The Mad March Moomin

After a short winter break, the birthday season has popped its expensive head out from between my thighs once again. The first out of hibernation was the Snork Maiden. She travelled all the way from Moominvalley, down to the riverside and beckoned us all to celebrate the anniversary of her existence by entering The Fish.

I was a little late for the fishy fun, as I was stuck at work, getting in the party mood by listening to lots of Mew-style Danepop. Little My had been felled by another bout of sick, so I was left to fend off the Scandinavian troll-browsers and idiot card machine on my own.

Once the pressie ripping frenzy had abated we left the warm, comforting bowels of the aquatic being and retired to enjoy lashings of Moomintroll Marmite on Mickey Mouse toast and a spot of Jay Aston. Then, with very little prior warning, Snufkin got all exited and began to give poor Sniff a generous buffalo lap-stance. This was not my first experience of birthday lap dancing, but 'twas by far the most disturbing, not least because my brother was the exotically erotic strip-monger. Judge for yourself, as Fillyjonk has helpfully displayed the arousing event for all the world to see.


Now to bed, as I have important Glasto ticket buying business to attend to in the cold, early morning.