The Bitch Queen from Hell and Fucking for Dummies

Joy. Snow is falling in Nottinghamshire, after a fucking 8 degrees on Christmas. If it stays on the road, I'll piss my name, address and phone number in it and post it here on this blog.

We're still playing Diablo 3. Not a whole lot, because there is still so much work to do, but whenever I get an hour or two. I still like the new "female" Diablo. For looks, anyway. Apparently, the new design has inspired some fascinating drawings on dubious online porn sites. Diablo is glowing out of just about every orifice. Which makes sense - in a way, they're all little portals to hell or something. Probably one of the more original things to get off to.
Speaking of internet filth: Some poor girl had to sell her only dress on eBay and made one silly mistake when taking the photo. She deleted it straight away, but some perv managed to grab it before it was gone, sharing it with the whole world. I like the internet ♥.

Reminds me a bit of when the police knocked on our bedroom window to ask about one of the neigbours one morning. "If you don't want to see my cock, now's a pretty good time to turn around." We sleep naked. We're that tough.

Anyhow, Diablo. I never understood the whole drama and whining about how you have to be online to play, even if you play all alone. We live in a day and age, where even the god damn refrigerator is online and sends tweets when its out of fucking milk!

Seriously. When's the last time your PC was fucking OFFLINE? Yes, sure, there's a principle involved, "but I wanna play on my laptop" blah, blah, fuck you. So much for the theory.
In practice, the game has been out for eight months and every so often, I find my character rubberbanding all over the screen (during singleplayer sessions!), basic functions such as the auction house are disabled and/or returning error messages more often than they are functional and thanks to the glorious whirlwind disconnect bug, I get kicked off the game every 30 minutes. Basically, this thing kicks you out of the game for using the barbarian's (aka my main character) signature ability and the techies at Blizzard suggest disabling VSync and playing in Windowed mode to fix the problem Because hey, fuck fixing the actual problem, right?

And while I find the new Diablo a lot cooler-looking than his previous forms (and myriads of creepy nerds with questionable sexual urges and fantasies agree with me here), "she" has also got a female personality now. That of an eight year old, at best. "Nanana you will never destroy my hell rif... oh shit. Fine, didn't need that stupid hellrift anyway, pfffft~!". All the fucking time. What the hell happened? Does anyone remember what he said before the final battle in Diablo 2? Only one of the coolest things any boss baddie has ever said in videogame history! "Not even death can save you from me!" Because yeah, you're in hell, he's the boss, he'll get you dead or alive and all that.

So how did we get from there to: "Lalalaaa you've destroyed my army, broke all my toys and you're about to kick my ass, but I don't care, because all your friends are dead and you suuuck"? Yeah, let me draw you naked and in an unflattering position and put you on a porn site, because you're cool and I respect you so much! They wouldn't have done that to the original Diablo!
Though there's probably a whole lot of gay macrocock porn out there to prove me wrong. Muscles, spikes, some people are seriously into that kinda stuff. I don't wanna know.

Isn't it fun how all this stuff is so readily available on the 'net, though? If I wanted to see boobs as a teenager, I had to hope for one of those African tribal documentaries on tv. People didn't have 200something channels back then and when there were programmes about how these fun-loving nature dwellers hunt and dance and drum and paint their faces, then people watched that shit. Thank god! I think all the boobs I have ever seen before I had my first girlfriend were black. And the weirdest thing was - my parents didn't care when we all watched these weird shows, because they were "educational". Show tits or some awkward, staged sex-scene in any movie and all the kids were sent to bed. Tits of all ages, shapes and sizes in a documentary? Bring it on! I had to burn all of these images into my brain, because they'd ususally have to last me for several months. Sad times.

No, not like THAT!

When you can hardly imagine what a tit looks like, it does not bode well for your early sex life. At what age did you have sex ed in school and what was it like? In my school, they waited until most of us were 18 or older. Right. Because that's not too late at all. Most of all, they really just taught us the basic stuff with a couple diagrams. "Put that in there, wiggle around for a bit and eventually, you'll provoke it into spewing out babies. The vagina's natural defensive system." Or something like that. They don't actually teach you how to do it. How to do it well. Because it's akward and a completely stupid taboo. To make up for that, we usually ended up buying retarded magazines for teenagers, where readers sent in their made-up stories about the first time they had sex. It was always fantastic, magical, perfect, that kinda crap. All the guys would brag about how they're doing it and they're oh so good at it, when in reality we all just knew boobs from tv documentaries.

The truth is usually a different matter, entirely. I feel sorry for my first ever girlfriend. She's a lesbian now. I respect that decision and take some credit for it. Go be the best lesbian you can! We were so incredibly bad at it! Traumatic experiences, which make condoms the least desirable choice of protection until this very day! Neither one of us had ever been with someone before, she was a virgin and I... well, I don't mean to brag, but...

He calls me daddy. If you know what I mean...

So yeah. There wasn't much proper "intercourse" in the actual sense. More like... imagine you're the UPS guy and you really want to deliver a parcel. But you can't get in, so you just bang against the door a bit and leave a sticky. And with lack of success comes frustration, which leads to a certain amount of deflation and that's when we realized that the condom had gone. But where?
We begun the search in what we assumed to be the most logical place at the time. Well, I searched, because there clearly wasn't enough room for two in there. But poking around brought no joy, so we thought maybe I could see it somehow. She put her legs on my shoulders in a semi-headstand and when I still didn't find anything, we highlighted the area in question with a fucking desk lamp. It genuinely looked like I was about to interrogate her vagina. "Where have you been between 9:10 and 9:12 and where did the fucking condom go?"
It was on the floor the whole time.

Sometimes it's easier to take things down a notch, get hang of the basics and wait with the pro stuff until you know what the hell you're doing. So the next time we were together, I kissed her Australian style. You know, like French, but down under. When I woke up in the morning, she had disappeared. Without waking me up, without saying a word, just like that. To make things weirder, there was blood everywhere! On the sheets, the covers, everywhere on the bed... one look in the bathroom mirror revealed it was all over my face, as well. Holy fuck, I ATE HER! Well, not exactly. Turned out she got her period that exact same night and got embarassed and ran off.

-Cat