Earlier today at work, somebody mentioned Britney Spears. In passing comment, I mentioned about all the pictures on the internet showing her out and about with her new best pal Paris Hilton. Of course, when you party with Paris, apparently it's customary to not wear any underwear.
I felt a little like Brian in Monty Python's Life Of Brian, where he talks about nonsense and yet a crowd of people congregate around him, listening intently.
I had nothing profound to say.
Just that I'd seen the pictures of Britney's pussy as she clumsily exited a car, wearing a skirt but forgetting those all important knickers.
So what is it?
I just don't get it?
Ok, so she's famous and the media have previously touted her as one of the most beautiful girls on the planet. A claim I've never agreed with, I hasten to add. But so what?
Does that mean she has the most amazing looking pussy in the world? Is her under-carriage sweeter smelling, in better proportion and sooo much more attractive than any other girl on the planet?
I think not.
And that's not because I've studied the pictures and compared with others. It's simply because a pussy is a pussy is a pussy. Ok, some of them might look nicer than others but who determines what a 'nice pussy' looks like?
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, surely!
Anyway....I found it difficult to believe that I was the only person at work who'd seen these pictures. Apparently I was.
Guys were literally stood there with jaw half open, almost salivating at the though that Britney had exposed her 'goods' once and for all.
For fucks sake, what is the world coming to!
It all got a little out of hand when guys were literally throwing their email addresses at me, asking to be emailed said pictures tonight.
Ok, enough about pussy.
I made the all important phone call today.
It didn't go well, but then again at least my vision of being laughed at down the phone didn't come to fruition either.
Apparently I have to wait a few more days for a phone call, an appointment and then a decision.
A lot of my
And there was me thinking Mortgage Companies were literally falling over themselves to lend people money. Not so in my case, it seems.
So not such a good night for me then. I will probably get a little drunk on some filthy cheap wine tonight and drown my sorrows while listening to Damien Rice tell me about his failed relationships.
I should be listening to The Magic Numbers really, in preparation for seeing them play live tomorrow night.
Maybe a good gig night is just what the doctor ordered.