Posts Tagged ‘Rim job’

McCoys Crisps.

May 22, 2007

Have you seen this crap? A young gentleman and his mates stand at a bar, all of them the types of chap who could make Guy Richie collapse in an onanism-frenzy due to their Fred Perry attire. Two of them sip lagers and munch McCoy’s crisps. They are wearing suits and V necks. Not work suits. They wear suits on what would seem to be an evening away from work – a leisurely drink with their mates. There are no women in the pub from what we can gather, just East End gangster types with shaven heads. The whole thing is stylised like a Lock Stock nightmare. It is the sort of pub you would never want to go into in your right mind.

The protagonist of this little piece of crap goes over to the jukebox to put on some tunes. He is knocked into by a man with a tray. Cripes! His finger slips on the jukebox! He’s put in a song and he doesn’t even know what it is! 

He shrugs. He returns to his mates. As he crosses the room, the tune he has inadvertently selected kicks in. It is Puppy Love by 70’s teen heart-throb, Donny Osmond. Good heavens! What will the lads think?

We gather what the other drinkers think from a couple of split second shots. A cropped bloater looks across with incredulity. What was he thinking? A fellow pauses at the pool table to look across with disgruntlement.

The crisps are removed from his hands and he is removed from the pub via a large suction tube and the words MCCOYS – MAN CRISPS dominate the screen, after one of the party asks where they’re all going to be meeting at some future arrangement.

What are McCoys playing at?

Error Number One 

Is it just me, or is a pub in which there are only well-groomed men seem a bit at odds with the notion of complete masculinity? Isn’t it suggestive of a gay bar, where more likely than not one or two of the clientelle will be a tiny bit feminine?

Error Number Two

Puppy Love is a song about a young man yearning for a woman. ‘They’ll never know…just why I love her so’, go the lyrics. It is, in fact, an apt song for the young man to play. It would assert his masculinity, surely? He’s yearning for female company for Christ’s sake, and it’s no surprise as he’s surrounded by pink, spherical men.

Error Number 3

When he is ejected from the pub, the tool used to do so is a long, spherical item which I wouldn’t hesitate in dubbing phallic. He is literally sucked off in a pub filled with men. The fact that once this act is concluded, when we are at the point of climax, one of the men asks where they’re all meeting at a future time – essentially arranging another time to do exactly the same thing – it seems we’ve just watched a massive gay East End orgy.

It seems that the advertisers, whilst brainstorming in the boardroom, took the branding up the wrong alley. Mrs.

Sex In Court

April 13, 2007

Judges 

I had never seen this pile of dross before. I didn’t particularly want to watch it the other night, but I felt it was my duty to observe and report back to WWM.

Sex in Court – for pity’s sake – it’s bound to be awful isn’t it?

It’s basically Judge Judy, only concentrating on the ancient art of rogering and all that lies with it via an unwelcome peer into the seedy highs and dirty lows of the bedroom capers of ‘ordinary’ members of the public.

Once upon a time in this country talking about our sexual endeavours in public would have been considered perverted, perhaps even deviant behaviour and was simply not done. These days however, people are chomping at the bit to go on national television and discuss aspects of their private life that frankly, I don’t want to hear.

On a personal level, a mature and open attitude to sex is surely the way forward, while giggling and whispering about it as though some old woman on the bus has just laid a corking great egg of a fart seems sadly pathetic.

Maybe it is our unwillingness to confront these issues as a nation that has created an aura of taboo around the act of sex rather than it being a natural fact of life, and maybe this is the reason eight year old kiddies are allegedly rodding each other senseless left right and centre, and maybe that is the reason Britain has the highest rate of teenage pregnancies in Europe. Maybe.

So what is it that is ingrained into the psyche of our country that has made so many Brits at first coy and now overly forthcoming concerning their attitudes to the supremely enjoyable world of carnal activities?

Answers on a lewd postcard from Skegness please.

The first couple under scrutiny in this cul-de-sac of piffle consisted of a berserk looking French chump who couldn’t persuade his fiancé to fellate him for neither love nor money. Actually, I don’t recall him mentioning offering money. Maybe that would have worked. Maybe.

She was of the opinion that it was not favourable from her point of view, and that it didn’t make her feel very sexy. I think she was slightly missing the point regarding who is meant to feel the sexiest in a blowjob scenario. Anyway, call me mad, but I always thought that providing pleasure is in itself a pleasurable experience. Plus she seemed to have no complaints in letting our French chump take the headfirst trip downstairs on her behalf.

In the end the jury found her guilty and she was instructed to attend – wait for it – fellatio classes. (Sounds ridiculous at first, but in my humble tongue-in-cheek opinion, it should be a compulsory part of every ladies’ further education, similar in a sense to national service. The world would certainly be a much nicer place for me to live in).

Anyway, the second nauseating set of polyps included a gloomy faced pork-woman and a tragic delta-male who had the kind of runt-of-the-litter based properties that could only be produced as a result of conception during a cider-fuelled tramp-orgy in a peat bog.

Their problem was that he was quite fond of waking her up at five or six in the morning with his pole at the ready, demanding sex.

He defended his actions in court by saying “I’ve got mother nature on my side”.

The jury however, defied mother nature, finding runt-boy guilty of pestering pork-woman. This is my favourite part – the judge pulled out some bog roll and porn mags (seriously!!) and instructed him to five knuckle shuffle his way to orgasmic glory of an early morning instead.

This programme should never be watched by anyone. It’s not educational and it’s not entertainment. It’s actually the worst kind of nasty-arsed voyeurism going.

This show has its own resident sex expert who would occasionally talk about 69ing or point to diagrams of penises and such like, but it could hardly be called educational stuff.

Further crass moments and uncomfortable watching came in the form of the jury discussing each case between verdicts and talking about ‘avin’ a wank, or doing rim-jobs. Among the jury were a couple of old women and the way they talked about sex was about as elegant as I’d imagine it would be to hear some football hooligan effing and jeffing his way through his less than scant knowledge of the finer points of transcendental meditation.

To coin a phrase; this shit (less than reluctantly) sucks.