You'd already been about half an hour with your pre-clubbing shower. i had always planned to have a look in your special winnie the pooh book. the place was marked and it was there in blue and white. it just said simply, "paul stayed last night." next i was on the bog and you got down on one knee. you were protesting your innocence and you started to cry just as i started to pee. you said, "i didn't shag him, he slept on the couch in the kitchen. he might as well be a girl, he's a good for a laugh and he's good for bitchin'." you said you'd never be willing or able. and he looks like he was made on a fucking table. although, to be fair, i think he hides the bolts quite well, but as soon as he opens his mouth you can just tell. i had just assumed you'd completely gone off shagging and i can you seen you with your new uni pals, standing bragging. now he's your boyfriend and i know you were talking shite but you still denied it when i met you at someone's birthday party the other night. you said, "i didn't shag him, he stayed on the couch in the kitchen. he's just like one of the girls, we have a good laugh when we're sitting bitchin'." the words that you used to think turned me on just made me laugh. "do you want to suck my cunt?" in real life just sounds naff. and when we were with your friends i just as might as well have been no one. and you can't get over your dead dog - well it takes one to know one.