felidae

To everyone who left a message on my (distant) last entry applauding my choice of outfit for ween, I can only apologise - I never did get round to putting a Tim the Enchanter costume together using the rams horns I bought off Ebay. Sadmoreso considering I could have borrowed a friends rabbit (with carefully filed pointed teeth) to accessorise. Considering also that Im English and its the appropriate time of year I could probably have gotten away with intermittently throwing fireworks just to add to the effect...but people might have built a bonfire and thrown me on it as the guy.

We may never know.

As it happened I didnt go out at all on ween itself because a) I was broke, and b) I went out on Saturday to the Torture Garden ween Ball in London and as a result had five hours sleep over two days.

Also, c) It was too cold for trick and/or treating.

The last time I went to Torture Garden was with a best friend of mine and Lo, it was Many Moons Ago. So Many Moons Ago that I can barely remember what the hell happened except that said friend and I wound up at some guys house and I drank Chartreuse while she gave him a blowjob. A good compromise, I think.

This time round we decided to get the coach down to London and arrive early evening, with enough time to meet up with everyone else and then progress in stately fashion to the club where we would dance for about nine hours and then attend afterparty.

So friend and I got down there after having drivelled at each other for five straight hours on the coach, piled into a pub in Victoria Station and met up with untold hordes of fellow perverts who were headed in our direction.

Somehow, for an odd reason, meeting up with people who are also into things both strange and wrong makes me a happy person.

In any case, we then took the tube across London and poured into another pub where I spent an HOUR in the FUCKING BATHROOM doing other peoples hair. Also, we got changed there, which was interesting considering it was a perfectly normal pub full of middle aged people who were more than mildly bemused by the appearance of people in long coats, big hair and (in my case) thigh length boots, PVC hotpants, a corset and top. Bemused enough to take pictures. Lovely.

Then there was Torture Garden itself, and various interesting moments including grinding my heels into a foot fetishists balls until he came in his pants (always fun), and stretching several people up on a vertical rack to explore the delights of various uncomfortable implements on them. Somehow it seems that when I attend things like this I always get asked to do evil deeds to other peoples girlfriends, but I dont pretend thats a bad thing. Even when theyre bent over a bench. ESPECIALLY when theyre bent over a bench. And strapped to it.

Still.

Afterward the club finished we got changed back, experienced the joys of flying around London on a dawn bus, and finally did an excellent impression of fifteen dead Goths in a station whilst waiting for the return coach.

Although there are no pictures (as yet) of me, behold some alternative evidence of the nights debauchery (and no, the pictures are not by me, hence the copyright remaining on the bottom):


Two of the aforementioned fifteen dead Goths, though at this point not yet dead. Yes, he is wearing liquid latex which we painted on arrival at the club and spent the next eight hours picking off. VERY satisfying.


A good reason to go to hell as opposed to heaven when you die is that hell will probably look like this. Except with slightly less alcohol. Besides, heaven is full of Mormons.


As if to further my point wouldnt you much rather go to hell if shes there?

That is all.

Fun Felidae Fact: Since I started the facts Ive found about twelve million (okay, three) other girls doing it, the only one of whom I wholeheartedly endorse is Twwly, with her Tasty Twwly Tidbit. And thats only because Ill endorse anyone who looks that good.