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| December 1 2001 Saturday I wet the bed last night. Yesterday I'd seen an article in one of my mother's womens magazines, 'Chat' I think it was called, or maybe 'Nag'. It said that children who wet the bed needed a lot of affection and understanding. I thought 'I can do with some of that', so I told my mother that I'd wet it. (The bed, not the article) A bit later she said it was odd that my bed was wet yet my pyjamas were bone dry. Thinking quickly, I said my dick most have been poking out through the fly of my pyjama bottoms. She told me not to call my dick my dick. She didn't tell me what else I should call it, but the next time I have to mention it to her there are plenty of names I have for it that I can use. We once had a competition to see who knew the most names for it and I came a close second to Stinking with forty three. Went to the multiplex cinema to see Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'. It wasn't bad, although I thought that it would have been better, all the money they spent on it. In my opinion some of the money would have been better spent on penis transplants for underprivileged boys, especially one called Adrian Mole. I hope my little nephew Harry Potter knows that's he's going to have to learn to fly on a broomstick. When he comes to stay with us for Christmas I might try him out on our long brush from the top of our stairs. |