Monday, 29 March 2010

Jeremy Rogers

7:13 I decide that for this post, I will write down everything that happens to me, and put the time next to every one of my comments. This will help my audience to identify with the author, living as they all do in a universe containing time.

It will serve no other purpose whatsoever.

7:16 I leave the pub for my date. I had been drinking with T, my old friend. He had introduced me to S, his brother. His brother brought along TR and DS.

Later on I saw E=MC^2 and Vague Description Boy. Vague Description Boy I had met once before, with Stereotype Man. I first met Stereotype Man when I was dating A^n+B^n=C^n (where n>2).

A^n+B^n=C^n (where n>2) was a great fuck, but I could never quite figure him out.

7:39 I meet with Jeremy, my date. You might remember Jeremy from my night with Gavin, who I haven't heard from since. Jeremy had spent the whole night wearing dark glasses, which I presumed was because he was blind, and with a wire running into his ear, which I presumed was because he was hard of hearing.

It was hard to see why Gavin had had him for a bodyguard.

"I've got something to tell you", he told me.

"What is it?"

"Gavin, who you met the other night? His name wasn't really Gavin. He was Bilawal Bhutto."

A wave of shock hit me, then a wave of horror, then a wave of revulsion, with flotsam of anger. "Surely you can't mean Bilawal Bhutto, the chairman of the Pakistan Peoples Party, and the eldest child of the late Pakistani politician and former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto and her husband Asif Ali Zardari, the current President of Pakistan?"

7:40 "Yes", he replied.

Everything fell into place. It all seemed so obvious, now. That nervous quiver in his left eye. The repeated assassination attempts as we walked. That time he said "if I don't love you with all of my soul, my name isn't Bilawal Zardari Bhutto, wait, I mean Gavin Smith".

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"When Bilawal first took on a fake identity, I thought he'd use it for good. Maybe open a Blockbuster account, join The Times' Wine Club. That sort of thing. And when I saw he was using it to get women, I thought, why not? He's his own man. But not with you. Not you."

"Why's that?"

"Because, [my name]

7:42 , I'm falling in love with you".

"You're... what?"

"I knew he was going too far, [my name]. I spent years as a bodyguard - just moving from one body to the next, never caring when I ended up. But then there was you. I took one look at you - your crackling laugh, your glacial eyes, and I knew you had to be mine."

"Could you repeat that?", I said. "I'm trying to get this down."

"I took one look at your crackling laugh-"

"Slow down", I said. "I don't know shorthand."

"Glacial eyes-"

"Eyes, right."

"Knew you were the one."

"Knew, me, one. Cheers."

7:43 He fixed me with a longing gaze. "And what about you?"

I browsed my notes.

"Oh... yeah. That. You too."

7:59 I have a bit to drink by now. £Y'see Jemmy, "I said, "I never liked him anyway. kept talking about being vice-pseident of stuff. I mean yask me, thassjust pretentious. I min the social secretary, the boat club, the social secretary, do I go on about that?"

"No", he said.

"yask me I said", yask me, no."

[At this point my notes from the evening become less legible]

7:74 i mean snolike secret identity all bad I say i mean I runna sex blog on the on the online an it has like nine follows "i saw that" he said "was that the one in the express" i said "no that was the other one, mail wanted interview but then ryan kisiel the journalist stopped replying my emails the fucking cunt

8:ssss i think i should wal you home
fuck you im fine you chauvinist
no i think we shotld
no i done want
o is that my vom, i thought it was his
apogies your holiness


[Here the notes end, except for illegible scribbles and the word "dick" written 81 times. The following is as much as I remember from the rest of the night.]

"I'm sorry that woman was such a bastard", said Jeremy. "Everything you did in there was hilarious, and people just need more of a sense of humour over vomit. In addition, I agree that you are certainly more talented than that other, Sex at Oxbridge blogger, not to mention more attractive than both her, and all other sex bloggers."

"I daresay I agree", I replied. "May I add that your walking me home is most magnaimous. The streets of Oxford are grim so late, and there's a fair chance one may encounter trouble!"

We went home. He took out his penis. It was big. I have always said that with penises, the larger the better, with no upper limit. Thus a six inch penis is better than a three-incher, with a twelve-incher better than both. This is true regardless of the sexual experience or technique of the holder.

As the saying goes, "it's the size of the boat".


We had sex four times.




11 comments:

  1. 'Maybe open a Blockbuster account' - classic post!

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  2. I've told you this on Twitter before, but I love how fantastically you rip the piss out of her!

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  3. BORING.

    My guess you are a British Pakistani male, who aint getting any.

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  4. @Anon - you mean this is Bilawal's hobby?

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  5. I think you ought to get in touch with me (I live in Oxford): journalistrob@live.com

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  6. This makes no sense at all...

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  7. That's especially hurtful coming from "Nick Urzdown", author of "Memories of a Strict Uncle", a paean to arse-slapping. I hope someday to make as much sense as you :( xxxxx

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  8. Awwwwwwwwww you should feel better, did you really take a notebook on a date???

    Its interesting how many people are running blogs now!

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