God Hates God

Tonight I’m having a computer nerd sleepover at my house. We shall wear our bestest jim-jams, carry around snugly bears and play truth or dare:

”I triple dog dare you to say that you prefer CGI over C#.NET!! OMG!!! Giggle!!!!!”

We’re going to stay up all night drinking Coca-Cola, prank calling cute boys and telling ghost stories before it all descends into a writhing cum-pit of fucking and hot lesbian action. You know, like how it does in the movies I like to watch.

The reality, though, is much less sexy; a leaving ‘do for a colleague combined with footy means that we all plan on consuming such a large quantity of beer that driving home without waking up to find the mangled legs of a granny poking out from the grills of their cars might be a probability. So they’re all packing off to mine for the night so they can use up all of my bloody hot water and get violently molested by an Airedale Terrier (the Dachshund would join in, but rubbing oneself against a person’s foot hardly constitutes a gang bang.)

I generally don’t allow people into the inner sanctum of my home, so this is a great leap of trust for me. I don’t know how they might judge me based on the house I keep (tidy and attractive, naturally), but my mind wanders out of control when I think of how they might interpret my life. “She collects animation art. SHE MUST FUCK BABIES.” “Her microwave is messy. SHE’S A SMACKWHORE.” “She has a blue sofa. SHE IS A GENOCIDAL WAR CRIMINAL, HIDING FROM INTERNATIONAL POLICE.” And so on.

Moreover, I suppose it mostly comes down to how I don’t want them to see me in my pyjamas. I have cultivated an image whereby I wear lovely and fashionable things and this will be destroyed when they see me in my circa 1994 Britpop t-shirt with yellow armpits and stained oversized boxer shorts with a worn-out crotch. They’ll probably hear me fart. They’ll probably smell my fart! What if they find a pubic hair lying about? What if I find one of their pubic hairs lying about?!! I should have never opted to be kind-hearted and philanthropic in the first fucking place. This is what happens when I do something entirely out of character.

The only answer to this immeasurable stress? Many pints.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 23rd, 2007 at 11:06 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.