Alright guys, who's ready for a PROM?

I'm going to A PROM tomorrow. Whoopee. Can you hear the excitement in my tone? Because I am very excited. Proms are such fun.

I can see what's going to happen already. I'll pull up in my sports car to my beautiful date's suburban house in a tree-lined American suburb, brilliantly attired in a well fitting tuxedo and clutching a beautiful boquet of flowers and chocolates. I'll be invited into the beautiful house by the two ultra-beautiful parents and we shall make small talk around the beautiful coffee table before my date walks down the stairs. Then we'll all go into slow motion for a minute while she walks down the stairs, looking BEAUTIFUL in a BEAUTIFUL diamond-encrusted designer dress and smiling beautifully. Then we'll speed off in the car to the prom, which will be in FULL SWING by the time we get there. It will be full of beautiful couples dancing to loud non-threatening popular music, in a beautifully decorated hall. People will be drinking, but there'll be no drunkeness. We shall dance, me and my beautiful date, then we shall get elected King and Queen of the prom. Then we'll zoom off in the sports car and have sex on the nearby beach (beautiful, of course), before getting into a brief, exciting fight with the beautiful captain of the football team. Then we'll speed back to the prom where some black guy will be playing some song on a guitar, and we'll all dance. Then there'll be a slow zoom out into the air. Then I'll travel back to the present time in my rocket powered time travelleling wonder-car with my amazing scientific buddy, Doctor Harris. Or whatever.

Well, that's been the pattern of events for every prom that I've attended.

Number of proms that I have ever attended: 0.

Damn those americans and their fancy TV proms. Damn them to hell. Now, how is it going to be in reality? Well, first I say we decipher the 'classic' (read: American) version of the prom, to see where the differences lie. Well, I can think of one. In real life, people in prom dresses do not walk down the stairs gracefully in slow motion - they are not ultra fit divas of love and grace, unfortunately. In real life, people in prom dresses look like this:


I have to applaud the photographer for her incredible framing of this shot. Also, it's not obvious from this picture, but Steve and Emma are actually siamese twins! They are joined together at the ends of their arms.

In real life, people look crap when they're dressed up. Take me for example. Now, everybody knows that I am the coolest guy in the world ever. I also manage to make any bizarre combination of clotheing look fucking styling with my rebel cools. I mean, I even managed to pull off wearing shorts, white tshirt and high visibility jacket. Sweet. Yet, despite my obvious manliness, I look shit in a tuxedo. The shirt chokes the wind out of me and the bow tie is like A NOOSE AROUND MY NECK. A NOOSE. And what's more, this is a tuxedo that my DEAD GRANDFATHER used to wear. And that's, like, the only reason I like wearing it. Yes, you heard me. A plus is that this tuxedo used to have a dead person in it. Not LITERALLY (he didn't ACTUALLY die in it, although that would be a serious plus), but it's nice to know that something you own has a bit of history to it. DO YOU KNOW that my tuxedo used to be owned by JAMES BOND? No? Well good, because it wasn't. However, Grandfather (dead one) use to work on the Bond Flicks - he actually featured in The Man In The Golden Gun; have a look in the background of the casino scene for a guy with a mustache - and he purchased this tux in the style of bond.

So what does that mean? I've actually lost track of what I was talking about. I swear that this post had something to do with a prom. It now seems to have turned into a description of my dead grandfather's movie career. Oh yeah, right, the prom. Me in a tuxedo. Right. Well, Cassie (my 'date', wink wink) I seriously wouldn't get your hopes up. To be honest, I think that you'd have been better off going with your stalker. And here's why.

A list of reasons why I am going to be shit at this prom

Me in a tuxedo
We've already covered this, but just to get the image across. When any man puts on a tuxedo, no matter who he is, here is the image that he is trying to achieve:



Ah, Shaun Connery, you non-crazy Scotsman, you. So thats's what I want to look like. And, here's the image that I'm probably going to present on the night:



Yeesh. Oh well, at least I won't look like that guy with no face. At least that's something to be grateful for.

Dancing
I don't dance. Period. Actually, amend that to: I don't dance without being plied with mind-numbing toxins beforehand. And then, even when drunk, my dancing is broken down into a little thing which I like to call 'funky walking'. That's right, you just walk very slowly up and down, moving your legs in a crazyifying metronomic way, back and forth. Kind of like skiing, but more groovy. You get me? No, you probably don't. But be assured, it's pretty damn cool. Groovesome, even.
But waltzing? Nope. You'd have to kidnap a member of my family and hold them hostage before you get me dancing. And not just ANY member of my family. It would have to be a good one. Mother or father at the very least. Siblings? Fuck off, you can cut off their genitalia for all I care, I sure as hell ain't waltzing.

Unless, of course, any of the music from Pulp Fiction comes on. In that case, all bets are off.

Alcohol
There had better be some alcohol at this thing, I'm telling you. Unless, of course, you want one very angry Thomas on your hands. I'll need alcohol to get through this thing without actually killing something.

Me
I'm not going to take this very seriously, am I?

Oh boy.

AAAAAAAND now I'm done. Smile.

OMG OMG OMGOMGOMG!!!11!!!11LOL!!! LOL!! OMFG!

Look at it! LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT MY SHINY NEW BLOG TEMPLATE.

Wow, that is so shiznitching. Look at the smooth white lines through the INCREDIBLY sexy handprinty background. That reminds me, can people comment if they can see the handprints? Because apparently Casi cannot. She is unable to see the handprints. This means that her eyes do not work properly. And if your eyes don't work properly, do you know what that means? Yes, it means that you are technically retarded. So sorry to rain on your parade, Cassie, but before you leave the house in the future (with your keeper) you'll be contractully obliged to wear kneepads, a bike helmet and a mouthguard. And armbands, in case you fall into a puddle.

Wowee, this new SEXY template has restored my faith in my blog. And, once faith in my blog has been restored, so is my faith in humanity. Which means that I've put down the pills and the hammer and have decided to get back to some SERIOUS blogsomming to make up for the many hours of not doing so that I've put you people through. Call the previous week a 'hiatus' if you will.

Fuck it, here's a list of stuff that's happened to me in the past week. Read it and weep. Or fuck off, I don't care.

• I went to TWO PARTIES! Yeah man, popular or WHAT? I mean, I wasn't specifically invited to either of them, I sort of wandered in with the rest of the crush, BUT I STILL WENT. And I got KIND OF drunk at both. But it was, like, a fun level of drunkeness, as opposed to a 'fall over, knock yourself out on the sofa then drown in a pool of your own vomit/blood mixture' level of drunkeness. There's a fine line between the two, but I feel that this line MUST be drawn.
  It seems that the point of many of these parties is for people to show off how superior their houses/gardens are to yours. Those wankers with their big houses. But yeah, I went to some parties. That was FUN.



• I just reconfirmed my position as the most Pimp Daddy guy ever. Now, I know you think that I'm pretty Pimp Daddy already, but I managed to surpass myself in the pure Pimp Daddy stakes. Seriously, imagine the most pimping person ever. Then times him by the pimpingness owned by this fellow:
  
  THAT is how pimping I am. Like, woah, steady there, mate, you don't wanna kill us with the pure powers of your Pimp Daddy self, that's what people say when I strut down the street.
  
  I am the Pimp Daddy. Oh yeah.



• I started work on what will surely be the most brilliant creative artwork EVER to be seen ever in the entire existence of everness. It's basically this BIG mofoing collage thats about the size of the moon now. That's right, A1. I have cleverly named it 'celebrity', and it consists of lots of celebs with eyes stuck on them. And lots of arms. It's KERRRAZY. And HOT. Of course, what with all this cutting up of magazines, my carpet has become the respository for about, without using hyperbole, a billion shreds of cut up paper. This, added to the 5 shoes, three of which are missing their partners, the twelve socks, the many books, the piles of clothes, the glue, the dvds, and the rest of the groovy bollocks that lives in my space, has led my room to look a bit like Bosnia. You know, full of starving africans. That reminds me...



• I didn't go to Live 8. Fucking Bob Geldof. No, not literally. Sheesh.



• Did I mention that I'm the Pimp Daddy? I am. If you took my Pimpingness and then took the moon, the pimpingness would be bigger. My pimpingness is only matched by Oli G's hair.



• I looked up 'cunt' on Wikipedia. Do you know that it comes from Latin? Which is good, because that means that 'cunt' is like a really OLD swear word, so I'm allowed to say it in front of the Queen. Not sure how my logic works there.
  Queen: In honour of your services to being a Pimp Daddy,I herebye dub you Sir...
  Me: CUNT! Hey, don't look shocked, that word is older than YOU. It's older than this castle. In fact, the only person that this word is not older than is Paul Mcartney - The Oldest Man In The Word (fun fact: Paul Mcartney is actually 6.8 BILLION year old) Therefore, it's an antique. So stop being sucha woman.



• I realised how FIT Cassie is when she's crying. Before anybody gets the wrong impression, I was a bit drunk at that point and, to be honest, if the only time you look FIT is when a watery-salt solution is pouring out of your eye sockets due to the amount of ethanol that you've ingested and your cheeks are red and full of blood, then you're really in a bit of trouble.



• Did I tell you that Resident Evil 4 was the most pimping game ever? It is. There's this bit when you're in the basement and then this MOFO WHO LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF ALIEN jumps in and chases you around in the dark for like five minutes, while you're waiting for a lift. AND HE'S BULLETPROOF AND AND AND its very exciting. Also, our dear friend Chainsaw Eddie comes back again. Have I ever called him Chainsaw Eddie before? Oh well, here's that picture of him again, just so you remember what he looks like:
  
  
  Scary, eh?
  
  
• I've spent a good amount of time dressing up, both as a pirate and a ninja, the two most manly things around. The pirate effect was gained by wearing swimming pants, a large white linin shirt, and a high visibility jacket worn by people working on the night shoot of 'V for Vendetta'. A yellow umbrella was added for full pirate effect. I am the only one who thinks that I look vaguely piratish. My mother is worried; what with this and my sudden obsession with creating artwork, she has dubbed me 'eccentric', which I think is WICKED. The ninja effect was gained by tying a black tshirt around my head in such a way that I look like a ninja. How did I learn to do this? TEH INTERNETS, of course. I've decided to go as a ninja to Roxy's party. Fuck the fact that the party is 999 emergency services themed. Ninjas are the emergency services in japan. If somebody's breaking into your house with some scissors, you just dial the ninjas and then twelve of them drop down from the cieling, where they've been waiting for the past week, and kill the bastard. So ninjas are A-OK. And who the fuck has a themed fancy dress party anyway?

And I'm sure some other exciting stuff happened too. But the main thing is that I'm a Pimp Daddy, and THE BLOG IS BACK! Now piss off.

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This is a test post? SPIFFING.