Friday, November 11, 2005

The Wrong Trousers

Hilarious, Blair wore trousers far too tight on visit to Bush. This is the most beautiful thing I have read for a long time! Be sure to read down for my Filthy Tony Sketch!

With a minimum of ceremony we were whisked away in a fleet of golf buggies to our cabins, where we changed out of our suits for lunch. White House instructions were to be informal, but not too informal: chinos, but no jeans.

Blair put on a pair of ball-crushingly tight dark-blue corduroys. I was later told that his wardrobe for the weekend had been the result of intensive debate within No 10. If true, it was not wholly successful. Bush and Blair had a photo call later in the day, as they went for a walk in the woods. Bush looked pretty relaxed in what one assumed were his usual weekend clothes.

By contrast, Blair looked uncomfortable, his efforts to appear similarly insouciant undermined by the inability to get his hands fully into pockets that appeared glued to the groin.

That settles it, we're being led by a man who can't even make the right choice of trousers!
It makes me wonder what choices were rejected:

"Tony, you can't wear your bondage trousers to meet the President!"
"Oh, Cherie, come on, he said informal dress..."
"I think informal means something different outside the confines of a British Public School, Tony. Now put on your ball-squashing jeans, you know how saucy it is, all that confinement, just waiting to be sprung free."
"Okay. Give me a moment, though, can't wear the anal beads with those trousers..."
Pop-pop-popping and orgasmic groan from bathroom. "Boy that's good."
"Better in than out," laughs Cherie in heavy Scouse accent.

You get the idea...


Here's a paragraph from what I was working on today:

My mood lightens after this, black feelings purged. A zooming thought spirals out of its own blue sky, the handsome pilot with jaw set, steering a course towards a dignified lifting of the curses, in part or in full. I laugh at such a noble fool, chart his progress with cold eyes. With iron brains, I hijack the thought and send it shaking and jolting, the pilot fighting the controls, into mountainside of principled objections, explodes in cartoon flames . Oh, but look, in a dreamy twist, the pilot ejected just in time, tiny parachute floats to the depths. Let him live, let him come again. Puff of dust on the valley floor.


Anonymous Rundaas said...

I don't think the Reverend Blair has any balls to worry about tight trousers! Interesting reading list.Rundaas

8:21 PM  
Blogger kingfelix said...

i will add a sidebar link to you, we very much seem to have duplicate tastes in literature

8:24 PM  

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