Friday, 28 September 2007

Is that an Uzi, or are you just pleased to see me?.......

Hello again. Sneaked into Davina’s office, got to keep an eye out for the Polish though. Had a close call yesterday, I presume you know about me having to store the Nokia up my bottom, well I was nearly caught red handed. It needed charging, but I didn’t want to leave it laying around in full view, so I decided to charge it while it was still hidden! I was cleaning my teeth, and so was facing into the cell, so my back was stupidly on full view.
All was going well until one of the Polish nurses saw the mains lead hanging down between my legs from under my regulation smock. I heard a gaggle of Polish shouting from behind me, and then my cell door opening. I spun round to be confronted by four huge nurses, all standing there with their arms folded. They all gazed down to the wire hanging there, and then back up to me. One of the nurses then said to me in pigeon English “What wire doing coming from out of bottom?” I knew that if ever there was a time in my life that I needed to think on my feet, this was most certainly it. The problem was, that my mouth and my brain seemed to be completely at logger heads. It went something like this…….
Mouth “I”
Brain “Come on think”
Mouth “I”
Brain “Don’t repeat yourself, it looks suspicious”
Mouth “I am”
Brain “Brilliant, two words, that will throw them off the scent”
Mouth “A homosexual”
Brain “WHAT?”
Mouth “And I”
Brain “Oh dear God, where is he going with this?”
Mouth “Have a vibrator… my bottom”
Brain “Sigh”
Mouth “It runs on rechargeable batteries”
Brain “mmm, green, that should get a few votes”
Mouth “And I have decided to recharge it, while it is……. in situ”
Brain “An unlikely scenario, but they are Polish, and therefore may hopefully not be completely au fait with British customs”
Four sets of Polish eyebrows raised in one perfect synchronized movement. “You English men. You like the bottom fun yes. We Polish men are real men, and like the front bottom fun, yes”
They all started to laugh, and jostle each other about in and East European sort of way. I had started to relax a little by now, as I thought this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. Just when all the laughing and jostling had died down, we all heard “Fucking shirt lifter”. Oh dear oh dear oh dear Jim, I thought to myself, will you never learn. With this, all four Pols rushed from my cell, and bundled Jim down the corridor to the ‘Un-politically correct correctional facility’. The screams kept me awake for the rest of the night.
We had our visit from Father O’toole yesterday, or ‘Father tooled up’ as I like to call him. I am still very wary of anyone or anything remotely Catholic. Despite much electric shock therapy, I am still convinced the Pope has put a price on my head. I am extremely concerned about the bulge under Father tooled up’s cassock. If that’s not a pair of Uzi 9mm sub machine guns under there, I am a Dutchman. I try my damndest not to be left alone with him. I have this vision of him getting me into an out of the way room, on some pretext of giving me spiritual guidance or something, then whipping up his cassock, and spraying me with hot lead.
I do wish we could wear our own clothes, I do hate these regulation smocks we are made to wear. It’s not great indoors, but outside in the exercise yard, it can be very drafty. Of course I am most worried about the wind whipping up my smock, and exposing my Nokia. I have found the only way to conquer this problem, is to tuck the smock in between my legs. Unfortunately this means that I have to sort of mince along to keep the smock in place. This of course is doing nothing to help my reputation with the Pols. I am getting pretty fed up with them winking at me, and blowing kisses as I am standing in the dinner queue. Jim came back from the ‘Un-politically correct correctional facility’ earlier. It was good to see him still defiant. As he was being marched handcuffed back to his cell, he could still be heard shouting various politically incorrect phrases at the top of his voice. “Shirt lifter”…….Nik Nik”…….Sambo”…….Chalkie”. He has got his dignity, if nothing else!
Cleopatra next door has had her foot spa taken away. She was not at all pleased about this, and poured the two pints of semi skimmed all over herself before the nurses could confiscate it. Cleopatra, Jim and myself were in the TV room this evening watching ‘Celebrity firing squad’, when a new patient (Or housemate as Davina likes to call us) was brought in. His name is Nigel, and he is apparently a manic depressive. Jim immediately saw this as an opportunity to tell him a joke about a Jew, a Muslim, and a queer. Cleopatra draped herself over him in a queen like way, and it was at this point that the Nokia went off, and he was treated to a muffled ‘oops I did it again’. We have heard he has been put on suicide watch.
I had to have my ‘one to one’ with Davina today. To be honest, I find it very difficult to take anything she says seriously. When you are sitting opposite a mustachioed, monocle wearing, dwarf with a peculiar hair cut, nothing she says seems to matter very much. She is very ‘right on’. Your typical do gooding, slightly femenisty, Guardian reading, equal rights, hug a hoodie, save the planet social worker type of woman. Tries to see the good in people, you know all that kind of stuff. How the hell she see’s any good in Rafael the mass murderer I don’t know. Rafael was found guilty of murdering an entire room of Liberal democrats at one of their constituency meetings. This I suppose is to some extent understandable, but what really upset people I think, is that he then posed them all in sitting positions, gave them all drinks (Which incidentally he bought, even though he had killed the bar staff!), and proceeded to do his racist stand up routine. After he had initially done all the murdering, the building was under siege for two days, while the police tried to talk him out. Things took a turn for the worse when they heard the first ‘A one legged Jewish lesbian walked into a bar’ joke, But the SWAT team were straight in there when he lit a cigarette. Rafael is not permitted to mix with Jim. Davina thinks this could be a deadly cocktail, that could result in a bloodbath. During my ‘one to one’, Davina said she wanted to put my fears about Father Tooled up to rest once and for all. Father tooled up then walked in, and whipped up his cassock. What was under his cassock was not at all what I expected to see, but it was most definitely not a pair of Uzi’s. Father tooled up is now three cells down from me…….Now, where did I put those clogs!

Wednesday, 26 September 2007

Out of the frying pan, and into the fire.......

Psst…..hello, Andy here. I can’t be long as I think my friend Norman has told you, I am in the Matron’s office, covertly! I don’t know what the hell I’m doing in here, I keep telling everyone, there is nothing wrong with me. Been about a week now that I have been held against my wishes. They keep telling me it’s for my own good. And where the bloody hell is Miss Marple? I suppose Norman told you about the file in the cake fiasco. Very bloody amusing, I don’t know what she is playing at. Apparently I had a funeral and everything. Anyway, everybody in here is absolutely stark raving bloody mental. In the cell, sorry, I mean room next to me, there is a woman who is convinced she is Cleopatra. She tried taking a bath in asses milk yesterday, well I say a bath of asses milk, does a foot spa with two pints of semi skimmed count? You will never believe who is in the room on the other side of me, only Jim bloody Davidson! Yes, apparently he was brought straight here after being kicked off of ‘Hells Kitchen’. They told him he was being flown back to Dubai, but whisked him straight in here. I talk to him through the bars sometimes late at night. We have formed an escape committee. So what’s it like in here I hear you ask. Well apart from being here against my will, it’s not all bad I suppose. We are free to roam the building and the grounds during the day, but it’s lockdown at night. This is when me and Jim take our trips back to the seventies, we both like it back there. The Matron is called Devina. She is four foot ten, has a haircut that looks like someone has put a bowl on her head and cut round it, a small moustache, and occasionally wears a monical. I personally think this is just for show, but I wouldn’t swear by it. She struts around in her air wear boots, followed closely by the nurses. Now these aren’t the female, slightly sexy type, no these are big buggers. Poor old Jim had to go for a counselling session today in the ‘Politically uncorrect correction facility’. He says he is holding out though, and good on him. Jim and myself wander around the place, trying to make as many politically uncorrect comments as we can get away with.
I don’t know how long they are expecting to keep me in here, but me and Jim are planning to go over the wall as soon as we can. After having a ’little chat’ with Davina, I am apparently in here because they say I am suffering from delusions of grandeur. I have told them to stop being ridiculous, and to only speak to me, when they are spoken to. Don’t they know I am a Genius for Christ’s sake? Anyway, better go, because I can hear the guards coming round on their patrol. Thankfully I have made a pretend me from pillows, a grapefruit and a baseball cap, which I have laid in my bed so it looks like I am there……. you see, genius!
Speak to you all soon. I will try and get some sleep sandwiched between Jim Davidson, and Cleopatra…….it’s a funny old world!
P.S. If any of you feel like starting a ’Free the Yarmouth two’ campaign, please feel free.
P.P.S. For all of you out there with my number, please only phone me if it is an absolute emergency. Even the Polish are starting get wind of my Britney Spears rues.

Thursday, 20 September 2007

Elvis Lives!.......

Hello all, Norman here again. Where do I begin? Things have moved on rapidly since the last, and what I thought was going to be, final blog of Andy Mule. I have been contacted by the police, and it transpires that, that blithering idiot Mule faked his own death! Nobody is completely sure why he attempted to do it, it’s thought it had something to with him thinking he had upset the Catholic church in one of his blogs. He apparently became convinced that the Pope had put a price on his head, and that he was going to be taken out! This combined with his disillusionment at not becoming a top selling author, was enough to push him over the edge. So he concocted this ridiculous plan. Quite where he was going to go, I don’t know. The police told me that he was found wandering up and down Great Yarmouth beach, wearing just a loin cloth, that he had fashioned from sea weed. He was allegedly muttering to himself something about “misunderstood genius”, or some other such rubbish. I of course have been made to look a complete fool, having tearfully read out the eulogy at his ‘funeral’. How could this happen? I hear you ask, what about a body. Well, it seems that once Miss Marple learned of Andy’s disappearance, and suspected death, she didn’t wait for a body to be found, and went ahead and started to organise the funeral. She promised the local funeral director a large some of money, if he would ‘find’ a body to put in the coffin. The coroner was also in on the scam, having been promised a villa in Toremelinos, and they all would have got away with it, if Andy hadn’t turned up on Yarmouth beach. It’s a shame, because it was a lovely funeral, although I did find it a little inappropriate that Miss Marple was wearing a mini skirt and boob tube. I tried to tell her this at the grave side, but I think she was having a little difficulty hearing me, due to the din made by the fireworks display. Anyway, Miss Marple, the funeral director, and the coroner are all out on bail, having been questioned at length about attempting to defraud the insurance company.
But what of Andy? I don’t think it would be unreasonable of me to never have anything to do with that bastard ever again, but we go back along way, and I don’t like to see the poor old bugger in the predicament that he finds himself in. Once he had been picked up by the police, he was sectioned, and taken to the ‘Great Yarmouth home for the immeasurably bewildered‘. He is only allowed visitors once a week, and not allowed to make any phone calls. We are managing to communicate however, because Andy somehow smuggled in his mobile phone. The patients are searched on a regular basis, but he says he has secreted it about his person. I don’t want to think about this for too long really, but it seems to have worked so far. He tried having it set on vibrate at first, due to not wanting to alert the guards by it ringing, but gave up on this because the guards were becoming suspicious when he fidgeted violently, crossed his watering eyes, and yelped every time I rang him. He is now (dangerously in my opinion) using his old ring tone. Now when I call him, Britney Spear’s ‘Oops I did it again’ emanates form his anus. I have told him about that ring tone, but will he listen?…….anyway, he explains this away by telling the guards that he suffers from a rare genetic condition known as, ‘melodic flatulence’ I think he has only got away with it so far, because all the staff are Polish. Thank God for immigration eh? He did make a request to Miss Marple that she bake him a cake with a file inside. She baked a four foot square Victoria sponge with a Lever Arch file in it. Under the circumstances an understandable, but still cruel practical joke!
I have told him that he owes his disciples an explanation, it’s really the least he could do. He has assured me that as soon as he can get access to a computer, he will whack off a quick one. (Blog obviously) This could be sometime, as the only computer he can get his hands on is the one in the Matron’s office. He can only sneak in there late at night, and all the while he has to keep one eye out for the patrolling guards. So expect a posting soon. He wanted me to tell you that he is baring up under the strain of it all, and despite having a Nokia up his rectum, he is managing to walk tall.
Yours Norman.

Tuesday, 18 September 2007

Ignorance and bliss.......

Hello all, my name is Norman. I am Andy's friend. I am afraid I have some bad news. Andy Mule is dead, yes that's right, Mr Mule has passed on. He unfortunately died in a boating accident, the details of which are still sketchy. Shortly after his fortieth birthday, he was seen leaving the house, and towing a boat behind his car. He looked very dishevelled, and was heard muttering something about "Bloody Philistines".......nobody is quite sure what he was talking about, but he didn't appear in full control of his faculties. The next thing I know, i recieve a text from Andy, saying that he was off to find an island called sanctuary. A day or so later, I recieved another text, which said he had found the island, but just like the rest of life, it wasn't as good as he thought it was going to be. He then went on to say he was heading back. A day or so later, he texted me again to say a violent storm had capsised his boat, but he had managed to swim back to the island. That is the last I heard from him. A few days later we were contacted by the police and told that Andy had tried to build a craft to escape the island. Apparently he had fashioned it by binding together lumps of inspiration, and securing them with threads of hope. Unfortunately he was finally overcome, and drowned. His little raft of hope and inspiration was finally overwhelmed by the relentless, merciless, and unfortunately inevitable sea of mediocracy.
A few years ago, Andy once told me that if he should pass before me, he would just like two simple things to be read at his funeral. I granted him this wish, they are as follows. One was by Oscar Wilde, and the other by himself (Conceited to the last)!
Wilde......."We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars"
Andy......."Ignorance is bliss.......until one is surrounded by it!"
Well he always was a bit of a pretentious twat!
R.I.P. Andy Mule.

Friday, 7 September 2007

Post birthday blues.........

Oh God. It's 5.53 on Saturday morning, the 8th Sep 2007. Yes yesterday was the big birthday, and everything was rosie. Had a great day out with Miss Marple and ronnie and Reggie, and then a curry to follow in the evening. But for some reason, I am now feeling a bit low (ish). Not anywhere near being talked down from the top of a building low, just a bit yuk. I should imagine the hangover isn't helping, and the fact that it's 6.00am is adding to the woes. Perhaps the realisation of the 40 thing has finally hit home, I don't know, but I must try and snap out of it. Miss Marple bought me a ride in a racing car for my birthday present! It's in three weeks time. So i have now got 21 days to lose 2 stone! Apparently I'm not officially over weight for the car, but i don't want any embarrassing moments, like getting wedged in the car or anything! Going to go and wander about the house for a bit, and try and shake of the blues mobile that is hot on my tail. Ho hum......

Thought for the day. Why does bad always have to follow good?.....or is it that the bad is actually the prelude to the good?......those bloody chickens and eggs!

Thursday, 6 September 2007

No sex please.......we're British.......

The British. We can be a prudish lot can’t we? I don’t really know why this is, but apparently it has got something to do with the Victorians. Them lot and their table legs eh?…….tut. This prudishness doesn’t seem to extend to our European neighbours, quite the opposite in fact. The Germans aren’t by any means bashful, and the Scandinavians even less so. The most sexually liberated among our European cousins, has to be the Swedes. I too am not easily embarrassed when it comes to talking all things sexual, I can only presume that way back when, I came from Scandinavian stock. Yes, when those old Nordics and the like were over here a rapin’ and a pillaging, my ancestors must have been conceived. There maybe some Viking in me you know. So as you have already no doubt gathered, today’s topic is all things sexual. Now calm down, I can already sense some fidgeting, and seat squirming going on. Just relax, take a deep breath, and come along with me on this journey. There really is nothing to be embarrassed about. Oh by the way, I will apologize in advance for any unintentional sexual puns or innuendos. I can’t be held responsible for you making up your own jokes!
So off we go. Where to start? Well, I think the easiest thing to do, is to list some categories, and write a little about each one. So where better a place to start than…….
Pornography is of course watching other people take part in sexual acts, for one’s own sexual gratification. Pornography is by no means a new thing. Way back when the first cameras were invented, men wondered what they could take photographs of. Shall I take a picture of that beautiful rainbow? Or perhaps that stunning waterfall. No what about that incredible mountain. No, I’ll tell you what, I’ll see if I can get fanny to get her kit off, and take some snaps of that! Even as far back as caveman days, us blokes were portraying naked women on our cave walls. Drawn with the juice of a berry or something, young Ugg or whatever his name was, liked nothing better, than banging one off over his primitive sketch of miss Ugg down the road! Yes, as far back as the dawn of time, man has liked nothing more than a bit of porn. Today, the porn industry is a world wide, mutli-billion dollar business. Porn is churned out around the clock, and just about all tastes are catered for. The 'performers' in these films, who were once looked down upon, are now revered, and attend adult film conventions, where they spend their time signing autographs etc.
Now you may be thinking that someone like myself, who would claim to be such a sexual libertine, would whole heartedly embrace pornography, but you would be partly wrong. While I think that limited viewing is harmless, and can even spice up a sexual partnership for example, over doing it can be bad. Just like anything else, everything in moderation. You see, the main problem with pornography, is that it is one of the biggest purveyors of lies and myths, the world has ever seen, and too much viewing of this material can lead to a distorted view of sex. The first myth that needs to be blown wide open, is that lesbians throughout the world, all look like page three girls. This of course is not the case. My limited knowledge of real life lesas, is that there seems to be a lot of crew cuts, dungarees, and Carlsberg special brew drinking. It is of course, almost every straight mans dream, to be the spam in a lesbian sandwich. If you asked me if I wanted to be the spam between two porn lesbians that looked like page three girls, the answer would be YES YES YES. If you asked me if I wanted to be the meat between Glenda and Sharon, the local crew cutted, dungaree wearing carpet munchers down the road, the answer would be NO NO NO! The next lie that needs to be exposed, is that all women are rampant for sexual activity, at any second of the day or night. This is of course complete balderdash. Any man who is married, or with a long term partner, will tell you that there are so many variables that need to be in place for intercourse to take place. It’s a wonder we ever get to do it at all. "Oh come on, you must be in the mood". "Well yes I am, but unfortunately, Sagittarius isn’t in Virgo, and it’s only a crescent moon. Plus Eastenders is about to start, there is an ‘R’ in the month, and there is neither a following wind, nor a lunar eclipse. So I am sorry, better luck next time"! Watching too much pornography, can delude men into thinking that it is actually possible to walk into a shoe shop, engage the enormous breasted girl behind the counter in some suggestive word play, and be merrily taking her over the ‘all sizes reduced’ stand, within forty-seven seconds of entering the shop. This is of course complete nonsense, as his worship kindly pointed out to me!
Moving on to my next expose, I suppose the classic myth is that all men have an appendage the size of Blackpool tower. Now come on, your average man has an average size penis. Just like he has average length arms, average length legs. An average size nose, ears etc. etc. It therefore goes without saying, that the trouser department will be average to. Again, viewing too many skin flicks can cause Mr Average to start to doubt the size of his manhood. He may start to feel like an outcast, inadequate, and if he is a particularly isolated individual who doesn’t partake in sports, and therefore is unable to view other men naked, or manage a ‘sneeky peak’ in the public toilets, he cannot compare himself to all his fellow Mr Averages, He may start to fixate on the delusion that he was under provided for by the good Lord. The irony of all this is of course, that he is in fact quite normal; it is actually ‘Randy jackhammer’ with his monstrous member who is in fact the freak. Also, you will never see ‘Jerome Slamdunker’ having trouble rising to the occasion, and uttering the words sheepishly to his lady friend, "Sorry about this love, I think I may have had one too many pints of ‘Old Growler’, give us a minute". No, this is because the porn industry employs young ladies as ‘fluffers’. A fluffer, for those who don’t know, are women employed to stimulate the male ‘actors', usually orally, and off camera, so when they are required for a scene, they are raring to go. The absolute tragedy of the porn industry is the rise of ‘Viagra’. This has had the effect of making ‘fluffers’ redundant. Apparently legions of them can be seen milling around outside job centres, lamenting over the ‘good old days’. It must be a strange day in the job centre when they turn up.
Job centre employee "So, what sort of work are you looking for"?
Fluffer "Have you got anything in fluffing"?
Job centre employee "Ooh sorry love, we have very few fluffing vacancies these days. It’s the Viagra you know"
Fluffer "You must have something for me"?
Job centre employee "Tell you what we have got, loads of opportunities in the massage parlor industry"
Fluffer "Massage parlors, how dare you madam, I am an artiste"!
I don’t want to dwell on pornography for too long (not like the bad old days, before Dr Shubert took me to his clinic)! but there is one more myth that pornographers would have you believe, and that is that your average lady/wife/girlfriend etc. likes nothing better than to kneel before a man, and have him (how can I put this delicately – I am trying, honest)…….er, make a deposit onto her. Oh dear, yes I can sense the seat squirming has become more rigorous. Stick with it. (The puns are mounting up aren’t they). Yes pornographic films would have us believe, the Miss Marples of the world are absolutely dying for us to come forth over them. Well back in reality, this isn’t really the case is it? And who can blame them. No, your average girl is not kneeling before her man like a wanton nymphomaniac, practically begging him to explode over her. ‘Lorna Likeithard’ may well be in ‘Rough Riders 18’, BUT IT'S NOT REAL IS IT? But don’t loose heart chaps. This scenario can be achieved. You will have to be gentle with your lady. A lot of tenderness, encouragement, persuasion, and …….oh alright, lets be honest…….payment is required. The problem is, that if agreement is reached, it is done so with certain provisos. Lets be frank, the eroticism of the moment is lost somewhat, when one looks down at one’s lady wearing a shower cap, rain coat, marigolds, and safety goggles!. Top this off with a face that looks like she has just sucked on a lemon, and it is a recipe for disaster. You see, God has screwed up again. When he started this creating the universe thing, he went at it like a bull at a gate. He should have taken five minutes, and thought about stuff a bit more. Let’s take this problem I have just mentioned for example. He made a man’s 'produce' all gooey and sticky, and get the idea. When if he had stepped back for a minute and thought about it, he would have made it a dry powder. This would have been a great help in the ‘facial’ situation, as I can’t imagine any reasonable woman objecting to a light dusting. Then of course, for the female facial aficionado, who prefers the real McCoy…….simply add tepid water, and hey presto! Right that’s enough on porn, lets move on…….
Now, I am by no means any kind of authority on the Bible, but I think I am correct in saying, that our good Lord considers any kind of sexual activity that isn’t based on the female becoming, or potentially becoming pregnant, to be a perversion. Well this just about dictates that the vast majority of human sexual activity is perverted! (Though probably not as perverted as this piece of ridiculous dogma). OOPS, that’s the Catholics after me. Is there such a thing as a Catholic Fatwa? So lets touch on a few "perversions", and see how things go.
Anal sex
Yes, bottom love is outlawed in religious circles. This practice can take two forms really, homosexual, and heterosexual. Up until a few decades ago, men partaking in a session of bottom fun could be imprisoned, or shot, or something. I think it is now perfectly legal. This is ironic to a certain degree, because I think it is still technically illegal to have anal sex with your wife! though I don’t really know how the police could possibly enforce this. Perhaps one day we will have A.R.S.E. squads. (Anti Rectal Sexual Encounters). I can just imagine it now, Gerald and Deidre are in bed, when Gerald turns to Deidre and says……."Am I correct in saying that you seem to be in the mood for a little backdoor action you little minx"? "Oh yes Gerald, you know me too well"
Just as Gerald and Deidre are ‘docking’, they hear a muffled "GO GO GO" From the landing. The bedroom door is blown off it’s hinges, and two men dressed head to toe in black, burst in and point sub machine guns at poor Gerald and Deidre. Meanwhile, two more A.R.S.E. members’ abseil from the roof, breach the window, throw in a stun grenade, and land on Deidre’s just hoovered carpet, in a shower of glass. This is followed immediately by Det. Insp. Rimmer marching into the bedroom," holding his warrant card aloft and shouting, "Alright, alright, that’s enough of that…….you’re fucking nicked"!
Phew, this is a strange one. Don’t want to delve too deeply into this area, an area I thankfully know virtually nothing about. Basically a desire to have sexual intercourse with dead bodies. (I’m squirming now). I have read of cases where necrophiles (99% men), will ask their partner to play dead as it were, while they carry on. I can’t really see why anyone would agree to this. I have often wondered how this subject is initially broached, how does a bloke tell his wife he wants to shag dead people? Perhaps while innocently asking her husband one day about his sexual fantasies, she stumbles upon the awful truth. There she was expecting him to mention threesomes, girl on girl etc etc, when all of a sudden he pipes up. Well darling as your asking, I really really fancy doing dead girls". A bigger passion killer, there cannot be.
A quote from the dictionary……."Fetishism, a condition in which the handling of an inanimate object, or a part of the body other than the sexual organs, is a source of sexual satisfaction". Or to put it another way, being turned on by carriage clocks or elbows! Yes this is a weird one. I think being aroused by a time piece or a limb joint is taking things a little too far, but many couples like to indulge in a little bit of innocent dressing up. A Lara Croft outfit is still moth balled, due to Miss Marples reluctance to wear it. On the other hand, I am in two minds about the traffic Warden costume she has lined up for me…….moving on.
To hit, or be hit. That is the question. Yes, these fellas like to whack each other. The whackers (sadists – ie. Sado), and the whackees (masochists), are interchangeable. This is the beauty of this particular form of sexual perversion. Both parties can give and receive, so everyone’s a winner. Various implements can be used, from a cat-o-nine tails, to a twelve inch ruler. Also, there are the ‘do it yourselfers’ those people who like to inflict pain upon themselves! I did see a documentary once, where a bloke wearing a leather mask was, well how can I put this?.......lets just say it involved a toilet roll holder, lined with sandpaper!
Enough of perversions, I am starting to feel queasy. Let’s go for the big one. The one where the most violent seat squirming is likely to take place. Yes you have guessed it…….MASTURBATION.
This seems to be the topic that most of all, out of all the various categories of sex, appears to cause the most blushing, and awkwardness.
Now the main problem with masturbation, is not that it makes you go blind, or you have to start shaving the palms of your hands, it’s that there is an enormous amount of inequality about the whole thing. Male masturbation and female masturbation, are treated totally differently.
If a man were to ‘come out’ if you like, and admit to masturbating, He would probably be dragged from his house, and tied to a tree, stoned to within an inch of his life, while people sniggered, and shouted abuse such as, "What, can’t you get a proper girlfriend you saddo"? He would be a pariah, an outcast, a social leper, destined to be ridiculed forever more by the baying crowd. If a woman on the other hand admitted to masturbating, she would be revered. She would probably be held aloft on the shoulders of her fellow ‘sisters’. Paraded through the streets, a heroin, a modern forward thinking woman who, is proud of her sexuality. An icon, an example of a woman who is ‘in touch’ with her sensuality. Bloody double standards or what? Women’s masturbation is even discussed on daytime television. Female masturbatory aids are paraded on ‘This morning’ with a panel of women who have test driven them, and who are now giving them bloody marks out of ten! This is all done with not a flinch of embarrassment, and is all perfectly acceptable. I can’t imagine in a hundred years, that Fern Britton, and Philip Schofield will ever be displaying a selection of Jazz mags on their program, and asking a panel of men to rate them.
Fern "So Colin, what did you think of ‘Open and Willing’?
Colin "Well fern, it were alright, I had a look right through the mag, before finally deciding to blow my load over ‘Suzy’ on page 87.
Fern "Thanks for that Colin, now Gavin over to you. Now you were given a selection of mags, which one was your favorite"?
Gavin "I had browse through them all, and although I was very fond of ‘Fen wives on heat’, and ‘Shaved and dangerous’, my particular favorites were ‘Under the burka’ (shit, that’s the Muslims after me now as well)! And ‘Nun too proud’. I personally decided to finish off over a saucy little nun called Amanda on page 12"
Phillip "Oh right, lets have a look at Amanda, oh I see, this is the actual copy we sent you isn’t it? Well we will have to give that a miss then. Right thanks for that boys, now join us after the break, when you will have the chance to win all these mags, and an all expenses paid trip to Spec savers. Don’t go away"…….
Just a quick one before we leave masturbation for good. Why is it, that if one man lends another man a pornographic film, The next day at work, they both only admit to having watched the film. Oh so you just watched it then did you? yeah, just like i rented that Ferrari for the weekend, but only sat in it!
This imbalance needs to be addressed as soon as possible in the House of Commons.
Before I go, just a few do’s and don’ts in the sexual world.
Do, after chopping up chillies, always wash your hands before entering into any form of heavy petting. If your lady cries out, "wow, that’s hot", don’t take this to be an opinion on your prowess as a lover, it will mean, "That is actually bloody hot you twat"!
Don’t let personal criticism upset you whilst making love. Keep going at all costs, and ignore the laughing.
I was once having intercourse with a young lady, and at the critical moment, I - in the heat of passion you understand- happened to mention that "I was 'arriving'". Without flinching, and through a mouth full of Wrigleys spearmint she casually said, "What do you want me to do about it, inform the News of the World"? As you can probably guess, it took many many years of therapy to address this mental scar. For years after, on occasion when reaching the point of no return, something would claw it’s way up from deep within my psychie, and I would involuntarily shout "Read all about it…….Read all about it"!
Well I think I’d better call it a day there. You see, it wasn’t that bad was it? You made it through the rain as Barry Manilow would say, and out the other side. Virtually unscathed I should imagine. So tomorrow is the big day. 40 years old. I suppose I’ll be too old for all this rumpy pumpy stuff then, better stick to the Train set….cough, cough…….er model railway!......
Adios Amigos, and happy bloody birthday to me!

About Me

Smileville, Smileshire, United Kingdom
Don't let the bastards grind you down! peace and love x