Monday, October 13, 2008

oliver the horny boerbull

Horny dogs alive.

So.

On Saturday night I went to The Dove's sisters place to quaff wine in the sun with everyone and talk shit.

Well.

Her giant boerbull, Oliver, decided it suddenly needed to energetically try and procreate with my leg.
The dog was insatiable; I ended up running around the garden screaming as Oliver and his hungry eyes tried to hump me publicly. In front of the wine drinkers.

Then he went and ejaculated on my handbag.

And for the rest of the afternoon, I was called The Spoodge On The Bag Girl.
Awesome. Why does this shit always happen to me?

Thought maybe it was time to be social – I haven't been to a digs party in months. Went with a mate to some large and chaotic bash involving cane and lots of drunk people, and realised that I might just be over this vibe now.

Sitting pretty at 28, I found a dog jizzing on my Chloe bag more fun than dudes trying to pick me up by telling me how awesome it is to be an accountant.
Maybe it was just the party. Got wired on cane and bounced around mainly laughing at people.

The digs party just seemed very...two years ago. I felt very out of the whole scene. Albeit, in a very good way.

Oh, I went on a breakfast date on Saturday morning.
Isn't that a novel idea? Breakfast date – over Earl Grey and eggs & bakey. At Contessa's, that tea connoisseur place in Rivonia. Endless types of tea all served in posh little tea cups.

My mum and grandparents bought Creole room service around this weekend, because I never have anything more substantial than wine and brie in my fridge.

I know I am a bachelorette, but I really am living like a bachelor at the moment.

'Mais Laurian! What do you eet?
Oh trust me Grandmere, I eat. I'm a hot contender for the Who Ate All The Pies? game.

My grandfather is now talking to himself while we're all in the room and asked my mother if 'Peas still writes her gog.'
'Yes she still writes her blog.' My poor mother is going mad.

PS: Rock with your cock out, hang with your wang out, jam with your clam out.
The last part of that phrase...isn't it poetry?

11 comments:

Revolving Credit said...

So I see you finally got some action.

Seeing as you've probably dated some dogs in your day, this is just one more to add to your collection...although, this is probably the 1st one to grease your bag..I hope.

Peas on Toast said...

wahahaha

Yeah nothing out of the ordinary for Peas On Toast - just another male dog really :)

Oliver was a gorgeous dog though, it must be said. Just a little horny and shifty eyed, which made him scary.

kyknoord said...

Poetry? It's the dog's bollocks!

Peas on Toast said...

Kyk - did you jam out with your clam out big guy?

Mini said...

Pea

Seems the dog has excellent taste huh?

(I meant the handbag!)

Peas on Toast said...

Wahaha.

The Dove's is a genuine, and he decided to jizz all over mine. Can I tell you if was the most disgusting thing I have experienced in a very very long time.

zuzula said...

Nice! I love the idea of a breakfast date. i trust there was some breakfast champagne involved...?

Peas on Toast said...

Zu - You know what, there actually wasn't!
I need to sort that shit out. :)

The Blonde Blogshell said...

Wow...so Beastiality isn't your thing?
Eeewwww!! Woah. Can't believe I just typed that. I feel better in the fact that I probably didn't spell that correctly.
I hope.

Oh and I love the little Tea Place in Rivonia. It's so quaint and proper like. I feel sophisticated and ALWAYS feel like cucumber sarmies.

Peas on Toast said...

Blondie....yeah am more into, you know OTHER fetishisms besides beastiality....:)


Isn't that a relief ;)

Jarrad said...

Why does every digs have a possie of fucking accountants?

They need to learn how to party like gypsies.