Hell Hath No Chocolate For A Woman Scorned.

As many of you do not know, my older brother is a pastor (yes, we do come from the same mother) and as such, feels it is his duty to point out the many many errors of my ways. And because my brother is a good man, (the only wicked thing about him is his sense of humour)I decided a few years ago to accept my his invitation to attend a church service…and no, I did not spontaneously combust into flames on coming into contact with consecrated ground.
Now this planned visit wasn’t to do with any cathartic episodes on my part. There were no sudden crisis of faith, nor was there a sense of wanting to quell the iniquitous tide of the past. No, this was simply to do with something that my older brother had said during a recent conversation. A conversation in which he detailed the very likelihood of my being bound for the nether world. It was a conversation so horrifying, that it had me thinking about the direction that I had been taking in life and the changes that I needed to make in order to rectify my indiscretions… before it became to late…

The Conversation…


“Lily, as your brother, I’m only telling you this because I love you. But if you carry on the way that you’ve been going and don’t seek to change your wicked and quite frankly, hedonistic ways, then at the dawning of the new millennium when the second coming is reaped upon us, you shall  forever be cast into the fiery flames of hell.”


“Meh, at least It’ll be warm.”


“I’m serious. In fact I think that Satan may have a special place reserved just for you because of the very nature of  your sins.”


“Yaay! Free accommodation!”


“Laugh all you want lil sis but when the day of judgement comes upon you, your soul will be lost forever.”


“Along with my house keys, mobile phone, child, virginity, faith in humanity. Jesus, no blasphemy intended, I’m always loosing things.”

My brother then paused, no doubt taking in the aura of blackness that surrounded the darkness of my soul and realising that he was getting nowhere in his approach, decided to use a different tactic. A tactic that would soon have me quaking in fear and wishing desperately to see the light.


“Lily, you do know that there is no chocolate in hell don’t you?”




“Really? You kiss our mother with that mouth?! Seriously Lily,  imagine an eternity without chocolate. Go on, try to imagine it.”

At this point, I begun to imagine thus but I could not. The thought seemed too absurd and too abhorrent to even contemplate. Sweat beaded my brow and my breath grew shallow. My head felt heavy with the burden of such cognition and soon my legs, which had been trembling slightly, gave way from beneath me. As my brother reached out to support my frail frame, I  gripped him tightly in my despair and openly wept at the hopelessness of spending such perpetuity. Without chocolate, it would be an horrendous and futile existence. An infinity devoid of milky goodness and arteries that hardened at the unwrapping of a Snickers duo. This was not the kind of immortality that I had in mind.


“Can you imagine it Lil? No assortment of mini chocolate selections, no peanut M&Ms or Mars duo and definitely and most certainly,  no Cadbury’s milk chocolate.”

By now I was in utter disbelief. I could not bear to hear such harsh words, words that seem to flow with ease from his cruel twisted lips. And so I let fly in a fit of rage at this apparent falsehood


“YOU LIE! You’re suppose to be a man of god, yet here you stand before me sprouting words of pure wickedness!”  I inhaled deeply as I sought to calm myself but the overwhelming tide of panic threatened to engulf me, as tears clouded my vision. “Like none at all?”  I was now sobbing uncontrollably. “Not even those kinder buenos with the cream and the wafer biscuit? I mean that stuff is revolting, truly disgusting. I mean if we’re talking about things that are truly evil, then surely those can only be the work of  Beelzebub himself?”




“You are shitting me?? But chocolate makes up part of my staple diet.”


“Lily, chocolate IS your staple diet, and there are sewers cleaner then your mouth. Stop swearing. I’m sorry sis but that’s the truth, there’s no chocolate in hell. Only those who are pure of heart and clean of mind get to receive the heavenly bounty that is confectionery…oh and also those who still have a soul, the soulless can’t eat chocolate…it gives them cramps.”


“But doesn’t chocolate come under the remit of sin? After all it encourages gluttony, sloth, greed and wrath, especially when some twat tries to steal my Cluster bar…hey, is aggravated assault one of the deadly sins? Cos last time that Sandra tried to pinch my Whole Nut, I almost punched her in the boob.”



“I didn’t though. Oh how I’ve missed Sandra over the years. No matter how carefully I aim the car, the bitch still manages to jump the way.”



“What?? It was a WHOLE NUT!”


“And this is EXACTLY why you are going to hell! Seriously, there are truckers who are embarrassed by your foul mouth. Look sis, you’re just going to have to deal with the fact that Satan is too cheap to spring for a packet of Malteser and a few Penguin Bars…though I do believe that he does have Brussels sprouts in hell…and in abundance.”




“Yep, you’re definitely burning in the fires of Hades. (Sighs heavily) But you’re right, who would unleash such horror upon the world? Satan that’s who. Remember, this is the being responsible for wars, famine, Paris Hilton and Star Wars The Phantom Menace. Why does he do it? Because he is evil that’s why. So, are you going to come to church with me on Sunday then?”


“Meh, might as well. There’s nothing good on TV on a Sundays anyway. Will there be chocolate?”




“Whoa! Whatever happened to patience being a virtue? By the way bro, we might have a slight incy wincy, teenie weenie bit of a problem.”


“Oh good lord, please take her now! What is it Lil?”


“Erm, is there really any truth in the fact that those who are  cursed by evil, will combust spontaneously on coming into contact with anything built on consecrated grounds?”


“Er…why do you ask?”






Halloween, A Tale Of Horror

Twas 2 am, I couldn’t sleep,

so instead decided to count sheep.

I counted ten then heard a peep,

of something in the room.

I lay quite silent, laid quite still.

Heard nothing so relaxed until,

a breath upon my neck did feel.

And then my heart went cold.

There’s something lurking in my room.

There’s something deep within the gloom.

It waits to take me to my doom,

into a lifeless hell.

I hear it breathing, hear it’s sound.

I try to move but I am bound.

The duvet wrapped quite tightly round,

my still and frightened body.

I feel it now upon my bed.

It’s visage seeps into my head.

And I feel something, something dead,

touch my stone cold face.

I see it now, I want to scream.

A nightmare from my waking dream.

The whiteness from it’s teeth they gleam,

from the blackness of it’s mouth.

And as it leans beside my face,

my heart beats at a pounding pace.

A voice so rough and without grace,

begins to slightly moan.

“It’s too dark and I want to poo.”

Can I get into bed with you?

I know that it’s now half past two.

Excuse the fart it just broke through.”

And as it slips under the covers,

I have the urge to suddenly smother,

the creature lying next to me.



Life From The Edge Of A Toilet Bowl (Releasing the Kraken)

The Witching Hour will soon be upon us…well when I say soon, I mean in 26 days, 17 hours, 59 minutes and 14…13…12…11…10…this bit could take some time…
Anyway, to get us into the mood for the day when the dead walk the earth with wailing souls and mournful cries and when Spawn rises up from the ashes of the fetid, dank darkness of a hellish place, where socks go to die and underpants forsake the humility of cleanliness by lying prostrate upon an effluent laden carpet, I bring you a tale of woe and courage as I take a trip to the bathroom. You’re welcome.

*My bathroom is an afterthought. It is also what one might call bijou.
It’s as though whoever designed the house, was so overly impressed with themselves at the paper thin walls and lopsided floors, that they forgot to add in a bathroom and thus remembering so, quickly utilised what space was left.
They also forgot to add a window leading me to believe that he or she, must have been raised in a cave. Maybe they was going for that ‘In Utero’ look and trying to give off a sense of womb-like tranquillity. Or maybe they just forgot to put in a bloody window!
So not only do the Womb-fruit and I have to contend with a bathroom that even an Oompa Loompa would deem too small, but the lighting system is now acting as though it has been offered a starry role in a horror movie and is acting all…


Needless to say, the light remains switched off, least one or both of us succumbs to a fit of epilepsy. 
So I sit in the toilet zone, the sound of the whirring fan my only company…well I think it’s my only company, it’s too dark to see what else is in there. Now it takes exactly four steps to reach the bathroom from my bedroom and thereon, exactly two steps to get to the toilet from the bathroom entrance. In my head however, those footfalls take far far longer. For in the dark recesses of my mind, the aforementioned footsteps, equal an epic journey of great importance and ginormous magnitudes.

The journey inevitable begins from the prison of my bed, whereby a huge exchange will take place between my mind, bladder and body.
Bladder will argue it’s point regarding the need for release and putting forward it’s plight concerning the injustice of having no control and always having to be put on hold.
The mind will rationalise the many problems faced by not getting up and taking care of nature, whilst gently reminding me of the intricacies of the Kegel method and that women with slack Lady Gardens DO NOT get dates.
My body? My body will be in the midst of giving up. All the components that make it functional, will be staging a gang warfare on their enemies pain and fatigue and all the while, I will just be lying there and pondering the fact that if I peed myself, I could always turn the mattress over. Besides, who wouldn’t welcome a bit of warmth on a cold chilly night…even if it is rather wet?


And that’s when dignity comes into play, (Damn you dignity!) forcing me to leave the confines of my enclosure and forwarding me onto my arduous adventure. Those four steps I wrote about earlier? Well they are no longer the mere treading of carpet. They are the battle walk of the weary and the forlorn as I trudge towards uncertain doom. Will I ever reach my destination on time, or like the war torn children of 1940’s Britain, will my bowels evacuate? So onward I march or lightly shuffle, over lands and hills, through towns and valleys, into worlds unknown and of mythical proportions. Encountering Hydras, two-headed werewolves and other beasts of my wanton imagination, my journey finally ends when I slay the fabled underwater monster and declare proudly, “RELEASE THE KRAKEN!” And yes, that is a euphemism for it’s time to poop.


So now I sit on the porcelain throne of my disembarkation, spent and slightly nauseated from the hardship of my travels. I cannot allow myself to feel a slight moment of victory, for the hard work has yet to begin.
Now as it has already been surmised, a trip to the bathroom is no mean feat. Once there, the occupancy of the room could take quite a while because once the cool surface of the throne is warmed by the posterior of the occupier, it’s er…rather difficult to achieve standing position thereafter. And so I stay and wait, and contemplate life from the edge of my toilet seat.


*Taken and updated from my ‘More Sleep Please’ blog

Spam and I don’t mean the meaty kind…

I thought that I would pace myself a bit by only writing two posts a month. But first, I’d like to address an email I received from a rather confused but highly libidinous young woman by the name of Tatyana.

Standing On The Verge (of a nervous breakdown)

Is there anybody there?
Ooh, it’s quite spacious on this page now that everyone has gone. Very 2016 with it’s minimal look.
Well I just dropped by to say a quick ‘hello.’
So, what’s been happening?
Not much, except I fear that my sanity is about to break up with me.


At the same time, Insanity keeps knocking at my door and asking me if I want to come out and play. I don’t but it just won’t take no for an answer. I feel like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, though I’m not too sure why the breakdown should be the one feeling so nervous. The thing is, I like the verge and I don’t really want to cross it. The verge is soft and squidgy under my feet but Insanity isn’t playing fair and is being mean and spiteful. It keeps trying to push me over the verge and into the breakdown…I want to punch it in the metaphorical face.


I’m guessing that the constant pain, the absence of chocolate and the definite lack of sleep has put me in the place where I am now, and it’s certainly been a long time since I visited the ‘Land of Nod.’ This would probably explain why I keep wailing like a banshee over the most simplest of things.
When I stubbed my toe, I fell to my knees and bawled like somebody had told me that my dog had just died…and I don’t even have a dog.
And when a fly landed on my shoulder, I hysterically exclaimed:
“Fly, why are you victimising me so?! Am I so wretched a creature that you would mistake me for  a compact mass of substance otherwise termed as poop?! Oh fly, why do you torment me so?? I tend to get a bit dramatic whilst standing on the verge.fly

By now, even Insanity was having second thoughts about playing with me and Nervous Breakdown was practically having…well, a nervous breakdown, all the while babbling like a brook.
“For heaven’s sake!” Cried Dignity, “get a bloody grip woman, have you no shame?” To which I could only reply, “no, he’s run off with Sanity… the treacherous two-timing bastard.”
After about 30 minutes, Calm decided to intervene and take control of the situation.
“Okay emotions, everyone step away, there’s nothing to see here. Come on, give the woman some breathing room.” But alas, all the breathing rooms were locked and I started to hyperventilate until Calm soothed me once again.


Last night, Sanity came back and begged to be let back in, although there was a bit of an altercation with Insanity. After Sanity had kicked it in the proverbial gonads and Nervous Breakdown had stopped breaking down long enough to gather enough courage to happy slap it across it’s abstract face, Insanity left whimpering that it would be back soon and  that I hadn’t heard the last of it, not by a long shot.
I took Dignity’s advice and decided to get a grip but Grip kept moaning like a bitch that I was holding on too tight.
Shame came back too and together with my companions, Peace, Calm and Tiredness, we all decided to go on a long awaited vacation to the ‘Land of Nod.’


X-Ray Vision and Laser Beam Eyes

It would seem that the leader of an underground group of felines, calling themselves the Doom Cats, has gotten wind of the fact that not only does Spawn intend to use them for his army of minions but he also hopes to create a new species of Felis Catus…with X-ray vision and laser beam eyes. And yes, he is still attending his weekly therapy sessions.


“Members of the Feline community, I have gathered you all here today to impart upon you some very disturbing news. It would seem that…where’s Officers Tubbies and Tibbs?”


 “I shall go and search for them, your Grace. I think I saw them go into the living room. They appeared to be having some sort of a disagreement”. (Opens the door to living room)




“Er…they seem to be otherwise engaged, my liege.”


“No matter, I’m sure they will join us in good time By the way Tom, you really need to lay off the caffeine.”


“Why do you say that Grand Lord?”


“Well, it’s just that your eyes…they’re a bit…you know…”



“Never mind. As I was saying Felines, I bring you some grave news…good God Sian! Can you please sit and conduct yourself in a manner as befitting a lady!”



“Dammit Sian, I can see what you had for breakfast! And where is everyone? There seems to be a distinct number of felines missing. Zelda?”


“I think I saw my husband Felix heading downstairs. I shall go and fetch him at once sir.”



“Chucky, do you know where the others have gone to? This really is of some great importance.”



“I believe sire, that Smudge has chosen to opt out of the Doom Cats. Apparently he’s now found God.”



“What in damnation is going on? Neville, will you please come out of that box! And Alfie, what the hell has gotten into you? Unhand that scratching post this instance!”







“Someone pass me the catnip, I think I’m getting a headache. And will somebody please go and fetch me Officer Timmykins!!”

c17 (1)

*5 minutes later…*



“Sir, I have a favour to ask of you.”


*sighs* “Very well Nibbles, what is it?”



“Felines! We are about to be beset by a megalomaniac child who is intent on recruiting us as his minions! He hopes to achieve this, by creating an army of cats with X-ray vision and laser beam eyes!”



“Never mind.”


Updated from 27.04.2013

An Unscheduled Post via Urgent Parent Appeal.

Parent Appeal!

Are you tired? Stressed? Frustrated? Overworked?
About to beat your child over the head with their own left foot?
Are you fed up that your stealer of joy is slowly siphoning the life from you like a midget petrol thief?
Then why not call the NAPCA. (national association for the prevention of cruelty to adults).
We have a dedicated team of experts waiting to take your call.
Or why don’t you become a sponsor?
For just 50p a week, you can stop a desperate mother from being driven to the brink of becoming a crack hoe.
50p will provide much needed chocolate and comfort food to needy parents everywhere.
So go on, join today and make this world a much better place.

Call us now on 123-456-help
Or visit our website: http://www.ishouldhaverippedoutmywomb.co.uk/

*calls from a BT landline will cost more than the 50p that you will be donating and a whole shit more if you call from any other networks,  10 times more if you call from a mobile (cell). Subject to terms and conditions, terms being not to sue us if a huge phone bills ends up in your mailbox, conditions, insanity to obviously call us in the first place. And by the way, don’t you know that it’s unhealthy to be this close to the computer screen? I mean how bored must you be to even take the time out to look this closely at the small print? Don’t blame me if you have a migraine from all that squinting, most people just ignore it anyway.


A-Z Reflection post.

At the end of every A-Z Challenge, there comes the reflection post. This is about reflecting reflectively upon the reflections of our experiences with the challenge…reflectively. And as we reflect back on those reflections, we also reflect upon the reflections that have occurred whilst reflecting upon those of which we have reflected.

Now in the best interest that this poem rhymes, (and I use the word ‘poem’ very VERY loosely) I have opted to use the American vernacular of Z (zee) rather than the British version (zed) to detail my A-Z experience.

Oh this task I have to say,

was like being held in Guantanamo bay.

I was held at gun point and couldn’t flee,

the challenge that was the A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

OK that first verse was a lie,

there really is no alibi.

I was being nosey in wanting to see,

what others would write for the A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

I thought aloud, “I can do this,

this really is a piece of piss.

How bloody hard could this thing be?

This challenge called the A to Z.”

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

Through letters A and B I went.

Could go no further, I was spent.

Reached only to the letter C,

then lamented the evil of A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

I wrote some stuff about my Spawn,
and reflected on the crack of Dawn.

By now it was quite plain to see,

that I was pants at the A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

The daily postings took their toll

I even discovered I had a boil.

It’s in a place no one can see,

because of this sodding A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

Time management? A thing of the past,

as I tried to get my lazy arse,

to sit in front of the laptop screen,

to do this fecking A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

The one thing that I liked the most,

was the funny comments upon my post.

Some queried my state of sanity,

in doing this challenge of A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

The readers they were oh so funny,
and much more funnier than me.
So I vowed that after the A-Z,
that they would all in the most painful and gruesome way for showing me up on my own blog..*ahem*

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

I came across some brilliant blogs.

One even featured a talking dog.

Grew slightly green with jealousy,

at the writers of this A to Z.

A2Z-BADGE [2016]

This challenge begins next year again

But for now I cry a loud AMEN,

to seeing the back of the A to Z.

Will I do it again? Ah we shall see.

Actually, this was the most fun I had this year and the blogs and posts that I came across, where outstanding. Thank you to everyone who read, visited, followed and commented on my posts. It wouldn’t have been the same without any of you.
Special mention to Mr Rob Zillion TorborMs Dominatrix Leonard BenrubiMistress Twisty Tales CooperMr Dick Doesn’t Need A Crazy Name Because He Already Has One Dastardly and Ms Cunningly Creative Claudette for their support during my mini meltdown.


Y is for Yank. The A-Z Of Cockney Rhyming Slang.

Tis nearly time folks. The challenge is almost at an end. I was going to whip my bra off in a celebration of freedom and liberation, but Spawn keeps trying to harpoon my Lady Lumps. No matter how many times I’ve told him otherwise, he  is convinced that they are escaped Manatees  from the Sea Life Aquarium.


Anyway, on to today’s letter which is the indomitable…


Cockney rhyming slang-Septic Tank

Translation-Yank (colloquial term for an American)

Example-“I’ve never met a more moral, spiritual and godly family then those Septic Tanks the Kardashians.”


Yeah, the picture is completely unrelated to the example.But we’re almost at an end…plus, I…don’t…care…


X is for…er…um…nope, got nothing for X. Not The A-Z Of Cockney Rhyming Slang.


Pearly Kings and Queens-Members of the committee for the Cultural Originators (of) Cockney Kaflooey.

Well this is embarrassing. It appears that the linguistic patter of the East End Cockney, did not extend to the letter X. You would have thought that folk adept in the art of taking a simple word and then stretching it beyond all necessity, would have had the oral skills to navigate the most evil…seriously X, what is the sodding point of you? difficult letter of the alphabet. But oh no, when it came to the mangling of the English Language, it seems that the committee for the ‘Cultural Originators (of) Cockney Kaflooey’, (or to give it it’s abbreviated title C.O.C…er…best not to mention it’s abbreviated title) were out to lunch that day. So instead, here’s an X poem which has absolutely nothing to do with Cockney Rhyming Slang. You’re welcome.


Xena Xenosa

WARNING: This is a warning to warn you that I am warning you to be aware that this is a warning. Poem may contains scenes of an adult nature. Also, never stick your finger into the blades of an oscillating fan as decapitation stings quite a bit. End of warning.

Xena Xenosa a girl at school.
had eyes a big as swimming pools.
Feet like boats and teeth like planks,
Xena X was a bit of a skank.

The thing about Xena you see,
was she spent her time upon her knees.
From pubs to clubs, men’s bathroom stalls,
that Xena X had had them all.

Indeed it was a well known fact,
she spent most of her time upon her back,
as boys lined up at the bicycle shed,
Xena Xenosa would give good advice…what?

As whorish as that girl could be,
she was quite wise, a sage was she,
who offered up talk of relationships,
though most of it was a pile of shit.

I learned from her some interesting stuff,
like boys hate girls with a hairy muff.
That you can’t get pregnant standing up.
And don’t watch that film, ‘2 girls one cup’.

I also learned tampons you see,
can make you lose your virginity.
And sperm can’t swim there way through knickers,
as I was told by Nigel Vickers.

You can’t get pregnant the first time
and apparently fish tastes nice with lime.
But Xena Xenosa with her vast knowledge,
got pregnant after leaving college.

I recently heard upon the vine,
that she’s got 10 kids from babe to nine.
And she married that arsehole Nigel Vickers,
who now knows sperm can swim through knickers.


*Did I say I was a poet?
Seriously folks, I can smell your judgement from here.