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The Diary of a Disaster Queen - Lord Farquaad and I


“A day ago I had my finger in your ass hole and now it’s like I don’t even know you”. I lay awake stiff as a board, fully clothed and completely mortified by my own actions.

I’d been casually hooking up with Chris for the last few weeks, each time I had been drunk and I don’t think we’d kissed even once. It wasn’t anything romantic for either of us; he had enjoyed pursuing me for a while and I had enjoyed running away each time he asked me to go home with him, until finally giving in after too much merlot.

He distinctly reminded me of Lord Farquaad from ‘Shrek’, petite with a big head and a persona that can only be described as the dictionary definition of ‘short man syndrome’. Nonetheless, his dick was as big as his ego and so we slept together nearly every Wednesday for about a month.

It’s the modern fairytale; when we were both out with separate friends and it didn’t look likely that either of us would pull, it would be a game of ‘who calls who’ and whether we were bothered to travel to the other’s houseshare to have meaningless, empty and very fast sex, often anal but mostly regular and usually from behind so I didn’t have to look at him. (I’d often catch him looking at himself in the mirror mid-doggy and I’d physically have to stop myself from laughing by pushing my face into a pillow, which he obviously thought was to stop the screams of pleasure).

This particular night, the bar that I worked in had a $5 drink special (Ah, Australia ex-prisoners know how to party) and so naturally I turned up already out of my mind and continued throwing back as many cheap Hendricks/cucumbers as I possibly could until I wasn’t in charge of my own brain anymore, which was a faculty i was growing tired of anyhow.

Mother’s ruin started obligingly taking over my mind, so much so that when I saw Chris sitting at the bar with his friend’s fiancé I charged over there in a drunken rage and demanded to know who she was. “I don’t like you” I could barely get the sentence out, “who even are you anyway?” “Why isn’t he buying me a drink?! CUNT!” I was a mess, that I didn’t get fired from my job that night was a miracle.

I can distinctly remember Chris’ face at the time; embarrassed to be associated with me yet beaming with pride that someone was getting jealous because of him, his warped ego is the only reason I can think of as to why he stuck around me that night. I was ridiculously unpredictable. I could have easily thrown up, passed out or glassed someone in the face at any given point and probably all at once.

After moving on to a late night pool hall and being given Ribena to drink instead of red wine (not that I could even tell the difference, “this wine is delicious!” I exclaimed, “tastes just like pop!”) I was eventually escorted out of the building by a bouncer known only as ‘Shoulders’. I of course had, with lightning wit, told him my name was ‘heads, knees and toes’ before falling into a taxi next to the Dreamworks villain protesting that we go to his house; “to Bondi!”.

I ran upstairs to his bedroom and fell asleep on top of the sheets to be awoken the next day by a gut feeling that I had something to apologise for. My awkward position in his bed made the room a tense place to be and I couldn’t wait to get out of there but I was stuck, completely frozen with shame and had no idea of what to say. I stared at the ceiling for a while until finally I silently shuffled down the bed and out of the house with shoes in my hand like a bad one night stand.

Ironically, the night before this ordeal we’d actually had quite a nice evening, if you minus the fact that he’d ignored me in front of his friends and fingered my bum hole until I was practically Elton John, we had started to get on well and we’d even shared a laugh about how his flat mate once ruined a girl’s brand new couch after wiping his jizzy penis on its cream cushions.

After that night things were never the same with the two of us. We did try to make it as friends, but the fact that he now had my green eyed gin monster permanently etched into his mind meant that our ‘relationship’ never left the ground again… Unless of course you count the time we attempted a foursome and he couldn’t get an erection?


Disaster Queen