An Irish Petal Called Deborah.
'Ello again, 'tis me. My second posting this year, I guess that I'm doing well with the whole 'blogging and leaving' thing, ay?
I've been asked to post a blog about someone, by the very same person. Talk about attention-seeker! Since she's the one who asked me to post this and will eventually be the first, bar me, to read this blog, then I can't be too harsh on the girl. To be honest, I'm not allowed after what I've done to her, and I frankly don't want to 'cos she is actually amazing.
One day, there was a lovely Irish girl called Deborah, and a handsome Brummy by the name of Saint Samuel George McGinty - 'wanker' for short.
Nah, I'm joking - his nickname was 'Boosh.'
Boosh was at work one November evening, and he was required to phone a colleague to transfer cryptic information. No-one could understand Boosh's cryptic language - I mean, who the fuck can understand a Brummy?
LOL.
Anyway, a girl answers with a Northern Irish twang, and Boosh falls in love with, not the girl, but the accent. Long story short, he set out to find a lovely girl who had such an accent.
I'm joking, this still is going to be a long story. [Sorry, Debs.]
Subsequent week pass, and the nigh of November nears [sick alliteration!] Boosh sets out for Resurrection, a fortnightly fortay into the Birmingham nightlife. He drinks, dances, and probably took drugs - I can't remember now.
During his night out, a red-haired girl catches his eye. Boosh's approach is hampered by her entourage, since he saw she had already pulled, so Boosh fucked off and pulled someone else.
The club closes, and the revellers dwindled into dozens, dozens into a baker's dozen, a baker's dozen into a dozen - a loner caught a taxi on his ones - then half a dozen. Deborah and Boosh are two of that dozen, but Boosh is also on his ones so he tries to incorporate himself with the others without success.
Months pass with both parties forgetting the other until the first Tuesday of April the following year. This time, it is Deborah who notices Boosh, who is oblivious to his new admirer because he's pissed and pilled.
Deborah is also a bit fucked. As she ambles tenatively across the dancefloor, she slips and is saved by none other than Boosh. But the ditzy Irish bird goes and falls flat on her arse anyway.
They talk, both oblivious to having met before. She tells him her name, he tells him hers.
Boosh comes out of his black out. She tells him her name - again.
They share a taxi together, holding each other's hand until they reach their destination.
Through the gates, along the road, through the door, through another door, down the corridor and they arrive in ... Jess's room? Congregated are Deborah friends, huddled around a fifteen inch ...
... screen. [You filthy fucker!] YouTube perched inside the screen, Boosh takes control. His obsession with Aphex Twin overruns him, taking no notice of how much a nutter he must actually sounds. Deborah departs, and Boosh mourns her loss. But relishes her return WITH TEA! But he is displeased, it was too milky. But he drank nevertheless, a concotion of leaves, water, sugar and a lot of fucking milk!
Deborah yawns, she retires to bed with Boosh on her heels. What follows I leave to filthy imaginations.
Dawn breaks, and the two awake. Boosh, being his sexpestual self, annoys his new Irish friend for sexpestual antics. Too much sexual galavanting earlier that morning had tired her out and she wasn't having any of it! Boosh gives up, disappointed.
Boosh has work in two hours, and asks for guidance to the bus stop. He dresses in last night's clothes - tramp. And she takes him to the bus stop. Halfway there, he holds her hand. But not in a way he had ever held a girl's hand before. [At this point, aforemention girl is hassling aforementioned boy to get a move on with not-so-aforementioned blog.]
It's half 2 in the morning and I have work really early so I'll finish this tomorrow.
It'll be worth it, Debs, trust me.
xxx
I've been asked to post a blog about someone, by the very same person. Talk about attention-seeker! Since she's the one who asked me to post this and will eventually be the first, bar me, to read this blog, then I can't be too harsh on the girl. To be honest, I'm not allowed after what I've done to her, and I frankly don't want to 'cos she is actually amazing.
One day, there was a lovely Irish girl called Deborah, and a handsome Brummy by the name of Saint Samuel George McGinty - 'wanker' for short.
Nah, I'm joking - his nickname was 'Boosh.'
Boosh was at work one November evening, and he was required to phone a colleague to transfer cryptic information. No-one could understand Boosh's cryptic language - I mean, who the fuck can understand a Brummy?
LOL.
Anyway, a girl answers with a Northern Irish twang, and Boosh falls in love with, not the girl, but the accent. Long story short, he set out to find a lovely girl who had such an accent.
I'm joking, this still is going to be a long story. [Sorry, Debs.]
Subsequent week pass, and the nigh of November nears [sick alliteration!] Boosh sets out for Resurrection, a fortnightly fortay into the Birmingham nightlife. He drinks, dances, and probably took drugs - I can't remember now.
During his night out, a red-haired girl catches his eye. Boosh's approach is hampered by her entourage, since he saw she had already pulled, so Boosh fucked off and pulled someone else.
The club closes, and the revellers dwindled into dozens, dozens into a baker's dozen, a baker's dozen into a dozen - a loner caught a taxi on his ones - then half a dozen. Deborah and Boosh are two of that dozen, but Boosh is also on his ones so he tries to incorporate himself with the others without success.
Months pass with both parties forgetting the other until the first Tuesday of April the following year. This time, it is Deborah who notices Boosh, who is oblivious to his new admirer because he's pissed and pilled.
Deborah is also a bit fucked. As she ambles tenatively across the dancefloor, she slips and is saved by none other than Boosh. But the ditzy Irish bird goes and falls flat on her arse anyway.
They talk, both oblivious to having met before. She tells him her name, he tells him hers.
Boosh comes out of his black out. She tells him her name - again.
They share a taxi together, holding each other's hand until they reach their destination.
Through the gates, along the road, through the door, through another door, down the corridor and they arrive in ... Jess's room? Congregated are Deborah friends, huddled around a fifteen inch ...
... screen. [You filthy fucker!] YouTube perched inside the screen, Boosh takes control. His obsession with Aphex Twin overruns him, taking no notice of how much a nutter he must actually sounds. Deborah departs, and Boosh mourns her loss. But relishes her return WITH TEA! But he is displeased, it was too milky. But he drank nevertheless, a concotion of leaves, water, sugar and a lot of fucking milk!
Deborah yawns, she retires to bed with Boosh on her heels. What follows I leave to filthy imaginations.
Dawn breaks, and the two awake. Boosh, being his sexpestual self, annoys his new Irish friend for sexpestual antics. Too much sexual galavanting earlier that morning had tired her out and she wasn't having any of it! Boosh gives up, disappointed.
Boosh has work in two hours, and asks for guidance to the bus stop. He dresses in last night's clothes - tramp. And she takes him to the bus stop. Halfway there, he holds her hand. But not in a way he had ever held a girl's hand before. [At this point, aforemention girl is hassling aforementioned boy to get a move on with not-so-aforementioned blog.]
It's half 2 in the morning and I have work really early so I'll finish this tomorrow.
It'll be worth it, Debs, trust me.
xxx
posted by Sageon at 1:48 am
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