Counting Cats in Zanzibar Rotating Header Image

Beautiful women

Kenyan fiddling with a kid.

Sex attacker is confronted by his victim in Kenyan court… a female GOAT (and he is jailed a record ten years for ‘defiling’ it)

defiling the goat? He’s not precisely covered himself in glory has he either? I mean it might have been a very attractive goat – to other goats but… it’s a goat.

A man who was jailed for 10 years for having sex with a female goat came face-to-face with his victim in a Kenyan court.

The goat watched quietly from the corner of the court room in Malindi while Katana Kitsao Gona, 28, was jailed for bestiality.

I’m really not sure about this story. It is quite possibly the first time he came (oh, er missus!) face to face with said beast. My vague understanding (and I could be very wrong) is the only critters who have sex face-to-face are humans and bonobos. Personally I don’t think he ought to have got chokey. Surely the stare of the goat* and his naming and shaming is enough? I mean that happened a few years back to a bloke from Hull who was caught molesting a goat by a railway line. He was fined (the goat was deemed OK by police vets) rather than ten years in the tank but his career was ruined. He was a chef. Well, who is going to employ a chef who sodomizes goats? And it is sodomy by pretty much any rational definition. Call me odd and all but sex with another human regardless of gender is like whatever. Shagging a goat is basically not OK. Do I have to explain why? And why the Mail has to state prominently that it was a female goat is beyond me. I suppose you just shouldn’t shag the nanny.

Anyway, on with this tale of utter depravity…

According to Jimmy Kimaru, chief prosecutor, Gona was caught sexually assaulting the goat in a bush.

It really doesn’t get better than that. Some of us dream of Brad Pitt or Keira Knightley on a Caribbean beach and some of us fuck goats in the backwoods of Kenya. Admittedly a female goat but quite frankly that doesn’t make a quantum of WTF to me. And why did this vile crime happen?

Gona, who pleaded guilty, told the court his wife is disabled and depends on him daily. Despite this, the judge jailed him for a record 10 years for ‘defiling’ the animal.

Well, as I said before some crimes are in a sense their own punishment. This is a very libertarian stance. Would you employ the goat-fucker of Malindi? No and neither would I. If you were his wife would you not seek a divorce? Obviously you would! There is not a court on the planet that would deny you. I mean an affair with another human might be forgiven but screwing a goat in a bush is simply unforgivable.

And now we get onto arguably the meat of the deal. I think the Dr Who character of Captain Jack is interesting. He is frequently described as “bisexual” but he is is actually “omnisexual” and I think calls himself that. So why does that matter here? He fancies males and females of every bipedal, thinking, speaking race in the Universe. OK, I’m fine with that but a goat is different. What is clever about Captain Jack is a couple of things. The first is there is very little hint in Dr Who of interspecies pregnancies (I’m gonna get called on that) and in that respect it is much more on the biological money than Star Trek (score one for the Brits!) but it acknowledges that sex is not just about procreation. And it acknowledges another thing. If one accepts that (and some don’t) then you have to face a tricky question and Captain Jack answers it very well. He is prepared to fancy different species so therefore he can’t see gender as that important. I think that is interesting. Obviously Captain Jack would never fuck a goat but he kissed both The Doctor and Rose. I guess what I’m getting at is that interspecies sex is acceptable in a fantasy setting (think Beren and Luthien) iff (not an sp) the species are roughly comparable and able to give informed consent and stuff. In short an Elven princess is one thing and a goat is quite, quite different.

Seeing as there is a species difference either way I’m not entirely sure if I can make a solid point here and I have to just really on the “yuk” factor to a certain extent here but… let’s face it making love to Arwen in the Royal Bedchamber of Minas Tirith beats the Hellskis out of goat-fucking in a bush in Kenya.

Pretty much anything beats that. The last time I had a filling beats that.

Quotes from The Mail.

*Goats have nasty stares. I recall an incident on a Greek island in the ’90s when I was surrounded by goats and the leader of the pack – a big billy with horns poised at my scrotum gave me a vile stare. I thought it about to charge and de-bollock me but then the goatherd turned-up. I have rarely if ever been more pleased with a Greek fellow entering stage left. I had also accidentally nearly troden on a snake about ten minutes before which was seriously nonplussed. Beautiful island but full of things that wanted to kill me.

Politically correct Thursday

Her name is Dai Macedo, and hers has been proclaimed the best bum in Brazil

I imagine the competition was pretty hot.

H/T News Ltd

Islamic Science.

Yes we all know how supreme Islamic science is don’t we? How far in advance of anything we have ever considered here in the poor benighted West. It can only be supreme prejudice that has stopped them garnering more Nobel Prizes than South London Polytechnic, surely?

This report is almost unfiskable, but for a taste…

In the report Professor Subhi described sitting in a coffee shop in an unnamed Arab state.

‘All the women were looking at me,’ he wrote. ‘One made a gesture that made it clear she was available… this is what happens when women are allowed to drive.’

Why I despise the Daily Mail.

Hypocrisy is the short answer.

The longer answer is their cutsey-named “Femail” sidebar on their website. It by and large consists of stuff like this. Note the second image where Ms Moss’s nipple is clearly visible. And this from the valiant crusader (that’s all over the front page of the print edition) against online pornography. This is the online version. See also this

I don’t know how they got these pictures – they look rather too HQ to be paparazzi but I dunno. I mean it could be a publicity stunt for Moss (who I note from the TV doesn’t seem to be advertising any perfume this Christmas) or it could be the long-lense lads. But… I dunno. The Mail are hypocritical scum either way. Personally I think pornography (however hard or soft) which is done with willing (and paid) participants is morally vastly superior to paparazzi stuff. But that is by the by. Both articles are available in seconds from the Mail website. How can they square that circle? Or do they want the Mail reclassified as an opt-in soft-porn rag? Because this is very far from the first time “Femail” has published “compromising” pictures of ‘slebs.

Or… pictures of say, Rihanna’s (very nice) bottom in her skimpies in the “Femail” column whilst editorialising elsewhere on the corrosive effects on teenage girl’s self-esteem of pictures of “perfect” female bodies or claiming this is resulting in ever younger boys sexually assaulting girls. And all this whilst claiming implicitly (explicitly) to be the moral keel of the nation.

In a sense it would be fitting and sweet if they were cast into the outer darkness of “Asian Babes” or “Monster Jugs” – hoist indeed upon their own petard. But I object to this censorship anyway and in deep principle. Somebody has to decide what is unsuitable for kids and I think that ought to be us adults. This is not a matter for government. It really shouldn’t be. It also implies mission-creep for there is already talk of websites involving deliberate self-harm. And what after that? It’s just government control of the internet.

Our playground. Not there’s. They only hate it because they don’t understand it. And they are small people, pathetic people. People who do not believe that individuals can ever do the right thing without coercion, if not outright violence.

Complete and utter Bollocks Study of the Week Pt 69.

But bloody nice try guys!

This is the study that all us fellas would absolutely love to be true, but it’s the usual crapola based on statistical insignificance and wishful thinking.

But come on ladies, it might be true, think of all the expensive shit you shovel on your faces in the hope of beating wrinkles, the mad diets you put yourselves through to lose weight, the self help books you devour by the ton… You want to be less depressed, become more affectionate, sleep better (it certainly makes me sleep better, and with a smile on my face!) It’s more than a mouthful, it’s a meal!! Swallow don’t spit!

Pippa and Karl (and Kylie – obviously)

Who would you rather wake up next to?

He is a serious rug-artiste for starters. He reckons only her arse is worthwhile. Well, as a fan of the female buttocketry she’s well OK on that score but no honest man (or even a fashion designer) could call Pippa Middleton ugly from the front. Kate is better looking (and in any case the one true arse to rule them all of the entire Commonwealth has the Southern Cross imprinted upon it). It is of course possible there are arses beyond Her Maj’s dominions etc. that can beat Ms Minogue’s pertness but as a proud Brit I don’t even want to know. Kylie is a National Treasure (and yes, she has spent much of quite a few years the right way up).

That is a veritable peach. I know strong men (and some strong women) who would kill for that and climb over the hecatomb. That is an arse to launch a thousand ships and make the towers of Ilium fall. If bin Laden had really wanted to rile the West he wouldn’t have taken down office buildings but he would have hit Kylie and if that had happened we would have risen up with furious anger (not the normal sort) and all Hell would’ve followed in our train.

And she’s gorgeous from the front (I have seen her sister very close-up – apples don’t fall far from the tree) too. And I guess this is a bit sad of me but Kylie is just a bit older than me so I sort of have an affinity there (she’s kinda been round me all my life). I found myself curiously moved by her cancer diagnosis. I don’t normally worry about celebs but for Kylie I made an exception.

Beach Volleyball

I used to play volleyball at school and was noted for having a JDAM of a serve.

I liked it because it was mixed PE and that meant there were girls. Obviously this was preferable to always being second-row in the Rugby scrum. I watched some of the beach volleyball last night – GB v the Canadians.

From the commentary…

“The British pair”

“Can she take it all the way?”

“That was an idle toss”

And during technical breaks they are playing the “Benny Hill” theme tune.

Beach volleyball is a travesty. This is a sport that doesn’t need to exist at Olympic level. They have volleyball nets on beaches across the globe anyway (obviously not Shoddy Absurdia or Whitley Bay) so if you want to watch “girls in their summer clothes” you can for free and without the UK tax-payer* footing the bill. Because from what I saw this is a “jumpers for goal-posts” sport. It just doesn’t shift at the rate of court volleyball because it is played on sand. It’s only porpoise is to satisfy the dirty old men of the IOC (the players hugged and patted each other’s bottoms after each point). It was like lesbian porn as imagined by The Pope. Now if you really want genuinely lesbian porn it is freely (or for a small fee) available via the internet from various commercial operations and not the tax-payer.

And more to the point this state-funded hot lezza action was extremely tame and featured girls with almost no tits whatsoever (and the blonde Brit was a right hound). Stomachs you could crack walnuts on but no jiggle on the jump which it would appear to be like what they were aiming for.

So basically they duplicated an Olympic event in a facile attempt to create sex-appeal and created at vast pubic [not an sp] expense out of something that isn’t especially sporting and isn’t especially sexy.

Right. I’m now off to embuggerate Beth Tweddle in five unusual positions. Because if we are to be forced to pay for very soft-core Frankie Vaughn (my local newsagent sells much harder-core stuff – with like tits and muff – and he and his wife are Muslims – Oh and they also contribute to rather than take from the economy) then I want my money’s worth! I guess what I’m saying is the IOC et. al’s attempt at “sexing it up” is expensive, pointless and dismal.

*Not strictly true as such. This was not paid for from tax already raised but on tick. Forever and ever Amen! There will be a legacy alright. It’ll be like inheriting your great uncle’s gambling debts.

Update: Great minds seem to think alike.

Speak to me Goose!

I hate that movie. I hate it. The premise of the entire smorgasbord of drivel is that Top Gun exists to get US fighter pilots from a 3-1 (Vietnam) back to a 10-1 (Korea)* kill ratio and it ends in triumph with what 3-1, 4-1 D’oh!. But Jeebus wept! Sailor Malan would have pistol whipped the sex-thimble for that mortifying scene where he’s clutching his late RIO’s tags and his new RIO is screaming at him to fucking do something. If I’d been in a “MiG 28″ he’d have been feeding the fishes before it achieved it’s emotional climax. I mean there has to be a lot of stick action in a dog-fight – just not as a faux-emotional wanking festival. There is also a time and a place for an existential crisis and it’s on a sofa in Cheshire when the ciggies have run out at 3am and there is nothing on TV except Bid-Up selling dreadful jewellery. Or the God Channel. I sometime watch that and TBN (Trinity Broadcasting Network) which is utter Horlicks with some curious ideas about evolution. And God (or L Ron) is going to buy you a satellite.

(I have to sort of side with Bonio of U2 here. Gods of all pantheons help me for saying that! But Bonio did once say “The God I believe in isn’t short of cash”. Seeing as Bonio clearly believes himself some sort of second-coming** and Bonio is clearly not short of cash the statement is true for a certain value of true. The Holy sacraments are kept under The Edge’s hat. Well something is kept under it other than The Edge’s bald paternoster – possibly a Ginster’s or a small Toblerone)

Not in a dog-fight. That is almost exactly the last time to do it. “Speak to me Goose!”. Oh, fuck off you diminutive bell-ender!

So Katie Holmes has decided to divorce the Cruise-control-freak! You surprise me not. That it took six frigging years does. He’s a repugnant, sofa-bouncing, sleazy, manic Scientologist, blank-firing, dwarf who is also very clearly gay (sue me Tom!) and she’s, well, OK really. Though Dear Gods Katie! It wasn’t that you were just in it for the money and as seven years approached you were going to be transferred to John Travolta which is a fate worse than death? Imagine being humped by that hairy-backed trotter? I’d rather wrestle with Jabba the Hutt. Well, not perhaps the full Hutt. Maybe more Jabba the Wendy House.

Apparently Katie Holmes is a devout catholic and she don’t like scientology presumably because it is not so much “Pilgrim’s Progress” as “Gullible’s Travels”.

Now, I don’t have a religion but I have a certain level of respect for, say, Catholicism but… Scientology? For fuck’s sake what was Ms Holmes thinking of? Or Ms Kidman come to that who is also a Catholic and that also lead to divorce. I mean the religious (and “religious”) difference is that one I just don’t believe in and the other is utterly risible. Anyway, I’d put Nicole Kidman third on my “Down Under” shagging tour. Obviously behind the Minogue sisters à deux (obviously) and Galadriel (I’d certainly use her Ring of Power to dark ends). And if you haven’t dreamed of buggering Cate Blanchett then there is something seriously wrong with you.

By which I mean (sorry to unleash my id and all – and that’s just the shallow end) but – I think I lost my thread. Where was I? Oh, yeah, that lesser tit Cruise who is the opposite of sex. An aeronautical aside here. Leroy Grumman with his penchant for “cat” names had wanted a “Tomcat” since the ’30s but the Navy deemed it “obscene”.*** Got it in the ’70s though. Ladies burnt their bras and we had a sexual revolution for a reason! It was underpowered (until the D model that Grumman had been hollering at the Navy for years over) mind and too big and never a real dog-fighter. I’ve never seen an F-14 in the skies and alas I guess I never will****. But Hell’s teeth those Hughes Phoenix missiles were something else (cost half a million dollars back when that was real money) – nail a spuggy at 100nm. Like to see a F-18 do the same. Maybe with the AESA set and MBDA Meteors. Never with AMRAAMS.

But that is another issue.

*both debatable either way but this is neither the time nor the place…
**My favourite Bonio (like Bob Geldof with more hair ‘product’ utilised) quote is not from him. U2 were playing a gig in Dublin and Bonio was clicking his fingers and syaing “Every time I do this a child in Africa dies”. Some wag at the back hollered, “Well stop fuckin’ doing it then!”. Class.
***The aircraft the Tomcat largely replaced as the USN’s primary fleet defence interceptor was of course the F-4 Phantom II. Now Leroy Grumman was into cats but Jim McDonnell was into the occult. His original name choice was “Satan”. Seriously. The USN might have had Satans on the catapults of the sixth fleet. His second choice was “Mithras”. I would have loved to been a fly on the wall at that meeting.
****Unlike Tom Cruise the F-14 had charisma. When the USN decided to scrap it almost all were trashed even though loads of folks wanted them as gate guardians and the like. The USA was worried parts would go missing in an Iranian direction. Grumman sold The Shah about 80 in the ’70s. They are (to the extent they are still operating) still Iran’s premier interceptor.

Not even trying…

I got an email today from…

Tori and Pamela and Kathy want to tell you about themselves today, they are single women that belong to a new and sexy adult dating community.

They want to meet guys today that enjoy going out on sexy dates where they can end the night with a good night kiss or a sexual encounter.

These women are not sluts, they are just adults that like to have adult fun.

No, they aren’t sluts because they almost certainly don’t actually exist. They do though want to meet me tonight and despite not being sluts (or even existing – a pre-req for either being a slut or a vestal virgin or even just being you know human – can we please for the love of all non-Catholic Gods please for the love of fuck finally hurl the Madonna/Whore thing away for good?)

Anyway, Tori (is that a name? I mean call me British and all but when I think of Tory women I think of Edwina Curry) likes “69s and reverse cowgirl”. Now call me old-fashioned and that but that is the first thing she says (Kathy likes anal and giving oral in case you are at a loose end this weekend). What I’m trying to say here is that they have given-up trying on the spamulation. OK, I have had sexual relations which involved 69s (even 96s) and all happenstances of cowgirls – come one, come all! But that happened after drinking, dancing, a witty anecdote. I guess what I am saying is if the woman in question blurted out her favoured sexual antics as the first thing to know about her* you’d first insure the rabbit was secure at least.

*In any case isn’t the person more important than the position anyway? I don’t care if it is reverse cowgirl or not if the choice is between Uma Thurman and Cherie Blair. And more to the point aren’t sexual positions of choice something that develops during a relationship? Call me old fashioned and whatever but…

Jessica Ennis is fat.

This is Jessica Ennis…

Obviously, I think you will all agree she is a right bloater. Unlike this kid, obviously, for whom a trip to hospital required structural engineering…

My personal take is, well, personal. Last night, after my wife had gone to sleep I watched Springer and he had two lasses fighting over a bloke (obviously a no-good-nic: I only slept with your sister because…) and one was very skinny and missing teeth and roughly twenty years older than her birth certificate suggested as you’d expect crystal-meth to do to someone and the other was grotesquely fat. The chunkster stripped to her bra (made by Zeppelin) and her panties (Harland and Wolff) and Jerry looked ashamed for once. And well, so he should. The spectacle was seismic. Now I like curves on a woman as much as the next man but there is curves and there is tectonics. Now I am not casting nasturtiums or anything but this “lady” ought never to be allowed anywhere near Japanese nuclear stations.

So, I guess, World-class dreadfulness. But back to Ms Ennis. Who precisely released this nonce? Last weekend I watched in Manchester the female pole-vault. Now obviously athletes look athletic. These did. They were World Class and all. I am glad I saw that because I’ve always thought it about the most deranged thing imaginable. I mean how do you start to pole-vault?

I suspect it is obscurely related to US birtherism over Obama. In much the same way Obama supporters saw last time around that birtherism hit the Republicans harder (by showing-up they had a stock of mentalists and it utterly detracted from the real issues) Ennis supporters are doing the same thing. I know. I know.

But is the victory of Jessica Ennis less important than that of Mitt Romney? Not to me it isn’t (though I know who I’d rather shag – and no Mitt it really isn’t you). The footie season is over so the hell with it all! Well, there is the European Cup in Poland and the Ukraine. Wayne Rooney is visiting Auschwitz so what could possibly go wrong? But stuff that! If Roy Hodgson gets us out of the group stage I shall eat underwear. Obviously not the underwear of the lass the paramedics had to demolish a house to get at. That would be above and beyond. I mean you could bring a C-130 to a prompt stop with her gusset.

This was his mistake

Image3

And they’re what got him convicted.

Saturday night smile

One from the Brits:

Look at her, she’s loving it.

And one from the Yanks:

Lets hear it for the rednecks*, Gods favourite creation.

*Even if these ones are Czech.

Miss World

The most enduring image of the last Miss World pageant held in London 40 years ago is of angry feminists storming the venue and pelting the celebrity guests with eggs and rotten tomatoes.

Forty years on, the protest was more muted as Venezuela’s Ivian Sarcos, a 21-year-old human resource graduate and wannabe social activist, was crowned Miss World on Sunday amid the usual razzmatazz at a song-and-dance event here.

Wow! I’ll lay odds Sir Bruce Forsyth was at both. Some things never change.

A group of women gathered outside Earl’s Court in West London to protest against the “objectification” of the female body, They raised slogans and waved banners, one of which read “We’re not ugly, We’re not beautiful, We’re angry.” Another said “Miss World is the jewel in the crown of rape culture.

Emphasis mine.

Among them were some from the famous 1970 protest — now much mellowed but still angry that women should be judged by their looks alone.

Some things never change do they? I read somewhere recently that young women in Britain are more likely to have university degrees and on average earn more than their male counterparts. Indeed I believe Michael Gove or some such numpty was predicting dire but unspecified consequences from this. What amuses me about the Miss World protests – well there is quite a lot, but we’ll go with this first – is that I know a lot of women with professional jobs who are not judged on their looks in that sphere but in the context of a beauty pageant of course that’s what they’re judged on! Now Usain Bolt might, for example, tell extraordinarily witty anecdotes after dinner over the brandy and cigars but that’s not what Nike (or whoever) bung him cash for. Indeed I suspect Miss World herself wasn’t judged on her looks whilst doing her human resources degree. Whatever that is anyway. I’ve always found the staff of personnel departments to be selected for the job on the basis of their undiluted misanthropy.

But what really amuses me is it’s flogging a dead horse. Both ways. The whole beauty pageant and “I want to work with animals and children” schtick is tired beyond belief. As is the hyperbolic “feminist” attacks on the show. “Miss World is the jewel in the crown of rape culture.” recall. It is the unspeakable (and yes, they may well have been angry but they were also certainly ugly) protesting the irrelevant. If they can be utterly hyperbolic and stuck in the early ’70s being goosed by Sid James then I can regard them as such throwbacks. We live in a world which in many regions or cultures is profoundly sexist. There are forced marriages, bride burnings (if the dowry ain’t up to scratch – India, largely), female genital mutilation, lack of access to healthcare and education yet this collection of alleged feminists turns up to protest something that is almost quaint and moreover not broadcast on any UK TV channel and hasn’t been for years. It can apparently be viewed via the internet but really! I mean seeing as the internet is real pornography’s home objecting to Miss World seems to somewhat miss the point. Moreover I for one wouldn’t have known anything about the show if it hadn’t been for the protests – I had completely forgot the whole sorry spectacle still crawled on – in much the same way the BBC’s “Children in Need” telethon always ambushes me. Indeed the protests seemed quaint and from another era. Some things never change. It really was “Carry On Girls”. I’m thinking of getting into quaint protesting myself. Me, Manchester Town Hall, a placard and a megaphone and, “Repeal the Corn Laws Now!”

It’s like a few years back when the Afghan/Pakistan “tribal areas” were hit by an earthquake and everyone rallied round to help with the rescue and rebuilding (not that there was much in the first place to rebuild) there was an interview with a twinkly tribal elder. It quite stunned me. He said something like, “We are good Muslims so we welcome this help and will be most hospitable [good start - I said he was twinkly] but when they rebuild the primary school it must only teach what is needed which is the recitation of the Qu’ran and then only to boys otherwise we’ll kill the teachers and burn it down”. I think it was about that time that “nation building” in Afghanistan was a doomed enterprise. Or was it the point were some warlord abducted and kept a teenage girl as a sex-slave as a reprisal for the theft of the best fighting dog in the province? Or was it the cartoon in The Times around 2001 which riffed on the ‘Nam-era “bomb them back to the stone age” with “Bomb them forward into the renaissance”.

So, I dunno but I suspect. Almost every campaigning group I suspect if it doesn’t get disbanded at the right time drifts into bizarre pointlessness. Yes, there are many (I mentioned a few) feminist issues around the globe left to fight. Actually quite a lot but this self-parody does nothing to the purpose. One has to wonder why feminists still frequently attack “sexism” in the least sexist nations on the planet and the anglosphere nations and much of Europe certainly aren’t the “high value targets” they ought to go for. Why target an utter irrelevance like Miss World in London when Saudi Arabia has an active protest movement of women who just want to drive cars? I mean that is where the real fight surely is now? Not here. Feminism to a large extent won here and that’s a good thing. I mention the Saudi driving thing because… I first heard of it because a Saudi Prince set-up an airline and he was rather liberal and had a female pilot working for him. She had to be taxied to the airport where she’d get behind the yoke of a Boeing. The Saudis had thought to ban women driving but not flying 200 tonne airliners. Is that not utterly ridiculous?

I couldn’t join the RAF for pilot training and that had nothing to do with a womb but with a view. I suffer from astigmatism, short-sight and RG colour blindness. None of that is located in my pelvis. I mention this now because like good looks it is something outside of my control in much the same way some women (and indeed men) are better looking than others. Get over it sisters! Everyone else has. OK, not in the context of a hot date (but does not the looks criterion apply across the board – gay, straight, lesbian, whatever?) but you see a doctor or an accountant then looks don’t matter – not when one cures your illness or does something cunning with your tax-return. And is not good looks just the same, essentially random, stuff as my eyes keeping me from flying a Tiffy (undoubetdly there might be probs which would be other reasons for turning me down but that was an absolute “no”) in much the same way looking like a right hound prevents you being the face of Chanel? No, it ain’t fair but it’s life.

Life isn’t fair.

And it isn’t even feminist is it? I do not believe for a millisecond that men are less “objectified” than women. As I said I know quite few women with professional jobs. You ought to hear my wife and her sisters talk about George Clooney or Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt or Gabriel Byrne. If women are stereotyped and have to look a certain way to be attractive I would argue it’s even worse for the blokes. Yeah, actually it is. I mean I can go for the slyph-like “elven thing” and the voluptuous Marilyn thing also lights my wires. I guess I’m saying there is no stereotype for me when Cate Blanchett and Kate Winslet both do it for me. Winslet because you just know she’d be right dirty. And if Halle Berry joins us in the hot-tub…

Note what I have done there. Without thinking too hard I have mentioned actors who are (a) about my age and (b) people I respect not just for their looks but their talent. That they are also good-looking is a bonus. I also have a thing for Helena Bonham-Carter and obviously for Uma Thurman.

So what am I playing at?

Well, obviously, looks are a factor (but not the whole nine yards). But so is brains. Why should one be like “OK” and the other “shallow” when neither are a choice? Indeed who defines “brains”. My wife is a professional linguist. I’m a linguistic dunce (The only Bs I got for GCSE were in French and German) but unlike her I can solve partial differential equations. She does gerunds and I did matrix mechanics. I have no idea what a gerund actually is. I can do covariant differentiation and Fourier analysis. Both of us could have a reasonable go at calling the other thick but we don’t. Everyone is different. I once dated a woman who could hardly be called physically gorgeous but that’s life and she was fun to be with. Life is like that. It is the deranged “pseudo feminist” harridans who don’t see that and not me. I can appreciate beauty and smarts and fortunately by and large I’ve managed both but I’m prepared to trade. Or in short I’m not as shallow as those protesters at Miss World who ridiculously see it as an either/or and think (know) that men always want their idea of a stereotypical beauty rather than anything else. They only think that because they don’t really know men or themselves.

Happy Birthday

My all time musical icon, Debbie Harry is 66 today. And her and Blondie are still knocking out tunes.

It doesn’t quite rise to the sheer genius of the greatest stuff (what could – I mean could anything challenge the epic brilliance of “Parallel Lines“?) but it ain’t bad.

The new album “Panic of Girls” is released on July 4th. The Telegraph vaguely mentions (though to it’s credit partially refutes) the idea that Debbie begat Madonna who begat Lady Gaga. Yeah, whatever. I tend to think that Debbie could eat Madonna for breakfast and then stack the bones in the shower. Moreover I don’t see those as the spiritual successors of Blondie as much as maybe St Etienne, The Cardigans and maybe even Goldfrapp. Not least because all my suggestions were a part of a band and not solo artists. OK, Goldfrapp are a duo but imagine Alison without Will on the keyboards? Anyway, forget about line-ups and think teenage: Debbie, Nina, Sarah and Alison are just sexy whereas Madonna and Lady Gaga are just so contrived. Real sexiness doesn’t need a choreographer. It’s like on the male side the late Michael Jackson. Technically an incredible dancer but it just left you cold. There was no joy or true abandon to it. It’s a performance by numbers not by passion. Debbie Harry was (and is) not a carefully rehearsed piece of packaged pop. Seeing Blondie live is not like that. It is like being in the presence of a force of nature.

Anyway, happy birthday Ms Harry! And my finest regards to the rest of the band.

Would you Adam and Eve it!

World’s first carbon neutral bra.

The world’s first carbon neutral bra, made in a factory run on solar panels, has been launched onto the fashion market with hopes that all clothing will be more environmentally friendly in future.

The Marks and Spencer (M&S) lingerie set, that will be available online, was made in an ‘eco factory’ in Sri Lanka where energy has been reduced a third through measures like making sure all lighting is from the sun or low energy light bulbs.

It is powered by hydroelectricity produced on a nearby river and solar panels on the roof.

The rest of the carbon dioxide produced in making the bra will be offset by planting 6,000 trees in the community every year. Most of the trees will be native to Sri Lanka, therefore boosting wildlife. A quarter will be fruit trees that can generate money for the local community.

The Carbon Trust Footprinting Certification Company has calculated the carbon used in making the bra and will monitor the project to ensure emissions are cut.

Jesus fucking wept.

The scheme will also help wildlife. Sri Lanka’s forests are home to approximately 90 per cent of the country’s endemic species but are disappearing at a rate of 1.6 per cent per year.

M&S are working with the Conservation Carbon Company to help local farmers replant trees so that what is left of the rainforest in southern Sri Lanka can be reconnected again via ‘green corridors’. This allows wildlife such as the slender loris and green vine snake to move around. The local farmers are helped to develop sustainable agriculture harvesting fruit and timber.

Mike Barry, Head of Sustainable Business at M&S, said the retailer will be trying to make more clothing carbon neutral in future and expecting other companies to follow suite.

“We don’t want green, eco-friendly products to be in a ghetto in the corner, we should be making all products more environmentally friendly,” he said.

I honestly don’t know where to start. OK, start simple Nick and work up to the Götterdämmerung. First off the lass on the right – that don’t work. She’s way too buxom for a strapless number. OK, got that off my er… chest. The sad truth I was trying to avoid is that it will find buyers.

How do I know that? Because I’ve met the sort of people who would buy that sort of thing. I once had a flatmate called Martin. Martin was a twat. Sorry, Mart but there is no other way of putting it. He was very Green. He was so Green that he sent off for the Green party manifesto and then didn’t read it. I did. So did the rest of our flat and we concluded (this was c.1996) that whilst hitherto we’d regarded Greens as lentil boiling socks’n'sandals cranks they were actually extremely nasty. As I said Mart didn’t read it and in the end it was recycled which is fitting in a sense.

Now Mart wasn’t a hit with the ladies. I once saw him come out of the bathroom starkers but for a towel wrapped around his organs of generation and elimination. Another of my flatmates said, “Oi, Sabu the elephant-boy!” He was the spitting double of Mowgli despite being white British and from near Sheffield (which is nothing to be proud about). Anyway we must now enter stage-left a Canadian. Jamie was a nice guy. He was from Vancouver. He had a cavalcade of Canucks dossing on his floor. First was The Noah and then The Gayle. For some reason these West Coast Canucks felt the need to address each other using the definite article – a night on the Stella with The Jamie was a most excellent adventure if you catch my drift. The Noah was a sound chap who stood his round and could usually be found, “Watching the game (it didn’t matter what) having a beer” but The Gayle was something else…

I have no idea what form of financial support the friends of Jamie had. In short I basically have no freaking idea what they did or where the money came from. The Noah was a sort of force of nature. The Gayle was nature. Shortly before pitching-up in London she had spent six months living in a treehouse in British Columbia protesting about something. Anyway Green Mart was smitten from first sight. Utterly. He got nowhere of course despite cooking her a vegan curry to general derision. Now don’t get me wrong here. My wife is vegan but veganism is not the point. It was the procession of the vegetables that caused the derision. These involved a “baby aubergine”. Apparently The Gayle said, “Oh isn’t it so cute, can I hold it?” (she spoke entirely in italics all the fucking time) I wasn’t there but my flattie Sid told me afterwards. I’m glad I wasn’t there because I’d probably have lost control of various bodily functions that are not the done thing to lose control of in company. Certainly not in front of Canadians. I’m English. I have standards.

So, my point is if this silliness from M&S had been on the market back when Mart was trying to seduce The Gayle it is exactly the sort of thing he would have bought her. Maybe then he would have got at least tops and fingers. As it was he got fuck all. Not even a kiss. After having known The Gayle for 48 hours though he did tell me (this was just after the aubergine incident) that she, “Was the most important woman he’d ever met, ever”. You see, he saw life through a different lens. Most don’t pretend sexual attractiveness is something it isn’t but not Mart. He saw attractiveness purely in terms of righteousness rather than the thing in itself. Now show me a picture of Dita von Teese in the nip and I’m like “Yeah!”. Show Mart the same picture and he’d probably mumble something about it being “exploitative” and then shamble off to his room for a wank. But if you made some pony up about how Ms von Teese’s burlesque shows were “carbon-neutral” the likes of Mart would wax lyrical – and then also go off for a wank. But a righteous wank this time.

But forget about Mart! And Dita, alas! I must here air my Unified Field Theory of Frilly Things. Most things are sold as commodities in a sense. A litre of milk costs more than half a litre. This does not apply to underwear. Imagine it’s December 23rd and you are in Central Manchester and you have to buy a Crimble prezzie for the missus. Underwear always works. Now you can spend a lot at Harvey Nicks or Selfridges on “Love, Kylie” or “Elle MacPherson ‘Intimates’” or you can buy five panties for a tenner at Primark. One of those paths is a false economy. One of those will have you kipping on the sofa ’till Easter if you are fucking lucky. My point here is that lingerie is an inverse commodity. The more you pay the less (by mass) you tend to get. It is not at all like pig iron or pork bellies (thank God!). So on the general assumption that in terms of carbon footprint and resource depletion and all that jazz then the more expensive the underwear the better surely? On every count! For the planet, for the prospect of a blow-job, for not sleeping on the sofa for months! And surely getting divorced is a hell of a thing for your carbon footprint.

But that’s my take. Mart probably has a different one. And next Winterval some “lucky” lady will unwrap her carbon neutral knickers and bra and swoon before engaging in deeply unfulfilling sex with the miserable sod. And he was a miserable sod and a hypocrite. The only shag he got that year was with another of my homies – Alison. Subsequently I got to know Alison quite well. After a few drinkies we got to talking about our shag lists. She rated herself as as 3/2*. “A half!” I ejaculated. “Yeah, that was Martin, you couldn’t exactly call that sex!” No, I guess not seeing as he was the sort of bloke who tented his pants over a dimwitted Canuck who wanted to carry a baby aubergine from flat 32 to flat 24.

Last I heard Sid and Alison were happily living together in North London and she was a corporate lawyer and he was an oil engineer. I, inadvertently, almost ended that but the tale of the Canadian ribbed condom can keep. That was yet another Canadian for a start. The gaff was wick with moose-fuckers. We used to play poker and I still find fucking Canadian cents in my penny jar 15 years later.

So how did Mart get to 1/2 Alison? They were both Brahms and Liszt and he chatted her up on the basis purely that she was a vegetarian. He only later found out she also voted Tory… This amused Alison enormously. Mart simply couldn’t get his head around the idea that a vegetarian could be relatively “right wing”. I guess he should have met Hitler – they would have got on like a house on fire. Both being leftie beyond comprehension.

But there is a condom story I have to tell. And it hales from York and not Vancouver. Mart showed me his stash of johnnies (no, not like that – he was straight) but in a spirit of “chappishness”. You know where he got ‘em from? Ensure you are near a toilet now. They were a parting gift from his ex-girlfriend from York. Now I’ve had exs and by and large the parting gift is X-rated lingo both ways and not accessories for your future conquests. Real people break-up with foul language. Mart broke up with condoms. If I live to 113 I will not understand that.

But it is exactly the mentality of the buyer of carbon neutral bras. Exactly. It is about being terribly liberal about sex by not exactly being genuinely liberal but taking the easy route which is thinking it just doesn’t matter. That it is just something us carbon-neutral animals can’t help ourselves from doing.

And that is not the way I look at it. I’m pretty liberal on the shagging but only because I know it can mean more than the world just in and of itself. Things don’t have to be defined to matter. And when I take off my wife’s bra I do not care about the carbon neutrality. I am not Mart. He’d get the righteous horn (though I am told he is hung like a Chinese mouse) if it was a “carbon-neutral bra” but me? Me! I just like tits. And whilst for shopping purposes I know what her technical size is but for groping purposes I think in terms of old money and the utterly “carbon whatever” that is the BSH – The British Standard Handful. I like tits. I’m a non-gay bloke. Do I have to explain? Moreover if I had to think like that I would have the pitiful hit rate of Martin. I have seen (and handled) some beautiful breasts in my time. I have never got my paws on “carbon neutral” ones because a slap in the face generally brings sexual antics to a halt. Clue one is that if you get a girl’s bra off then you have arrived! By definition they gotta be exceptional or you are wasting your time and you wouldn’t want to do that! The same applies to lesbians. I mean real lesbians who like girls and not lezzas who are doing it as a deranged political statement. I like lesbians. I have actually had sex with at least one. She regarded the Guardian as right-wing but she had great tits and really good dope so I forgave her for it.

And she had the tightest cunny parts of any chaos theorist I ever shagged. (Un)fortunately that places her in a set of one.

I guess I now have to go and knit my wife some knickers out of grass and then make up a bed on the sofa.

Rejected post titles include: “Titiful!”, “Titter ye not!” and “Penny Bizarre”.

*I’m a physicist by training so I use vulgar fractions.

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