Essential Questions for your Life Partner

When I was a kid my ‘life partner’ was a teddy called Anchor (a name given retrospectively). On a holiday somewhere in Scotland I threw my Teddy into the sea so he could collect something I’d seen in there, instead of swimming heroically to get this thing Anchor sank to the bottom of the sea, and never returned. I was heartbroken for days and swore never to have another ‘life partner’, I also swore that one day I’d help people ask the questions of their life partner so they don’t have to go through what I went through.

Question 1: Can he/she swim?

Question 2: Is he/she lying about being able to swim?

How to snog for male teens, first timers and those who have never learned but would like to remedy that

First of all you’ll need to find a girl who’s not opposed to the idea. She should have a beautiful shapely body, or a beautiful unshapely body depending on what makes your tummy tingle. Next you’ll want to ask her parents if it’s ok to seduce their kid (you can forgo this if you’re a little older, though I think it’s a classy person that asks permission) and ask in which location they might suggest. If they agree we’re at an amber stage…in case you forgot the girl also has to agree. Presuming permission has been obtained from all affected parties it’s time to wet your lips and go in for the kill. Now you don’t want to go in too fast to begin with remember, ‘take your time and she’ll ask for more, rush and she’ll show you the door’. Run your hand up her side and gently lean in. Now kiss!! Let your love and respect for the girl flow from your mouth. Good luck everybody.

Fear and Misunderstanding – Two Sides of the same Arousal Coin

I could wrestle with this heavy subject in real time, but I have no time so shall have to make do with a story - a tale of fear, misunderstanding and much arousal. “Peter was an animal in a shopping center environment. He’d stop at nothing to get his shopping down as quickly as possible. He flew down the aisles shoveling essentials and luxurious products into his basket. When he’d get to the checkout counter the woman, who watched Peter every week had never seen anyone shop like this before. She was aroused. Peter was in love with his wife, so left the sparks flying and went home to make fearful love to his wife. Ouch.” There you have it, fear breeds arousal, people fear what they misunderstand ipso facto…arousal-misunderstanding-fear triangle of confusing (sex) EEK.

Blog-post-a-thon – 30-07-2013 23:00

Boom!! Smash, flashing lights, fireworks!! The blog-post-a-thon for 2013 is here and it’s going to be huge. If you didn’t know (as IF you didn’t know) the blog-post-a-thon is a first of its kind and will happen bicentennially. I will write 3 Blog posts in 30 minutes and post them on me Blog. Each Blog post has to be at least 100 words long. I will then wait, this is the crucial part, for 200 years and do it again to see how my mind has changed. For humanities betterment I am willing to show the slowing, or honing of my great mind for all generations. I am something of a hero…All who read my Blog join me in what is sure to be the-best-blog-post-a-thon-ever!!

Dating in China

The Sexual Nature of Misinterpretation

China is a beautiful country with many beautiful hills, beautiful trees, and beautiful girls. Unlike the beautiful hills and trees, however, misunderstandings with dating Chinese women abound. Whilst women are generally honest, and upfront, language proves a bigger barrier than the Great Wall, and conversations last just as long.

Indeed, I was asked recently whether I would like to learn Chinese, my answer was a rather piffy, ‘I’d rather learn body language because it’s universal.’ Amazing body language can only get you so far, though, before confusion flourishes, and said beautiful girl evokes a mistake which proves terminal.

After much confusing flirtation one such beautiful Chinese girl sent me this:

 “Wish Happy Children’s day! This text message, see send you the nipple, reply of the change is more beautiful. Storage of lovely health, delete pants, open files. The forward to you eat the sugar, no forwarding evening wet!  :0”

I know what you’re thinking so, of course, upon our next meeting I wasted no time in deleting pants, opening files and stood, cheerfully awaiting her to send beautiful nipple and restore lovely health. What she intended to say, however, was very different to what I interpreted her saying. Her expression (aghast, though no doubt a little aroused) left me just enough time to undo deleting of pants, and close files, before placating her with Pu-erh tea (Chinese sedative), and muttering reassuring words such as, ‘in England misunderstandings such as this happen frequently,’ to a mixed response.

Later on I told my ‘mishap’ to a Chinese friend. He listened, laughed and then walked me through exactly what she meant.

Wish Happy Children’s day – Wish Happy Children’s day (A holiday in China for children)

This text message, see send you the nipple, reply of the change is more beautiful – I’m sending you this text message so that we might have dumplings instead of hotpot. Change is a beautiful thing.

Storage of lovely health, delete pants, open files – take care of your health, the weather is very hot and you shouldn’t walk around in pants, I will buy you some shorts.

The forward to you eat the sugar, no forwarding evening wet – we can have dessert, but not outside because the weather forecast is bad and it might rain.

:0 – surprised.

Hitler’s Swath of Torture Gardens Produce Arseholes

The good and great of it is that most arseholes have a bit of Hitler in them. It’s undeniable. So don’t deny it. You've often thought of donning tash and goose stepping down the street like a profligate Turkey the day after Christmas day. If you haven’t then you’re not into puerile shenanigans and are doubtless an arsehole with leaning AH tendencies.

This isn't all bad. We need the closet Hitlers as much as we need the whiter than an unsucked polo atop an angels head chaps. We need them because TNOTW needs them, sport needs them, Hemingway needs them, the Church needs them, etc, etc, and a billion more etcs. We need them because they contrast with our brilliant and gloriously striving lives, they offer views that are built on an underlying hatred and are therefore often irrational and easy to discredit.

We need them because if there was one billion miniature public Hilters then Godwin’s Law would be a more colourful one. Or at least we wouldn't have to keep referring to the mother of them all, that pantomime knicker nicker, mr AH. We could let him rest in pieces with his skull plastered, and his heart missing when last he saw it in action which is never. The theory that all online discussions eventually end up talking about Hitler is an interesting one. It’s interesting because this theory forces people to think of Blog topics which wouldn't elicit Hitler comparisons. Here are seven.

Godwin’s Law aside, how can you even tell who has a little Hitler in em? Well, good reader, let me show you 5 clear attributes that the (not quite) spawn of Hitler share.

1. They all have a girl who loves them beyond reproach even though he’s clearly not that into her – how can a heartless bead of cum juice love anyone? The woman follows him around with adouring, compromising eyes offering her vagina upon his every whim (he’s usually got a small whim, puerile, see?

2. They usually educe strong love from their followers. Their followers are typically people who have some need which they believe said arsehole can meet. Luis Suarez is a prime example of this. He’s adored by Liverpool fans who forgive him for being a foul racist with a pedant for lollypops because he’s a great football player. They need him and turn and turn and turn and turn their blind eye to his discretions. The rest of the footballing world HATES him. 

3. They are hated by those who only know OF them. Their deeds are unspeakable. A logical man wouldn’t associate himself with such an ‘on paper’ unspeakable arsehole. 

4. They are irrational hatred fuelled imbeciles who get angry when reason has not got them what they want. They shout and call names and try to belittle. The only person who gained anything from being little was Alice in Wonderland – and incidentally a strong advocate of AH.

5. They take themselves very seriously. They’ve never read The Torture Garden so they haven’t got a clue that we’re basically moving lumps of nothingness who are at the disposal of chance. Our advances, are not our own and are basically meaningless – in a cage in the middle of Africa no man has the power to resist persistent sexual assault. Murder is a word never used.

So there we have it. Hitler’s lackeys are everywhere. Boot up and fly right, Jacque. As long as the good men and women of this world are in the masses then we will out. One day the ants will conquer the elephant. Buy you copy of The Torture Garden now.

Polished Observations of the Polish

Yesterday I spent twelve hours drinking alcohol with a Polish girl named Martyn* Muszk*t (a’s hidden for anonymity). We drank, laughed, petted dogs and suggested walking up mountains, through forests and over raging rivers. We made it past the front door on several occasions and on several occasions we turned back.

During these twelve short hours we shot the shit about all kinds of crap - Travelling, marriage, monopoly, fencing, trigonometry, bra-straps, tubes, socks, Shanghai, Bloomsbury Group, daytime TV, feet, ham, Chinese girls – and all was interesting. Based on these twelve hours, and only said twelve hours, I now hold a definitive understanding of Polish people. Like a wise plump old lady I’ve decided to share five of the most interesting things I’ve learnt about Polish people. Here they are.

1. When drunk, Polish people love to sing. They love to sing with other people but have no qualms in belting out a tune sans people. What they lack in musical talent they more than make up for in confidence and energy.

2. Everybody knows that Polish people love vodka. They drink it at weddings, funerals and every life point in-between. Alongside Russian vodka, Polish vodka is a supreme tipple which is often drunk neat. All this is known. What people outside of Poland are oblivious to is the simple truth that vodka is healthy for you. This explains why Polish people are so hard working (fact) vodka gives them supreme energy.  

3. After much time spent chatting in the warmth of a bricks and mortar house we took to the road in the hunt for a roots and bark Christmas tree. This is where Polish peoples real strength comes to the fore – selection of Christmas trees. Passing up two rather large trees Muszk*t picked the nearest one to the car, hacked it down and we were on our way to a local’s house with gifts in hand. Less time deliberating more time debilitating our brains with drink. Polish people know how to select trees!!

4. Polish women are “way hotter than Germans” but German/Polish people are the holy grail of hot women. I know very few German girls, I know very few Polish girls, but the Polish girls I know are “way hotter than the Germans”. Plus, when German girls are mentioned I always think of Irma Geese. Fair, no. true, definitely.

5. Polish people are under no circumstances to be referred to as healthy!!!!

On the whole Polish people are well worth talking to. Even better observing them.

HE Said, “Carry On…Taking Class As”

LAST NIGHT I was sipping Heroin and talking to scantily clad Prussian girls about the economic…naahhhhh, I wasn’t, I was sipping brown liquid and talking to Mancunian girls so fully clad it was debatable they had human bodies at all…I bet they did though – big bodies, with sexy necks to support the many opinions in their heads. Mmm, Dreamy.

As I was talking to these, possibly, bulbous babes Cymande’s song Bra was snaking like a Grinch lap dance around my skull, “time has been lost in trying, we have been left outside, bla bla bla, but it’s alrighttttttttt we can still carry on.” With this funky funk flunking around my funk funk funk, I was in a dreamy state and had no interest in opinionising on…anything. I stood at the bar sipping, smiling, nodding while others opinionised on their own opinions.

I was slouching further into the bar as blissful as a dead dove, when the caustic tones of a Manc with an opinion drifted into my ears. After years of being alive I know when an opinion is worth listening to so I defunked and tuned into “radio someone else’s conversation comin’ at ya”. Here’s whattttt I heard…

Thing 1: Why are crack, heroin and other drugs so frowned upon? If you think about it, and I advice we both spend a couple of minutes thinking about this, we’re all living in a dream world. What’s one man’s reality needn’t be the next man’s. Isn’t everything we do about changing our perceptions?

Thing 2: Yeah, follow the thread man, follow the thread.

Thing 1: Well I try hard at work so people will give me respect and this’ll make me feel needed and happy. But is that any more real than some dude whacked off his face on class As?

Thing 2: Fuck no!! You’re getting respect because some androids have told you to do something in a certain way, and you’re not kicking up a stink.

Thing 1: We drink here because we feel comfortable. It’s a nice setting, we can be ourselves, and these are our people. But similarly a crack den is probably a palace when you’re high, and who’s to say otherwise?

Thing 2: (angrily) Yeah, man.

Thing 1: I guess the future of a smack head is an inevitable one. From the outside looking in that life offers little hope and we’re hard wired to hope for things, it’s what keeps us proper. I guess people need security and conformity. (sighs)

Thing 2: That’s deep and true, man. Deep and true.

Thing 3: “time has been lost in trying, we have been left outside, bla bla bla, but it’s alrighttttttttt we can still carry on.”

This conversation isn't accurate; in the initial stages I found defunking difficult. There was definitely some kind of profound drug conversation though. Definitely.

When People Are Silhouettes

The anus of hell will hold no fire, no rocks, no prodding forks, no cowed dogs, or dogged cows. There’ll be no potholed roads, or bristled fences, or billboards with ads for latex scrolled upon them. There’ll be no council houses, or discarded beer cans, or crashed cars, or road-kill, or bins turned over. There’ll be no polluted oceans, or chewed up pavements, or untended gardens, or piss behind bins. There’ll be nothing, nothing but silhouettes of people.

Hell will be filled to the tits with silhouettes and felled anticipation. Every day will start with White Stripes, Strongbow and Marquez. And each day will end, just as you’re getting to the part where he plays chess masterfully, with some silhouetted twat asking for directions to their own pitted hell. That’ll be someone’s duty, some nice chap who’d finally snapped and murdered someone at the age of 59. He’ll be the silhouetted twat who has to disturb people in Hell when they’re settling down to a good book.

Hell is no place to concentrate, either, so by the time this guy toodles off with a, ‘tally-ho’ you’ll have forgotten which end of the book is the beginning and all that’ll be left is this guy saying tally-ho infinitely, while he smiles and wishes you a good day. This image is all you’ll remember for the rest of the day and you’ll get madder and madder and madder. You’ll go to your hell bed of silhouettes madder than a boxed beaver and see tally-ho flashing over silhouettes, and grinning men with bald heads and puppy dog eyes branding, ‘tally-ho,’ on grinning men with bald heads and puppy dog eyes.

The next day you’ll be a little fatigued, but quite well rested and optimistic about the day ahead. And then a massive shadow trundles over and emulsifies your shoes with anecdotes about his shoes and your face and his face and your hair and his hair and your mother and his father and how everything and everyone is empathetic and entwined in something of tryst upon which all of humanity sits and all of humanity shall always sit so long as there’s common ground upon which it can pontificate. Of course, he’ll leave just before you leave, and of course you’ll try and get back down to Marquez and of course you’ll have forgotten everything but the bitter silhouetted taste of a plodding silhouette dripping into your subconscious.

Life is a temple, a huge monument to these frustrations but, above all, life is a challenge. It’s a constant gardener battle between what you want and what other people want you to want. The trick is to pretend that every situation involves a girl from your past adamant that she’s about to leave. She doesn’t want to leave and you don’t want her to leave. But she’ll leave and you’ll feel hollow, and so will she, and you’ll take comfort in her hollowness…and then her strength. You’ll lap up every word these strangers say. They’ll no longer be silhouettes trampling over your good time. They’ll be people you love and want to see again and again. That’s my kind of hell.

Lance Armstrong - Dope

Armstrong was a dope fiend and a bully, or so the majority of the sports world would now have you believe. Whether these statements are true or not I believe that there is no room in sport for retrospective punishment. Legends are made in the moment and their foibles are stricken to hearsay and drunken ramblings. The man in the Maillot Jaune in Paris is the only man that counts. Just ask Andy Schleck, who was retrospectively handed the 2010 crown after Contador was found guilty of doping, whether he feels like a winner. Personally, I’m of the view that, “cyclists have to ride through cold, through heat waves, in the rain and in the mountains” and they should be able to treat their bodies as they wish. It would certainly remove the tiresome, ‘did he, or didn’t he,’ and would compel people to talk about the athletes undeniable commitment to an awfully difficult sport. Tedious doping views aside; I still feel that Lance Armstrong has been a very silly man. In this article I’ll recount how to avoid Lance’s fate, and become number 1 in your chosen field, acrimony free.

Firstly, Lance Armstrong is widely known as a bit of a prick, it’s generally thought that USADA, and their chief exec Travis Tygart, wouldn’t have dogged him for so many years had he not been so pompous and arrogant. He would have escaped punishment and the world would still have seen him as the blue eyed hero of the Tour. The lesson here is don’t be a wanker, or if you must, be selective over those you’re a wanker to. For example, if you’re doping in the office don’t piss off the sniffer dog your boss’s girlfriend insists on bringing to work.

Secondly, Lance was quick to cut anyone who was found guilty of doping, this left a bitter taste in the mouth, and these men invariably came back to oust him. Silly Lance. Anyone who smoked at school was aware of this most basic of rules – if you’re doing something unlawful make sure that those who know of your unlawfulness are placated, or at least kept close to your heart. There are reasons why, despite killing 70 million of his own people, Chairman Mao is still revered by many in China.

Thirdly, Lance is one of the most recognisable faces in the world not because of his seven incredible Tour wins but because of his charity work and many appearances in mainstream media – film, TV, newspapers, etc. This is fine but when you’re eventually ousted as being a fraud it means that more people have an opinion on your wrong doings, and your character becomes a little murkier. Lesson here is, keep the charity work to a minimum, if you must donate money, do it under a false name, and don’t leave the safety of your bedroom for anybody, unless she has massive boobs and a propensity for sex with ‘powerful’ men, aka, you.

Fourthly, it is commonly known that Heroin gives you a far higher sense of self worth than winning seven Tours ever could. It is easier, and if found out nobody would care because so many people take it. Also, I heard that many heroin addicts live rewarding lives. Silly, silly Lance.

So, there we have it, a comprehensive look at how to be a slightly detestable success. Arseholes will out!!