“There’s no way you’re going to get a quote from us to use on your blog.”
“You can say that we’ve never heard of you, if you like.”
“We don’t understand what it is you’re asking.”
“Please stop calling us.”
People tend not to believe me when I say that I’ve watched very little porn. But I don’t see the point: I have an imagination.
I’ve never thought that I had a very good imagination and my masturbatory fantasies are certainly no masterpieces. There’s very little in the way of back story and although I’m proud of my character development and story arc (particularly during the denouement), I tend to rely on tried and tested themes and avoid any plot twists.
As for the casting, It’s atrocious. All the female roles are unbelievably beautiful and clearly way out of my league. Nobody, in their right mind, would believe that women like that would want to sleep with me, let alone be eager to. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, I believe every scene without question.
My own role in this nonsense is perhaps the most ridiculous of all: I cast myself as an heroic super-lover, able to maintain an erection for days, satisfying any number of women. And as if things couldn’t get any more pathetic, this character even has a bigger cock than I do and is able to produce enough ejaculate to drown a small choir.
The irony that I am, in reality, a scrawny, worn-out fifty-something who can barely keep it up for the duration of a quick restroom wank seems to pass me by completely.
That is until I finish…
And it’s still better than porn.
As sad as we all are about last night’s loss, let’s not forget that football affects lives beyond the pitch and the terraces.
According to police data, domestic violence increases 26 per cent when England play. It goes up 38 per cent when England lose.
I got my first piece of hate mail, and I have to say I was as delighted as I was proud. Bravely commenting as an anonymous user on my recent poem about breasts, this brilliant fellow called me a Eurotrash, douche hipster who looks like a sloppy version of DeNiro’s character in Taxi Driver. I almost peed myself with delight. I am seriously considering using this quote on my about page. I tried to track him down, so I could thank him properly, but his IP address only led me to Baltimore. I have a few pals there, but I know it can’t be any of them, as they can all actually write. Really, I would recommend reading the whole comment, it is hilarious and there is a wonderful line about me writing horrible poetry about sex to make up for my lack of a life. Feel free to reply to his lovely comment, and, if you are reading Mr Anonymous, please come back and say more, I think you are fantastic and I would love to give you a guest spot.
so, the bbc have gone kind of mental today – there are riots in egypt and brazil, an earthquake in china, and barcelona are changing their manager, but there was only one item of news on the radio and tv today: woman has baby. 385,000 women give birth every day, so how is it news? she was of a normal child bearing age and was pregnant for around nine months. the child was a boy and that was not know before today but that’s still not news, only if it had been neither boy or girl would it have constituted news. this has been rolling, non-stop news since i woke up. the sun newspaper even changed its name today to “the son”. fucksake! the bbc has a “live royal baby coverage” page, with amazing facts like how the grandparents are happy about the birth. really? are they really? i would never have guessed that. thank you bbc.
To all of you here,
I wish a happy new year.
Have a cold glass of beer
With those you hold dear,
And please let me hear
If your life is severe,
For you are my peer,
And i want you so near.
Please go spread some cheer
With your loved ones, so dear,
And spend your next year
Without any fear.
One thing that is clear
Is that there are
Too many words
That rhyme with year.
I’ll quit while i’m ahead
And wish you all
A bloody good one!
People say that video games are dangerous, that they are too violent and that they corrupt our youth, who then imitate the behaviour they display in games. Now, to a degree, this is true; as a youngster, I spent a lot of time playing PacMan and think it no coincidence that my hobbies seemed to involve running around a great deal and swallowing large amounts of pills and magic fruit. However, this is not the only damage that playing video games can inflict on our fragile psyches, and certainly not the most serious, as I have recently discovered.
After a recent, 73 hour session on GTA (San Andreas, in case you’re wondering) I wandered out, in need of vodka and marijuana and completely forgot that, here in the UK, we drive on the left. I looked the wrong way when crossing the road, and was clobbered by a number 476 bus. Fortunately, I had a cheat code activated and was able to light up the entire bus with an infeasibly large mini-gun.
I have only been able to avoid the subsequent, and comprehensive, police enquiry by laying low and then switching myself off and then on again. Nevertheless, I have returned, high-score intact and an erection for each and every one of you. Be warned, as always, all comments and likes will only inflame my passion for jerking off to your gravatar pics.
Thank you for tuning back in.
I was recently nominated for The Booker Award by the delightful Maureen, author at Magnolia Beginnings, and although I never accept blogger award nominations – my ego being already over-inflated – this one had me thinking about all the wonderful books I have read over the years.
Here is a list of my top, all-time five:
- Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
- The Dangerous and Painful Masturbation Magic Pop-Up Book by Paul Bollokov
- Gormenghast (trilogy) by Mervyn Peake
- The Mechanism of Mind by Edward de Bono
- Narziss and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse
- 101 Recipes for Kittens by B B Q Feline
- Fermat’a Last Theorem by Simon Singh
- Catcher in the Rye J D Salinger
- Mark Twain by Huckleberry Finn
- Trainspotting by Irvin Welsh
- How to lose Friends and Irritate people byDale Carnage
- The Fractal Geometry of Nature by Benoit B Mandelbrot
- The Yoga Guide to Self-Felation by Ike A N Bendova
- Watchmen by Alan Moore
- How to Count to Five by Arthur Unknown
I’ve not followed Maureen for long but her blog is a must-follow and full of sweet, smart, well written observations and musings, and her avatar picture makes for fantastic masturbation material. Thank you Maureen.
I said long ago, that I would no longer be accepting blogger awards, and it wasn’t because I thought that they were a pointless (but very imaginative and caring) form of chain letter, but because being nominated gives me such an almighty erection that, I would fear for my mortal safety, were I to be nominated more than once in quick succession. It is only thanks to the swift action, and early arrival, of my cleaning lady, Mrs Go’onanonanonagan (87 but with the tits of an 85 year old), that I was not later discovered drowned in a pool of my own semen, after having received three such awards within the space of a single afternoon.
As I lay here in my hospital bed, recovering from an ego overdose, I think it only fair that I respond to Rhonda from Help Me Rhonda (The Seven Things About Me Award), Maureen from Magnolia Beginnings (The Five Best Books Ever Award) and Mad Gay Man from Diary of a Mad Gay Man (Bitches Love Awards Award), for their flattering and honouring nominations.
As per my doctor’s orders, I will respond to each nomination with a post of its own and start with Rhonda’a ‘Seven Things About Me Award’.
The rules of this award require me to first thank the nominee, then to reveal seven embarrassing facts about myself and finally to nominate 463 other bloggers.
Thank you Rhonda:
Rhonda’s blog, Help Me Rhonda, is a witty, sweet and charming, daily dose of life-affirming wisdom and side-splitting humour, beautifully taken photographs and cleverly observed anecdotes. If you have not yet discovered her, then do so now, or I will have you cruelly murdered.
- I could read by the age of three. I kinda taught myself but was encouraged and helped by my family, who seemed to think I was possibly some kind of prodigy. Sadly it was my only trick, I simply had to learn “how to do words”, and after that I was, academically, something of a disappointment.
- I know 30 different ways to kiss – 31, if you include ‘on the mouth.’
- I think its wrong to use poetry or art to get into a woman’s head. It’s much better to use them to get into a woman’s pants.
- I once was a cartoonist, for a chain of pot-selling coffee shops in the Netherlands. I used to get paid in pot and only got the job because the previous incumbent had been tied to his push-bike, by the Dutch Mafia , and thrown into a canal. A very Dutch way to die, their bikes are very heavy.
- I had a girlfriend who ran off with my best friend, and I still miss him.
- I have a notepad and pen in every room in the house. It’s because I never know when I will have an idea. I even have a notepad in the lavatory. Once, after taking a large amount of magic mushrooms, I discovered the secret to life there and, obviously, wrote it down. The following morning, upon realising that I had run out of toilet paper, I had to use it to wipe my arse. Well? What would you have done?
- I have no idea what the pre-wash function on my washing machine is for.
Normally I claim to be unable to nominate anyone because I never bother reading any of the shite you all write. This is not actually true. I do, I avidly, read every word of all your blogs. The reason I can’t nominate anyone is because I am simply too lazy and way too busy masturbating over your gravatar images.
I don’t normally do book reviews but ‘In Her Own Words’ (part of the ‘Soul Destruction’ series) by Ruth Jacobs is such a moving and honest account of the sex industry that I simply had to give it a shout out.
Ruth studied prostitution in the late 1990s, which sparked her interest in the subject. Her novels dispel the ‘happy hooker’ myth and expose the dark world and the harsh reality of life as a call girl. She draws on her research and the women she interviewed for inspiration. She also has first-hand experience of some of the topics she writes about, such as post traumatic stress disorder and drug and alcohol addiction.)
Ruth explains what her work is about far better than I could:
In Her Own Words… Interview with a London Call Girl is the unedited transcript from an interview I undertook with a London call girl in the late 1990s. It is an enlightening and moving, first-hand account of a woman’s life affected by prostitution, exposing the emotional, psychological and social effects of living that existence. All royalties from this publication are being donated to Beyond the Streets, a charity helping women exit prostitution.
This charity publication and the cause is very close to my heart, partly because the woman I
interviewed was a very dear friend, a wonderful person, and who had a terribly sad life, with
childhood sexual abuse and then being pimped on the streets from the age of fifteen. As
she is no longer alive, this is the reason I wanted the royalties to be donated to Beyond the
The stigma a significant section of society has against prostitutes and prostitution is mainly
due to lack of knowledge. 75% of prostitutes have been sexually and physically abused as
children, 70% have experienced multiple rapes, and 67% meet the criteria for posttraumatic
stress disorder, which is a major cause of suicide.
With this publication, I hope to show the reality of life for women working in prostitution,
the effects it has on them psychologically, emotionally, in relationships with men, how they
are viewed and how they feel they are viewed by society as outsiders and outcasts, often
judged and looked down on. Seeing them as real people, with real feelings, and acquiring
an insight into their tormented childhoods and painful present lives, allows people who are
not in that life to gain an informed perception of who these women really are, and with that
knowledge, are less likely to judge but instead develop compassion.
Extract from “In Her Own Words… Interview with a London Call Girl”
From a young age, from like being fifteen, I’ve been hardened to it. The first…when I first
started doing it, I cried my eyes out every day and just scrubbed myself in bleach and…I felt
like I’d been raped. It was just…it really screwed my mind up. And there’s this feeling when
you get…when you’re with a client and it’s like sometimes when you feel like…you grab your
fists and it’s like, “Get off me! Get off me!” And it’s like…you know you can’t push them off
you, right? Because you know you’re getting paid for it. So it’s basically allowing yourself to.
be raped, right? But you can’t even fight them back or say, “Get off me.” It’s like…and you
cry while it’s happening and all this shit, and you go home and you cry yourself to sleep after
all that shit, and it happens to you a lot of times until eventually that feeling goes away,
and that feeling…you don’t get that feeling anymore. It gets less and less and less. And you
become hardened in your like…your heart and your soul to it, and this is when you get the
hatred for the men.
To find out more about Ruth Jacobs and her Soul Destruction series of novels visit
thank you audrina of audrina1759’s blog and Maarit-Johanna of history of the ancient world for nominating me for some award or other. normally i don’t do the award thing but i’m so flattered to be nominated by these women, as their blogs are just wonderful, that i will make an exception.
the rules are as follows:
- tell seven things about yourself
- nominate 487 other bloggers
- that’s it, i think
seven things about me:
- i haven’t had sex since february
- i haven’t had coffee since 9:30
- i fantasise about posting pictures of my dick on this blog but have never had the guts
- i know how to measure the speed of light with a microwave and some proccessed cheese
- i am going to masturbate to the gravatar pictures of anyone who likes or comments on this post – you have been warned
- minds turn me on more than bodies
- i sneezed so hard this morning that my glasses flew off and landed in the toilet bowl
- an ex once super-glued my hand to my cock in my sleep
- i have only recently learned that women get sexier and more beautiful as they get older
- i can’t count to seven
- three of these things are not true (but this might be one of them)
i’m afraid i can’t nominate anyone as i never actually read any of the shite you guys write.
from now on i will only be accepting nominations for awards if they come accompanied by pictures of the nominee’s bare breasts or cum drenched pricks – ideally both.
and i love you for it!
Thank you to everyone who voted in my little poll the other day. The most voted for topic with 18% was BDSM. Second at a close 15% was MMF threesome. Now, seeing as the wonderful Rois suggested I write a BDSM MMF story the other day, I thought I’d combine the two and write something that 33% of you asked for.
I am currently without my laptop and am working on a computer that is bigger and older and louder than me. Nevertheless, my next post will be the one most people asked for.
With my laptop gone
I’ll get no posts done
But I’ve still got my phone
And its a smart one
So I could write a poem
And sit in the sun
But I can’t be fucked
Tell me what you want to read and I will oblige…
so you really don’t read any other blogs?
sure i do!!
a few others
isn’t that kinda arrogant?
my friend sally calls me ‘lofty’
haha – why?
its a nickname
i get that you dumb cunt – why?
she says i’m aloof
you are boring me now – bye
wonderful – inspired me to write this next piece
I am honoured and delighted to have nominated myself for ‘The Total Dick Award’
The rules are simple:
- Thank the nominee and tell them why you think they deserve The Total Dick Award.
- Share ten things about yourself that demonstrate what a Total Dick you are.
- Nominate other Total Dicks.
Thank you Kyle:
You deserve this award as much as I do, and I could never have done it without you. It is your ridiculously over-inflated ego, that has, so justifiably, earned you this award. The way that, when you make love to a beautiful woman, you close your eyes and imagine you are masturbating, the way you award yourself awards, it all adds up to make you the perfect recipient of The Total Dick Award. Congratulations!
- I get a semi every time I get a new follower. Once I got four new followers in five minutes and almost came.
- I once had sext with two women at once, without either of them knowing about the other. I’d given them both the same nicknames so I could cut and paste a lot of what I wrote. We all came at the same time and it was pretty cool, but its not something I guess I should be proud of.
- When I was in the army, I went out with this barmaid called Pamela. She had one leg longer than the other (although it might have been that one leg was shorter, I can’t remember). It didn’t bother me one bit, but all my mates laughed and took the piss and I finished with her because I was too weak to take the peer pressure – I feel bad about that, to this day.
- I was an internet sex slave. For two weeks. To this incredible woman from Florida or Virginia or one of those states. She had me write her sado-masochistic tales like this one and this one and one about castration that was too frightful to ever publish. She also had me take photo’s of me doing painful and humiliating things to myself. It was all a lot of fun but two weeks in I got bored, met someone nice and decided to end it.
- I’m not actually ashamed of that last one. I am, however, ashamed that I am not ashamed of it.
- I once wrote some erotica for a fellow blogger to post on her blog as her own, and she repaid me by sending me some really naughty pictures of herself. Not ashamed of that one either, if I’m honest.
- I once sucked someone’s cock for a gram of coke.
- I volunteer at a homeless shelter for one week a year. People say that its because I’m a nice guy but that’s bullshit. The fact is that there are three times as many female volunteers as there are male volunteers. I might enjoy volunteering and I might think it worthwhile, but I do it primarily to meet pussy.
- I once accepted money to pretend to be someone’s boyfriend.
- When I was about 17, I let this girl bully me. I didn’t have to, but she was hot and being beaten up by her turned me on.
- I am a terrible liar, and two of these things are not true.
I’m not going to nominate anyone for this award, I don’t think any of you deserve it. If anyone wants to nominate themselves though, I’d love to see that…
She sat in the tub with him. He wrapped his arms around her. Made her feel safe. Made her feel wanted. She grabbed the camera. Took a photo. Of this moment. Their moment. Their time together. They knew it was fleeting. That they couldn’t stay. That real life waited for them outside of that tub. That cocoon. That warmth. They held each other. Whispered sweet, dirty things as the steam rose up from the water and their warm skin. She leaned harder into his chest. He held her tighter. Kissed her neck. She whispered she loved him. Loved this. This moment. He put his hands in her hair. She caressed his legs. Felt their safety. Felt his longing for her in her back. She turned around. The water moved with her. Splashed everywhere. She didn’t care. She looked into his eyes. Told him she wasn’t leaving him. That she was…
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“Okay, I think you should begin by logging out of Facebook.” my therapist explains.
“Oh, I do.” I say, “Every time I go out, or have to work or have friends round, I log out.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” she says, knowing what pain her next words will cause me, “I want you to log out of Facebook permanently. You need to deactivate your account.”
“But why?” I stammer. She looks up from her notes, straight at me.
“You need to wean yourself off the internet, Kyle. We discussed this in your last session.”
“All of it?” I implore, knowing the answer before I hear it.
“Yes Kyle. All of it.”
“Especially WordPress Kyle.” she smiles, “We discussed this. You agreed it was for the best.” My head drops, in meek acknowledgement. “You see that?” she asks, gesturing, with a nod, towards the large glass pane to my right.
“The window?” I ask.
“Through that.” she urges
“Yes, Kyle. Outside.”
In the background I hear a choir singing. The tune is Desmond Dekker’s Israelites, the words are:
Me wek up in da mornin,
wantin me ganja,
me got me rocket
but me not got me rizla
Then I realise what’s going on… and wake up.