St Francis of Assisi tends to the giant S Club Sheep

Aww, look at the little giant Bradley sheep.

Dawson's Crepe

It's a friend of mine's birthday on Friday and I couldn't think of anything to get her. Suddenly I remembered that she was a fan of sweet foods and the mid 90s teen telly shows. Thus the Dawson's Crepe was born.

War on bad adverts

A while ago I decided that if I truly hated an advert on TV I wouldn't buy the product ever again (I suppose if they made a truly fantastic ad later, I might reconsider but so far no-one's come close to making that an issue).

I should clarify that it's not about an advert being annoying. I find GoCompare and WeBuyAnyCar as irritating as everyone else, but I'm hapy to give them the benefit of the doubt that the people behind them knew that. They were deliberately setting out to do it so the ad was memorable and become a talking point. CompareTheMeerkats treads this line very finely.

I only veto a product if it somehow offends me. Looking at the list the theme seems to be smugness.

1) The first advert that really got to me was for the launch of Coke Zero. It had a growing parade of Nuts reading type blokes asking why all the good things in life come without the downside - "Girlfriends without 'the five year plan'", "Mobile phones without the dodgy ringtones". I think my problem with this was the blokey-ness of the whole thing, with the underlying suggestion that drinking Diet Coke was less than manly. Only chicks and gays drink Diet Coke. Awful. Before it was even launched I decided I would never drink Coke Zero.

2) Not long after this I noticed an ad for a 'stool softener' called Dulcoease. This advert was a parody/homage/rip-off of Sex and the City. A woman walks into a cafe to meet the three friends complaining about having had a hard poo. Her clever witty (smug) mate gives her some Dulcoease she happens to have in her handbag (I'd suggest that if two or more of them are having the same problem they might want to look at their diet).

The final nail in the coffin for this one is the last line. Woman number three joins in the hard poo discussion, revealing, "I used to have a big pain in my life...", before being interrupted by her smuggest mate (the one with the stool softener always handy), "Before she ditched him!" Hilarity ensues. Firstly, it's just not funny, but more importantly it doesn't work. No-one would ever start a sentence with 'I used to have a big pain' that only works as a weak contrived feed for the punchline. I hate them.

3) Appropriately enough, the third ad was the direct competition for the product that started all this. Pepsi Max. Pepsi Max have had a number of adverts which I can't remember but early this year they started one that I can only describe as more than a little rape-ish. The premise is that a guy in a bar tries it on with a woman who knocks him back, luckily his mates fake a world ending asteroid so, believing we are facing extinction, she jumps him. Afterwards the very clever bloke goes back to his mates and they all do a happy little dance about it.

If someone says no, then you perpetrate a fraud to sleep with them, that is rape. Hopefully, when they were dancing she was giving a statement to the police.

4) ISA-ISA Baby - Halifax. Sweet Jesus. I don't need to explain. This is probably the only advert which I actively change channel during out of sheer embarassment for eveyone involved.

5) Currently the final product on the list is also the only one that I was really likely to use. I sometimes drink wine, and quite like the occasional glass of Jacob's Creek. It's cheap, pleasant enough and every shop in the country seems to have thousands of bottles. Never again though.

The latest ad feature an australian guy having some friends round for a dinner party. This man is amongst the smuggest people ever shown on television. One of the worst moments is, "It's loved by the world's most important wine critic." "Who?" "Me". I would actually leave the party at that point. I think my problem with this one is that Jacob's Creek seem to be trying to suggest that if I buy their wine I'll be buying a lifestyle (yes, I know that's half of advertising) and the lifestyle seems to be one of a massive tosser.

Whilst it's certainly not the worst offender on the list (clearly that's Pepsi Sexpest), this last advert did prompt me to step up my campaign. Not only am I never buying Jacob's Creek again, I decided to write to tell them. Yep, Pernod Ricard UK will by now have received notification down in Hounslow (really?) of my decision. I'm not entirely expecting a reply.

My personal ad

Last year I decided to put a personal ad in the paper. So I asked my female friends what should I try to get across, what were women looking for. I consistently got two answers: honesty and a sense of humour. Every woman I asked: honesty and a sense of humour.

Fair enough, but how do you get across 'honesty and a sense of humour' in 130 characters? Not the easiest thing but I thought I'd nailed it with mine (see picture).

Oh yes.

So how many replies did I get? Yep, that's right, none. Not one.

Not a single woman replied. Week after week that advert ran. Nothing.

'Honesty and a sense of humour' my arse. Women don't want that. It's true what they say - women want bastards.

I've decided what ad I'm putting in this year to really appeal to what women want.

Just three words:

'Cunt seeks similar'



Actually none of that is true.

I got quite a few replies (twenty something). I met seven of them who were inteligent attractive interesting women and it actually made me wonder how bad the rest of the men in London must be. But that doesn't lend itself to a decent punchline.

The Joy of Text Sex

Recently, I was having a text exchange with the girl I was seeing, discussing what we’d do at the weekend. Just boring stuff with the odd innuendo thrown in. But then things started to get a little, err, fruity, and a bit more specific. And she switched to the present tense. Suddenly we were apparently going at it. I was ready to fck u wit my hrd cok.

I’m not skilled in the whole SMS thing. Cursed with stubby fat textless thumbs. Digital obesity. But there, lying on the sofa, I had to give it a go.

In SMS land, we were in her room so desperate that we were up against her door grabbing at each other tearing our clothes off. In reality I’m trying to push down my pants with one hand.

Another problem I have is that I’m very right handed, I’ve got no coordination with my left at all. I struggle to smoke and drink at the same time. What we’re doing seems to need two right hands. Typing on a little phone keypad whilst wanking is not the easiest thing. Fuck patting your head whilst rubbing your belly, THIS is dexterity training.

I’m trying to swap hands whilst maintaining momentum. It’s just not working. But hang on, I only really need my thumb to text. So I try grabbing my cock in my fingers whilst holding my phone against it, along the vein with the base nestled in my gingery curls. Using my thumb to type but still using the full skills of my talented right hand fingers. Genius.



But I haven’t thought this through. My phone has a sliding action. And it’s got a hair trigger. This may not be a problem for everyone but my knob end is, err, fluted. SNAP. The phone snaps back closed catching the ‘rim’ in it. HOLY SHIT THAT HURTS. I’m in agony, my cock is swelling (not in a good way) with a massive and purple looking end (again, really not in a good way). But there’s no way I’m stopping now, this is a whole new arena in our relationship and I’m not going to blow it now.

There’s a bigger problem though. Yes, my bruised throbbing bell end is bad but there’s worse. When the phone snapped closed I was working on a particularly impressive message. I look at the screen and see ‘Saved to drafts’. Fuck.

I’m desperately trying to dig through four menus to find the bloody ‘drafts’, whilst struggling to left handed maintain an erection in my now reluctant cock. I’m half wondering whether I should just stop, after all she’d never know. Then thoughts start to creep into my head, never a good move even during hypothetical sex. I’d assumed she was in a similar position to me. Sorting herself out. But how would I know. She could be doing some light dusting (not euphemistically). Or worse, sitting round her mum’s for tea. It puts me off for a moment, but I quickly come to the conclusion: well, a wank’s a wank.

Anyway, I find the draft. But it’s nearly blank. I can’t remember exactly where we were. I definitely had something up her. Fingers? But was it just a couple or the full KitKat? Or maybe my cock. Sorry, my ‘huge hard throbbing cock’?

I go with fingers. All the while trying to keep up momentum cackhandedly while avoiding the phone-snap bite.

My phone buzzes. A new message. She must have got bored waiting.

Now there’s a question. Should I read her text first? Fuck it. This took to much time and pain to type. Send.

Read.

Bollocks.

My cock’s in her! She’s on top (though I have no idea when that happened). I shouldn’t have gone with the fingers. Right. I’ll go with this anyway. Pushing my hard cock into her, meeting her as she rides me. Send.

(separately, it occurred to me that all the words I could think of for what my knob was doing seemed a little aggressive – push, thrust, force, ram - never wiggle)

At the exact moment that one’s sending a new one arrives. She’s replied to my fingers. I’m back out with a hand up her. Apparently I’m caressing her while my other hand grasps at a breast as I suck a nipple. Fine. I’m squeezing away. Send.

Next reply: and yes, of course we’re fucking again.

We’re having two separate conversations. I suddenly realise I’m in a foursome with myself. And I’ve got really different approaches going on. One of me is all hard fast fucking while the other of me is still strokingly foreplaying. I’m going to have to cum twice here and I’m not sure I can physically do that.

There’s something else really worrying me. Any minute now, I could get a text from myself asking, “Have you ever been a little curious? After all, the inside of a man’s mouth is basically the same as a woman’s.”

Luckily, she’s pulled it together and only replies to the harder version. Which I’m thankful for. Not only because it means I won’t have to face turning down gay sex with myself (although, I would have let myself down gently), but also because I think the foreplay I’d painted probably required three arms.

So now we’re just going for it. All ramming and thrusting. And in the real world, on my sofa, I’ve really mastered my technique.

Which brings up yet another question. What is the etiquette for ejaculation? Should I try to hold off to match the text version? If I do cum, should I pretend I haven’t and carry on going (not something I can usually do convincingly)? Or should I just be honest and whatever message she sends reply with “Uh, uh, aah. Sorry. G’night.”?

But. Best thing ever. She beats me to it!

I’m a gentleman though:

I fake it – just to make her feel good.

And it’s all over.

The trouble is, I’m now left on my own,with cock in hand, wanking into a sock. Ultimately, despite the initial excitement the night just finished just like every other evening.

Short Fat Ginger Guide to Dancing - part 4

Getting on the dance floor

So you’ve got the right mindset and you think you’re ready to dance. BUT how do you go from leaning on the bar to gyrating your hips in an overtly sexual and slightly distasteful manner out on the floor? When you’re not moving, your spot on the dance floor can seem a very very long way away.

Luckily, there are many great ways of getting you out there ranging from the simple through to the dramatic and we’re going to go through a few for you, step by high step, so you can choose the one that’s right for you in each situation.

Before you go out it’s important to have chosen a spot on the dance floor where you want to get to, your ‘Dance Target Zone’(DTZ). In many cases, you’ll already have friends on the floor so will be aiming for them but if not then pick a spot where the most people can see your moves.

Beginners may want to start with the simplest of all the methods, known as the ‘Standing up, walking on to the dance floor and starting to dance’ move. This technique involves firstly standing up, then walking towards the designated DZT and, soon after arrival, starting to dance.

3) Standing up, walking on to the dance floor and starting to dance




Starting from a seated position [a chair can often be useful for this] (1) shift your weight forward on to your feet and legs and raise your body (2); move first one foot forward towards the DTZ (3); then the other (4) and repeat until you reach the appropriate place; then stop (5); before finally getting down with your bad self (6).

Often, when dancing with others (say in a Standard Dance Circle) at the point you actually start dancing, more advanced practitioners will include a double nod and smile at one or more person in the group. Generally, immediately before dancing when you first arrive at the group there will be a short pause where it is recommended you shrug and show a slightly bemused facial expression[1].

Dance summary – Standing up, walking on to the dance floor and starting to dance

Pros:

Simple to learn and master – most beginners will have practiced the key components of this move in their daily life without even realising it! Now you just need to put them together and get down.

Dancus Interuptus – en route to the dance floor if the song changes, you change your mind or you realise you don’t actually know those people when you get close, this move can easily be converted to the ‘walk past them to the other side of the dance floor because that’s what you were doing all the time’ technique.

Cons:

Seat shortage – a key component of this move is the ‘standing up’ and this can prove difficult, if not impossible in the absence. Unless you are a teenage girl who is crying, drunk on Bacardi Breezers, and has just broken up with her boyfriend, sitting on the floor by the dance floor is generally frowned upon. (For possible solutions see Appendix 1: Variations to moves – ‘Walking on to the dance floor and starting to dance’)

The walk-dance gap – as mentioned, there has to be a point where you transition from walking into dancing where you are, hopefully briefly, just some bloke standing doing nothing. Just find that beat quickly.

Lack of flair – no-one wants to watch some bloke walking.

Usual practitioners: Men

Likely songs: Fits with anything but seen with Phil Collins (another con)

ALAT Rating: 1/10 – it’s walking but beware of the tricky gap.

Overall: It may be dull but you know it’ll get you there, like mastubating into a sock.

[1] See any scene featuring Martin Freeman in The Office

How to kill a joke through repetition (but carry on going like picking a scab)

Quite possibly my favourite proper joke I’ve written is also one of the cheesiest christmas crackeriest but I love it. Still, that didn’t stop me spending a day or so re-working it over and over again gradually killing it. Anyway:

My mother married a scaffolder; now I’ve got a step-ladder.

And:

My mother married an aerobics instructor; now I’ve got a step-class.

My mother married Hermann Hesse; now I’ve got a step-penwolf.

My mother married a stop on the district line; now I’ve got a step-ney green.

My mother married Marsellus Wallace; now I’ve got a step-aside, Butch.

My mother married a horror writing poultry magnate; now I’ve got a step-hen king.


I feel sickened and ashamed.