7.6.08

WORLD'S FIRST INSTANT MESSENGER INDUCTION

Sophie: oh i got you a baby
AMP: thank fuck!
AMP: this one's clearly not working out properly
Sophie: maybe just a little sleepy?
AMP: just lazy and hates deadlines
can't think who he takes after in that
Sophie: no me neither
although why your baby would take after ME i have no idea
AMP: hee hee
Sophie: maybe i am The Real Father
AMP: he's born to freelance
Sophie: that could be a new bruce springsteen song
Born To Freelance
Sophie: so this baby
shall i get a big poking stick?
maybe tickle you with a feather duster
AMP: dunno, i've tried everything
sex, jumping on trampoline, eating pineapples, eating spicy food
nipple twiddling
raspberry leaf tea
EVERYTHING
Sophie: hahah
happpppy thoughts
little baby come out of your bum
come out, come out
AMP: yay
today i hope
GET OUT JIMMY
Sophie: maybe i could induce him
via IM
AMP: do it
Sophie: would that be a first?
AMP: shove a virtual pessary
Sophie: hmm
AMP: up my virtual front bum
i'm ready
Sophie: yeah baby
AMP: i'm braced
Sophie: PESSARY
PESSARY
MAKE AMP'S FRONT BUM A MESSARY
AMP: gneeee
i think it's working
Sophie: HERE IS VIRTUAL LABOUR
FROM AN INTERNET SAVIOUR
AMP: SQUEAL
Sophie: JIMMY JIMMY YOU'RE INDUCED
Sophie: ITS OVER NINE MONTHS SINCE YOUR PARENTS REPRODUCED
SO COME ON JIMMY
FEEL THE PESSARY FROTHING AND SLIDING
AND MAKE TONIGHT THE NIGHT
FOR YOUR WINKIE TO START SUBSIDING
DOWN THE VALLEY THEY CALL MAMA
ALONG THE FJORDS OF AMP
TRY TO JEMMY YOUR WAY OUT
DOWN THE BABY RAMP
AMP: sophus, you're a geniass
Sophie: is it there yet? oof i heard a splat
AMP: eep
Sophie: little swedish baby
AMP: i think the baby is....
BROWN
Sophie: OH WOW
its like a benetton advert
AMP: no wait
wait
IT'S GINGER!
Sophie: a brown, ginger, scandinavian baby
OH WOW
ITS BROWN AND GINGER
it's a double-whammy. a double-jimmy
AMP: good old jimmy
AMP: GET OUT JIMMY
AMP: GET OUT JIMMY
AMP: GET OUT JIMMY

Labels: , , , ,


Psst - Subscribe to AMPnet by RSS or email. It's simple and fun!

|

3.6.08

OVERDUE BLUES

violet bearegardeI've got to at least *try*.

I want so much to be upbeat and hurrahtastic about life, in my writing at least. Writing is magic: it turns mundanity to gold. Even the dullest party can seem a little bit glittery when you write it down, even if all you did was watch strangers dance while your best friend gets off with a boy in a toilet and you get rejected by a gay man when you weren't even after anything from him, not even a line.

But the reason this blog's been so dead is because, well, the last few weeks of pregnancy really ARE as shitty as everyone says they are, and who wants to write / read about that?

Well, me. I do. Inspired by Baby on Bored, a whingetastic blog if ever there was one, I have decided to just fucking go for it. Whinge for Britain. I've also been greatly enjoying whinging on Mumsnet with other people in the same boat as I am, e.g., several days past the day when the baby was magically supposed to hear a big ding-dong DEALINE EMERGENCY BEEP BEEP WHUP WHUP bell going off and start heaving itself out of my vagina - oops sorry, i mean 'birth canal'. (Love that image, as anyone who is familiar with Regent's Canal will understand. Though perhaps it is not as distant as I might hope, as several of my friends have drunkenly tumbled into Regent's Canal, and several of my friends have also drunkenly tumbled into my 'birth canal', though the rates of survival do seem to be higher from the latter, cases of infection far more rare, and an ambulance was only required for extraction that one time).

Anyway. I digress. Though I sit here at eight in the morning after another sleepless night, with my swollen feet plunged in a bowl of ice-cold water, and a frozen flannel beside my laptop ready to apply to my carpal-tunnel-plagued wrists and fingers every half-sentence or so, and though my belly is so big with child that I look like Violet Beauregarde just before she had to be rolled out of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, I must write.

If I do not write, I will explode. I no longer care about public image, maintaining a persona, or turning shit into gold through the alchemy of textual intercourse. Sometimes, shit is just shit. And the last few weeks of pregnancy, with a baby inside you that refuses to budge? It's shit. And it's time I started to admit that.

Watch this space.

Labels: , ,


Psst - Subscribe to AMPnet by RSS or email. It's simple and fun!

|
© AMP 2K+
 
THIS IS THE AMP BLOG

in-the-bathroom AMPNET is edited by AMP, a freelance writer from London. The site developed from a print fanzine called AMP MINIZINE. To find out more, please see our press section, or contact us.

ARCHIVES

RECENT COMMENTS

BLOGROLL
Keytars and Violins
Jessica Hopper
Dollymix
Fluxblog
Kieron Gillen
Unpop
UpsettheRhythm

CATEGORIES
FEMINISM
SEX
ZINES
MUSIC

RECENT POSTS
PLAN B = R.I.P
ON HIATUS
CHECK YR HEAD
SAYING HELLO TO DADDY
BIRTH STORY
GOT OUT JIMMY!
INDUCTION
WIKIPEDIA ENTRY
THE WHIZ BIZ
WORLD'S FIRST INSTANT MESSENGER INDUCTION

www.flickr.com
This is a Flickr badge showing public photos from ampster. Make your own badge here.


SUBSCRIBE BY EMAIL:

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner


SUBSCRIBE BY RSS: