt, excuses, allez, wat ik dus wou zegge, eigenlijk feitelijk heeft da mens echt geen recht van spreken he! Vorige week nog is ze een uur vroeger vertrokken, zonder boe of ba! Maar assekik nen halve minuut met iemand sta te klappen, oei oei, dan hoorde ze komen he, of allez, ge hoort ze ni zelf komen, ge moet het van ander mensen horen, da's toch straf!

* Uhuh, straf.

- Da loopt hier rond als de Moeder Theresa van Vlaanderen en de Kempen, alsof hare stront riekt naar potte-pourrit, ma ondertusse, hebde gezien da die gisteren tijdens de pauze drie patékes heeft in hare gob gestoken? Drie! En dan nog het laatste pakken ook he, goei manieren zijn het ni.

* D'er waren patékes?

- Ja, ze waren al op toen gij aankwam, 't waren er goei zenne.

* Allez dan.

- En dan nog iet! Eergisteren zei Janine da Marie had gezegd da Charlotte had gehoord dat madam zei da ik de laatste week elken dag tien minuten te laat was. Nu, ik ga da ni ontkenne, ik was te laat, ma ik had een goei reden, 't is ni simpel als alleenstaande moeder met twee kinderen die naar't school moete en uwe was en uwe strijk moete gedaan zijn en ge moet naar den bakker, en allez, ge hebt van die weken, ge kent dat he, of ge zou da toch kennen moest ge kinderen hebben, en allez, als ge geen kinderen hebt, kunt ge daar eigenlijk niks over zeggen, want dan kende da ni, dus hebde geen recht van spreken, da vinnik maar logisch, ni waar?

* Natuurlijk.

- Maar wa was ik nu aan't zegge. Just! Toen da haar dochter begot een flauw vallingske had, toen moest het maar kunne dat madam 3 dagen thuis bleef, en da kind is dan begot 14 jaar he, allez, komaan, ge kunt ook overdrijven he seg. En tussen ons gezegd en gezwegen, ik zen er nog zo overtuigd ni van da heur dochter echt een valling had zenne, want Carmèn, ge weet wel, die da komt kuisen op maandag en donderdag, awel, die zei dus da ze madam den dag tevoren me die sprichtige man van haar had gezien in de Rosse Hengst en Carmèn zei ook da madam zich complètement ni aan't inhouwe was met de rooie wijn, ge snapt het wel. En dan toevallig den dag erna kan ze ni kome werken? Zo toevallig vinnik da nog ni zenne. Allez, zegt gij nu is iets. Weete wa, ik ga mij toch nog zo'n chocolatte wafelke pakke, de doos is al open en anders ga da toch maar muf worre he, is't ni just?

* 't Is just.

- En over die hare sprichtige vent gesproken, ge weet toch da da haren tweede al is? Den eerste is eruit getrokke me een barmadam uit Poeiel, da moet naar't schijnt echt een hoer zijn geweest, met van da groot haar, een luipaardentoppeke, veels te veel lippenstift en nen hoop nepgoud tussen haar decolleté, ge kent dat tiep wel, allez, ik hem ze nooit gezien natuurlijk, maar nu ja, als ge één barmadam uit Poeiel hebt gezien, dan hebde ze allemaal gezien,bij wijze van spreken he. Maar madam hare man dus, dien is 15 jaar jonger dan madam he! En ja, me de jaren ziede da verschil harder he, en ik hem gehoord van Germaine, die da komt kuisen op zaterdag, en die is de schoonzus van Bernardine, die getrouwd is met een kozijn van de man van madam, dat de man van madam zowat op madam is uitgekeken op het gebied van ... ik moet het ni zeggen zeker? Allez, ik zal het zeggen, op het gebied van de seks. Dus geen wonder da die er bijloopt als nen triestige kamerplant die al nen tijd ni besproeid is geweest. Oh, akkerdjie, da's na een mal gekozen woordkeus, hohoho, ik durf nogal, ni verder vertellen he. Ma 't is dus ni omda madam droogsta, da ze moet denken da ze hier wa kan komen oproer strooien en mij zwart kan maken he. Roddelen, daar kan ik ni mee om. Allez, zegt gij nu uw gedacht is!

* Nog een praileneke?

- Neeje, merci, ik probeer er wa op te lette.

And now we return to our scheduled programming

Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
I am though, I fell asleep on the couch earlier and woke up with the biggest, hardest cock ever
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
well, biggest,hardest might be overstating it, but I'm sure it cracked the top ten
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
congratulations!
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
this deserves
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
a cake!
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
I was wondering what the appropriate response to a statement like that would be

Now that the England saga is over and done with, I shall bring you up to speed on more current events.

1. I have finally quit my job.

That's not completely correct, I haven't actually quit yet, but I have informed my boss and co-workers that I will be leaving at the end of june, before the summer vacation starts. It seemed fair to me to give them some warning, as it would be a big problem for them if I just left at the start of summer (we only have a one week notice policy) without anyone to replace me. Unfortunately I have the feeling that my boss is somewhat resentful about me leaving, though I have very good reasons to do so. On top of that, certain co-workers with whom my relationship was 'strained' now see no reason to hide their dislike any longer. On the bright side, neither do I, which is rather fun actually.

The big drawback is of course that I have no new job lined up, and that I have absolutely no idea what I want to do. Which leads to something of a panic, which typically in my case, leads to total paralysis and inaction. I am currently considering two options: either just start looking for work here and hope for the best, or going back to England on my last paycheck and try to find a summer job in the tourism industry there. The last option appeals to me most of course, but it also sort of scares me. First of all, I'd be alone in a foreign country and I'd have to look for a job there, something I even hate doing in my own damn country. Second, if I go there on my last paycheck, I'd have about a week, week and a half tops before my money runs out and I'd have to come back if I don't find something, so then I'd be back, broke and without a job. So I'm not quite sure yet, though it's about time to decide.

Anyone with practical advice on how to arrange working in England is always welcome :)


2. I had an awesome weekend.

It was Kevin's 26th birthday on saturday and a bunch of us headed out to Red&Blue (again, yes, but this time it was quite the hoot). The bunch being Kevin, Kenneth, Janti, Tim, Johan, Frank and Julien and uh, I hope that's it and if not, sorry to whomever I left out. Anyhow, I have no idea what the theme was, but there were drag queen nurses and you could get a professional massage in the lounge, which several of us took advantage of, though I only did when I was already drunk and according to Janti and Tim I sort of humped the massage table. Luckily I don't remember any of that, as I think I fell asleep during the whole thing. My back did feel a lot better afterwards though.

As everyone dropped off home one by one, Janti and me were left as the last ones standing, and we made some new acquaintances, met up with some old ones we hadn't seen in forever and drank entirely too much. Eventually I also gave out and left Janti to party without me. A very odd thing did occur on the way to bed, but that's another one I'll keep to myself for now.

On sunday we had our traditional brunch and for the first time in history, Kevin and Kenneth were there before I was, a shocking event indeed, especially as both of them were fresh as daisies. After lazying about some, we dispersed and I went with Jan to his appartment to play some Playstation, though it quickly turned out I was too lazy to do so and we watched movies instead. We saw the very bizarre and very awesome Shortbus, and the Advent Children, a sequel to the events in Final Fantasy VII, which was also pretty cool. After that Janti made delicious pasta and we ended the evening as pleasant as could be. It's pretty sweet having Jan back in Antwerp, I'd nearly forgotten how much fun we used to have hanging out and now it's as if nothing's ever changed, though of course, everything is different.


3. I'm late with this, but can you believe Paris Hilton is actually going to go to prison.

I'm elated, it only took a dozen serious traffic violations and being caught with illegal drugs redhanded twice. If she hadn't been Paris Hilton she'd have gone to the slammer a lot sooner, so no pity for her.


4. Jessica Simpson has been abducted and replaced by an Indian look-a-like and no one has noticed.

This is not a tan anymore, it's simply a crime against the skin. Also, if she didn't have the enormous boobs on display, she'd look a little like Fabio. That's one butch Simpson.

England: Day Six + Day Seven, Manchester

Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
Man, I haven't washed my hair in a week, it's awesome
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
and a little itchy
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
seems gross to me
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
yet
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
I never really minded a bit "gross"
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
admit it, you're totally turned on now, aren't you?
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:

I'm rubbing myself with butter as we speak.

So, we're at the very last England blog (thank heavens) and our final destination is Manchester.

Manchester was by far the "ugliest" city we visited in England, but that didn't mean much, as it was still cleaner than most of our cities. Now, what is Manchester known for, as far as I know?

- Manchester United, which I couldn't care less about.

- Being an old mining town (I think?), but I don't give a rat's ass about that either.

- Being the home of Canal Street, where they taped the British QAF, which was pretty much the only reason Tim and I had for heading over there.

Our hostel room was an 8-person room this time around, but it never got filled up completely. Upon arriving, I felt awfully ill again and took a nap, whilst Tim indulged himself by visiting a bunch of comic/game stores, or whatever the proper name for those things is. Whilst feverishly napping I did hear two roommates come in, but since they spoke German, I decided I didn't care enough to meet them and stayed put under my sheets. I'm not sure exactly how long I slept, but Tim apparantly did have a good time while he was gone, coming back with a whole new wardrobe, excited like a naïve schoolboy on Christmas morning. Simply adorable.

Since I refused to spend another two days in bed, we asked the hostelpersongirl where we could score some painkillers, and we were once again directed towards the local Tesco, where painkillers of all sorts were incredibly cheap. Naturally I stocked up and those babies helped me through the next week or so. English supermarket painkillers way rock, Dafalgan is absolutely nothing to them.

My body having been thus tricked into believing it was better, we headed out into Manchester. Honestly, I will probably be mixing up what we did on which day, so I'm not going to try and bother being all that chronological about it. We did eat very well in Manchester, that I know. It was also the cheapest city by far, and I think all our meals there combined cost about as much as one meal in London. My wallet was very grateful.

We visited some of the gaming shops, but while it was fun browding the merchandise, they're not really my thing. We also did some shopping, and I bought a present for Kenneth and Kevin, and a shirt for myself. Uh, I think that's almost it for the first day. In the evening we visited Canal Street, but as it was thursday, it wasn't exactly buzzing with excitement. We went into a couple of bars and had a couple of drinks, but then decided to just go to bed and come back the next day.

Whilst discovering Canal Street and the adjoining streets, we often passed a very dirty looking sauna, which just screamed 'dingy cum-hole', so it's still a mistery to me why we decided to return there the next evening, but more on that later.

Next day, we met another roommate, a girl whose name I've completely forgotten. She was an American from Iowa, and spoke very softly and sweetly and she was just sooooooooo sweet and soft and giggly that my bad tempered morning self was just about ready to throw a book at her, but luckily I have too much respect for books to do such a thing. Sweet, softspoken and giggly Iowa girl was in town for the World Freefighting championships or something or other. I'd seen commercials for it all over England, it was some ultra violent fighting thing, which Sweet and Giggly apparantly followed over the world. She did however assure us that she herself was not violent at all, before retreating into the shower, promising 'I will try not to make the shower messyyyyyyyyyyyyy.' And off she was, and good too, because I was about to burst out laughing. That was about the only interaction I was to have with our roommates (other than one of the Germans asking me if I'd like to have a brown banana) as I only got back to the hostel somewhere early in the morning when everyone was already asleep and I didn't wake up until they had all left.

Anywho, our daytime was spent shopping. England had been a bit of a dissapointment when it came to shopping. It was either the same stuff I could get here for less money, or stuff so outrageous (and outrageously expensive) that I would never want to wear it. Oddly enough, Manchester, of all places, was to me the place with the funnest stores, including a complex named Affleck's Palace, which had a bunch of really nutty stores, with really nutty stuff (I always did wonder where girls got those skirts that don't quite cover their arses, and boots up to their vagajay) and I absolutely adored all of it, though I didn't purchase any stuff there. I did buy some clothes (some say awesome, others say heinous) from a store that only had handmade, unique items, which translates into very expensive and I couldn't have afforded the stuff, had they not had a sale, lucky me.

After having a very good dinner again, we headed to the gay district and conquered our fears to go into the dingy cum-hole which represented itself as a sauna. The service upon entering was rude, a good sign of things to come. After changing into our towels, we found our way up to the sauna part, which was basically a television playing porn with some chairs in front of it, a shower, a cold steamless steambath, a sauna the size of my closet, a dark room with some sort of beds and a jacuzzi. The jacuzzi was nice enough, but we were only just seated when we were disturbed by an enormous erection, attached to a huge dick. This loudmouth character proudly displayed his erect penis (granted, it was a considerable tool), waving it in front of our faces and making his intentions very clear. We wisely ignored him, as much as you can ignore someone in a not too large jacuzzi, and after a while he went and we breathed a sigh of relief. We took a tour of the rest of the place (took about 5 minutes) and decided to return to the jacuzzi, in which another man, much less abrasive was already seated. Somewhere during all this relaxing, my medication got the better of me and I nodded off to sleep. It was thus that I did not notice that our loudmouth erect friend rejoined us in the jacuzzi and it was thus considerable time before I suddenly awoke to find myself indecently fondled by both him and our other companion in the shower. Which was my cue to get the hell out of there and stare angrily at Tim for not intervening. Though in his defence, he had no idea I had fallen asleep and thought I was allowing said men their indecencies. Which says a lot of his opinion about my taste in trolls, I suppose. Having had enough of the sauna by then, I sat myself down on one of the chairs and tried not to look at the porn, nor at the masturbating elder gentleman in front of me. Unfortunately the loudmouth did follow me and stood next to me whilst stretching, in doing so poking his penis into my ear, forcing me to watch the porn and bend my back to its utmost limits in order to avoid his drumstick. He must have taken some kind of pill, because that damn thing stood straight up the entire time we were there and even the most virile of men have their relaxed moments in my experience. Eventually he did give up, proclaiming me a wanker (an epiteth much better suited to the man opposite me, who was still blatantly indulging in this activity) and he went in search of Tim, who by this time had also had enough and we hightailed it out of there.

After prettying ourself up to the best of our abilities, we hit Canal Street again, but after two or three bars, Tim announced he'd rather return to the hostel and we separated, as I continued to barhop. The drawback to barhopping is that you have to drink something in every bar. Since you get a pint in England, by bar seven I'd had about 14 Stellas in me, combined with the medication, I was having a hoot, but I still hadn't quite found what I was looking for: a place you could dance all by yourself and not look like a sad twat. So, exiting the bar, I accosted some nice guys with the simple question: the biggest, danciest party? Having gotten directions, I immediately forgot them and went the wrong way, ending up at a pretty big club, which was like a red&blue on drugs.. uh, more drugs... and with a lot of very young guys in their underwear. Not a bad party for sure, but I was determined to find the one I had been directed to, so after about 40 minutes I left again and retraced my steps, getting hopelessly lost of course. If I inherited anything from my mother, it's my haircolour and my complete inability to navigate. Luckily I ran into a friendly gay couple and we chatted for a while before we together went to the party before mentioned.

I'm not going to bother describing the place, but it was a hell of a hoot, and me and my new acquaintances danced our asses off for the next hours, and the pints flowed freely, leaving me completely off my rocker by the time we left to, I assumed, another bar, although that assumption turned out to be wrong. We made our way through small streets and backways and alleys, across a beam over the river (it's a miracle I didn't fall in) and I had absolutely no idea where I was and yes, before someone starts to whine, that wasn't very smart and wise of me, but whatever, it turned out alright.

Eventually we entered a building, where my companions paid the entrance fee (I think I was sort of out of money by then) and still assuming it was a bar, I went in to being forced to ask the question: Ok, why is everyone naked? As it turned out we were actually in another sauna, though luckily not the same one. This one was enormous and quite fancy, and there were a looooooooot of guys there, I think it was as busy as the Meir on a sunny day. While I know that Kevin's been looking forward to this part of my England update, I do chose to withhold more detailed information about the night and simply let your own minds construct what may or may not have happened. And it probably did.

After the tree of us left, I was getting to be a little more sober and with that came worry that I would never ever find the hostel again. I was just voicing this concern and my company was already hailing me a taxi (they were indeed very nice fellows I must say) when I noticed the street sign. As it happened, we were actually ON the street of our hostel, only a 30 second walk away as a matter of fact. If only we had known earlier :) Anyway, we said our goodbyes and I dragged myself into our room, at I have no idea what time, but it was already pretty light outside and it must have been past five, easily.

By the time I woke up, we had to check out (well, we should already have been checked out actually) and we walked around Manchester a little more, visiting a market, having more good food and taking that picture I put on top, because it reminded me of Karolien for some reason *ducks and covers*. After that we made our way to the airport and after being throroughly frisked by security because our shoes made the alarm thingy go off, we had a smooth flight home and were welcomed by Kevin and Kenneth at his appartment.

And that's all folks. Finally.

Cheers!

England: Day Four, Oxford & Birmingham + Day Five, Birmingham.

Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
I make new friends too
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
there was this time in 2004…
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
… never mind
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:
besides, what's the last time you met someone completely new, who you don't just party with and actually do boring friend stuff with as well?
Kev (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
does sex count?
Bob *You've got 206 bones in your body, want one more?* zegt:

very much not

Okay, I'm actually getting a wee bit bored with the England saga myself, which I should have seen coming, because despite the fact that Tim and me had a lot of fun, it's not a lot of fun to read about two guys having a lot of fun. It's sort of like inside jokes: they're not funny to anyone else, which is why we call them inside jokes. But still, I started this and I'll finish it, damnit.

So, Oxford is where we left off. The second day I was still really sick, and we had a lot of time to kill before we had to take the bus to Birmingham. We had breakfast, which I still managed to enjoy, but after that it all went downhill quite fast. We walked around, saw a lot of stunning buildings, Tim visited a college chapel, but I preferred staying out in the sun.

We also visited the Divinity Room above the Bodleian library. If all that means nothing to you, I suggest you google if you're really burning with desire to find out what those are, suffice to say the room was interesting enough, and had a rich history and it looked real fancy. The girl who gave us a talk about the room was very clearly not English. Actually, that is something I noticed: English people don't work in England. Wherever you go, shops, hotels, monuments, diners, the staff is never English. I suppose if my country was constantly overrun by a herd of tourists, I'd want to avoid interaction with them as much as possible too.

Anyhow, for lunch we went to some tea place and I got scones, which were delicious, but after the first one I was sort of nauseous and the lovely non-English shopgirl gave me the second one in a doggy bag and God bless her, because it was all the food I'd be existing on for the next two days.

The busride to Birmingham was uneventful, and upon arriving there we were picked up by Mark, Tim's English friend and a very nice fellow. He dropped us off at a huge mall. People in Birmingham don't have to go out ever, the whole town is one giant shopping mall, and they're all connected with each other. Considering my being ill, I could totally live with that.

After a couple of hours Mark, now joined by Italian hottie Nicola, his boyfriend and an equally swell guy, came to get us and we went to their appartment. Tim and our hosts later on went for dinner, but I declined and stayed in bed sick. And I wasn't getting any better either. During my hot shower I suddenly got the most horrific cramps in my back, causing me to fall down and nearly drown, until I managed to get my ass out of the bathtub and into bed, but the pain didn't go away, so I sort of spent 4 hours in agony, literally screaming at times. The neighbours must have loved that, but it was really more painful than anything I've experienced since I was 13 years old.

When the other guys returned, they pumped me full of painkiller (bless them!) and it got better, but for the next two days I pretty much had to take those painkillers non-stop just to be able to walk. That also means that I didn't set a foot outside after that in Birmingham, though Tim did visit Ironbridge Gorge (I think that's what it was called). Luckily our hosts were a lot of fun during the evenings or I would have been bored to death. And luckily they had a lot of pills :)

And that was pretty much Birmingham. The next morning we were taken to the University where Mark works and from there we took a train to Manchester, our final destination, but that's for next time.

Intermezzo: Bailey's

Waar ben ik weer aan begonnen? Ik mag toch echt niks mee naar huis pakken als ik nen Bailey's te veel heb binnengeslagen eigenlijk. Pas op, 't zijn geen lelijke mensen, dat kan ik niet zeggen, maar komaan, ik voel het aan m'n theewater dat het mijn ding niet is, en uw theewater moet ge altijd vertrouwen, zoals mijn moeder, God hebbe haar ziel, altijd zei. Spijtig dat haar theewater die camion niet had voelen aankomen, maar soit, punt, andere lijn.

Zie mij hier nu zitten, kont achteruit, lul in m'n bakkes en die daarachter maar aan m'n gat likken. Een tong erinsteken, tot daar aan toe, geen idee wat de mens eraan heeft, maar soit, als hij daar aan wil likken gelijk het ne cornetto is, hij doet maar. Als 'm maar niet denkt dat 'm daar iets anders moet gaan insteken, want daar doen ik niet aan mee, misschien moet ik maar ne keer m'n kont minder achteruit steken, kwestie van hier geen verkeerd beeld te geven.

Ah, goe, dat manneke hier kruipt al op z'n knieën, 't wil geneukt worden zegt 't. Allez ja, 't zegt het wel in gebroken Frengels, maar 't is iets dat ge moeilijk kunt misverstaan in eender welke taal natuurlijk he. Vooruit dan maar, dien andere in de zetel, kan 'm wat op z'n leuter laten zuigen, en dan gaan ik er in.

Et voilà. Pfft, zoveel goesting heb ik precies niet. Misschien komt dat door dat gasje zijn haar. Allez, wie verzint zoiets nu, nen geblondeerde Marokkaan. Begot precies Eminem dat te lang onder de zonnebank is geweest. Wedden dat 'm veel schoner is met zijn eigen haar. Echt geen zicht eigenlijk, waarom heb ik dat nu mee naar huis genomen? Pas op, voor de rest is't goe in orde. Knap lijf, schone paal, stevige kont en zo. Maar dat haar! 't Is een distractie, dat moogt ge wel zeggen.

Dju, 'k heb mijn kousen niet uitgedaan. En 't zijn er nog witte ook, eigenlijk geen fatsoen. Niet dat die twee hier veel belang stellen in etiquette precies. Dien andere heeft zijn kousen ook nog aan, ze zijn zelfs nogal vuil. Eigenlijk is't pas een mysterie dat ik die ook heb meegenomen, 't is niet direct een supermodel. Ne smoel gelijk nen bokser, en dat die stomme oorbel. Veel spieren, dat wel, maar of ze naturel zijn? En die bleekscheet gaat duidelijk te veel onder de zonnebank, rood als een kreeft. Denkt waarschijnlijk nog dat 'm een schoon kleureke heeft ook, maar allez seg, precies nen Indiaan met een genetische afwijking. Zal ook ne neger willen zijn zeker. Wat lig ik hier nu eigenlijk op ne sofa te neuken met nen Marokkaan, of nen Turk, daar wil ik nog ruimte voor laten, die een blondje wil zijn en ne overspierde bleekscheet die Afrikaan wil zijn? Minder Bailey's volgende keer, jus d'orange is zo slecht nog niet in feite. Of ne cola.

Dien bleekscheet heeft dan nog zo'n leren ding rond zijn spel gebonden ook, zo'ne ring met ijzeren rondjes op. Misschien krijgt dien 'm ni recht als 'm het eerst niet tourniqueert. Schoon is anders eigenlijk. Hier, meneer staat recht. Ja, 'm wil dat ik 'm pijp natuurlijk, alsof ik het nog niet druk genoeg heb met dat manneke z'n gat. Ja, 't is al goe, kom, steekt 'm er maar rap in.

Geen slechte marchandise, stomme leren bandje errond of niet, ik geef het toe. Met de ogen toe voelt dat best lekker, zo'ne paal dat tegen de achterkant van uw keel slaat. Ge moogt er alleen niet te hard naar zitten kijken, want dan is't precies nen vochtige salami met een touwke rond. Ik wou dat 'm zijne mond wat hield ook trouwens, die vuile praat vind ik dus helemaal niet nen turn-on he. Wat zit die nu te zeveren feitelijk? 'oh zuig mij af' ja, manneke, daar ben ik al mee bezig, zaag zo ni. 't Is toch geen avance.

Dat kan hier precies nog wel ff duren denk ik, dat manneke is nu niet direct het strakste gat dat ik ooit heb ingezeten. Da's het grootste probleem met Marokkaanse Turkskes die bereidwillig mee naar huis gaan met twee complete vreemden denk ik: daar zit meestal al lang gene rek meer op. 't Is nondeju precies de driebaans snelweg richting de kempen waar ge uw spel aan't doorhalen zijt. Richting de kempen, daar zitten ze ook allemaal in de stront te duwen op hun veld. Ja lap, echt geen gedacht voor't moment, in de stront duwen. Hoe proper zouden geblondeerde Turksokkanen eigenlijk zijn daarvanonder? Niet aan denken, niet aan denken.

Dien andere wil het ook eens neuken. Geen slecht gedacht, veel leut heeft m'n leuter er toch niet aan, 't manneke kan beter pijpen, 'k zal mij wel met die opening bezig houden. En vooral proberen niet te veel op z'n haar te zitten zien. Ziet dat nu zijn gezwollen saucisse daaring wringen. Een gigantische bloeduistorting in een loddergat, echt veel kunnen die daar nu toch niet van voelen? 't Zal het princiep zijn zekers? Dat manneke mag trouwens ook wel zijn teut gaan houden zo langzameraan. Pas op, ik heb niks tegen wat gekreun tijdens het neuken he, verre van, maar alleen als er iets te kreunen valt. Daarbij, ik heb niet meer zo nep horen kreunen sinds ik She Good Fighter heb gezien, met die kut van een Dagmar hoe heet ze nu ook weer. En Gaston Bergmans deed er ook in mee, maar ik geloof ni dat dien aan't kreunen was. Dan zou ik die film ook wel hebben afgezet denk ik. Maar enfin, het jong kreunt echt alsof 'm het thuis voor de spiegel heeft staan oefenen. Misschien terwijl 'm zich stond te blonderen. Sebiet is mijn stijve helemaal weg, en dan ziede die twee al denken dat het mijn schuld is natuurlijk, geen moment consideratie met het feit dat 't misschien hun fout zou kunnen zijn, met hun zwakzinnig gekreun en hun vuile kousen en lelijk haar.

Maar hij kan echt wel goe zuigen, het mag gezegd worre. Als 'm dees nu ff een kwartiereke volhoudt, dan kan ik een storting doen in zijn Arabische bank en zijn we der weer vanaf. Hup kleine, keel openzetten en ad fundum! Wat nu weer? Och, hij wil op mijne gerard komen zitten, vooruit maar weer. Net nu ik me een beetje begon te amuseren. Allez dan maar, kruipt erop.

Ziet dat nu geven seg, en maar gaan met die heupen. En die rooie bleekscheet heeft den andere kant nu, de chansaard. Seg, dat jong zit hier wel serieus te speken boven mijne kop, 'k zit verdomme precies in een Belgische regenbui, zo het soort waarvan Sabine Hagedoren zegt dat het hier en daar kan vallen, en dan valt dat altijd hier, nooit daar. Trouwens echt een trut, die Sabine, dat ze dat nog altijd op het scherm laten komen, haar hangtieten blokkeren het onderste kwart van de weerkaart elke keer. Ok, ik woon ni in het onderste kwart van de weerkaart en ik zal er niet rap naartoe gaan ook niet, maar ge moet maar een inwoner zijn van het gebied waar Sabine haar linkertepel overhangt, ge zult lachen!

Ok, ik begin het hier zwaar beu te worre en er zit geen schot in de zaak. Hup, omdraaien dat jong, en nu gaan we derop losbeuken gelijk we een kasteel proberen binnen te geraken begot! Veel last zal 'm er niet van hebben, zijn kasteel is al dikwijls genoeg bestormd geweest. Pffft, dat geram is wel vermoeiend voor de benen. Hij vindt het wel plezant precies, hij kreunt al wat echter. Dien andere begint ook in de buurt te komen denk ik, hij ziet precies nog roder, als dat al mogelijk was. ff niet denken, gewoon blijven rijden met die zevendehandse 2PK.

...

Ah, die rooie is er se. Aansteller. Zo'n stomme dingen dat die roept terwijl 'm spuit. Ge verwacht praktisch de Niagara watervallen, en wat komt eruit? De beek die door den hof van één of andere Begijn stroomt, één waar veel blaren inzitten ook nog dan. Maar allez, 't was tenminste allemaal op Eminem zijne rug, en niet op mijne zetel, merci jongen, goe gedaan. En nu weer voort.

...

Jaaaa, daar gaan we se. Da's toch geweldig aan ne lul zenne, ge kunt dat zelfs in het luchtledige rondzwaaien, als ge dat maar lang genoeg doe, komt ge vroeg of laat klaar. Met een vagijn kan dat zomaar ni. Denk ik toch, 'k heb er feitelijk geen gedacht van of ge een kut zomaar in het luchtledige kunt rondzwaaien, wie weet wat die wijven doen. Ahhhh, nu zijn we der echt. Zie, da's de moeite se. 'k Zal ni zeggen dat het een waterval is, maar 't is toch al op z'n minst een beek waar geen blaren inzitten, haha!

En ook allemaal schonekes op zijne rug se, en de zetel nog proper. Wat doet dat jong nu? Godverdomme, gaat dat op zijne rug in mijne sofa liggen! Nu kannik dien overtrek naar den droogkuis doen. En de kussens misschien ook. Echt waar, minder Bailey's. Ziet dat zich daar nu liggen aftrekken, met zo'n blik op zijn smoel die geilheid moet voorstellen. 'k Heb al geilere blikken gezien in de etalage van ne viswinkel. Die beesten hebben dan ook zo'n openstaand pijpmondje.

Dedju, drupt er nog glijmiddel uit zijn hol ook! Dat manneke heeft echt geen sluit meer op die sluitspier. Veel spier ook niet denk ik. Dat glijmiddel ziet verdacht bruin, 'k denk dat we ineens weten hoe proper de Zonen van Allah zich daar beneden houe. En daar heb ik dan in zitten wroeten, plezant. Eigenlijk een mirakel dat die zijn gevoeg niet gewoon langs die zijn benen naar beneden loopt als em rechtop staat. Aan den andere kant, misschien staat 'm niet zo vaak rechtop natuurlijk.

Allez, hij heeft gedaan. Dat moete die mannekes van rond de 18 nageven, klaarkomen kunnen ze wel, heel sjiek gedaan. Ja jong, die maar, veeg het maar af aan dat kussen, 't moet toch al naar de kuis. Godverdomme, ik wil gaan slapen. Hoe krijg ik die mannen hier tactvol en rap buiten?

"Allez jongens, dat was plezant, maar nu moete weg, moeke heeft viskes gebakken."