Fistbiter Blues: The Tides of Lust

Academia's a strange path, you spend most of your childhood in room reading books and comics, thinking to yourself...'hmmm there must be people out there on the same wavelength as me, maybe if I keep at this I'll meet them. Then as a PhD candidate you find that you've got to spend most of your fucking time in your room reading books and comics anyway....arse.

This isn’t a problem during summer where there are only lunatics around and it's probably better to stay in your room. Norwich has a Quantity Theory of Insanity vibe about it. It has a certain amount of craziness shared equally among it’s denizens. So when all the students leave over the summer, all the craziness gets equally distributed among all us poor mooks that are left behind. October and November, however, saw the usual influx of students from all over the world and the unseasonally mild weather made for a scantily clad perkfest well into winter months that would usually require winter coats: all hail global warming. Yet again one is struck with the afflictions of being a ‘lustcripple in norksville’ A phenomenon was observed by myself and the Badbrute as we happened upon the UEA Angels* cheerleading training 'routine'. Even this was enough to have us buckled in the throes of lust. In this freshers period my cranial fluids get consumed with the tides of lust. Everyone's so perky and friendly, they do not realize they are talking to someone who has been stuck here far too long and is just about to keel over.

Norwich is a pretty small place but every year there’s this influx of smart, arty hot American ladies, which are my only weakness, you know, apart from all the booze and porn. The size of UEA and Norwich also means that if you’re wandering around town/campus and see someone who’ve got the hots for, it’s only a matter of time before you get introduced them at a party at like 2am or something. If this happens, I generally go all diddums and talk really fast. I talk fast anyway** worse if I’ve had a few pints, in which case I talk faster and faster until I reach a sort of critical mass where I can’t speak any more and a friend has to prop me up against a wall where I just gurn to myself for a while and then go home and watch Office Space, or Henry Fool or The Big Lebowski or Spaced something. I don’t know what would happen if I went to live in America, I’d probably explode or something.

Anyway, this tongue-twisting horniness now occurs even without extensive alcohol consumption. A coworker recently had a great party that went on for like 24 hours, it was insane with fireworks, decks and goth type poi excitement. One of ladies at the party was an amazing amazonian goth who seemed about 7 foot tall if you counted the heels and heair do (with a not just a boyfriend but, as 'CS' put it 'a full-blown' husband...drats). Anyway as she passed I couldn't contain myself and crouched down and bit my fist in what I can only describe as a 'lust crash position'. (badly recreated here: you could always try and do better and email them to me and I can do a 'fistbiter gallery') . It became a sort of unofficial salute in the kitchen every day when I came in for a while. It was one of those Monday morning conversatiosn in the kitchen, the head chef goes 'do remember bit your fist behind that amazing goth girl?' and there 'no'....oh wait a minute...'yes'.


*A friend of mine recently said he was going to the UEA Angels 'slave auction', and I thought to myself what? you bid on amounts to pay them to stay the fuck away from you? The Americans just do certain things better, cheerleading's just one of them. Some even combine cheerleading and religious fundamentalism! check out The Christian Cheerleaders of America: Building people before pyramids they're priceless: "The true purpose of cheerleading is to be a really awesome source of spirit and support and when done correctly can make a big difference in the morale, spirit and sportsmanship of a ball game". These guys are more my style.
**In the new year, I'll be TV talking about Vic and Bob, I talked for about two hours with my ranting media studies spiels. Afterwards the producer goes, 'amazing stuff, but it will be a nightmare to edit", I recounted this to the Badbrute, "story of your life" he presciently replies.

(I wrote this a while back and the sheen of going out and the fresher influx has been knocked off by my illness a bit. Plus the fact that Norwich has a habit of sucking the perky enthusiasm out people pretty damn quick. I'm quite happy to stay in now and read comics. As I said to 'FI' on the bus, 'I am retreating from the salon.. I've had my fill'...I momentarily had a terribel vision of a future where there were letterboxes big enough to accept pizza boxes and Taschen hardbacks so I wouldn't need to leave the house, epecially when my RealDoll* arrived. Three years of the grad bar means three years of the same sort of people doing almost identical courses, which means they have the same fucking arguments. I'm like don't drag me into it and give out because someone 'dissed' your favorite writer. I literally could not give a solitary fuck if you think writer 'X' is far supererior to writer 'Y', and I don't think they care either, they're probably up in heaven...riding.)

*On second thoughts they look a bit creepy, knowing my luck I'd probably get a haunted one..they're doing a discount fro christmas though, which is nice, some gentlemen will get to spend Christmas with 'company'. As Laura The Tooth has pointed out there's only one man doll! I'll just stick to my dodgy books.