Posts Tagged ‘men


tales of fail: things grandmother’s eyes have seen

Yup, that time again… There isn’t really any way to ease in to these. Perhaps you should just reside yourself to the fact that you’re about to kill a small, innocent part of your soul and you’re going to laugh through its last pitiful death throes without even noticing until it is too late.

I have had numerous platonic relationships with members of the opposite sex. I take it as a good sign that I am not completely dysfunctional when it comes to relationships with woman, which is not a feat to be scoffed at looking at my track record. This is one of them…

A fateful night that started in the kitchen of my soon to be fuck buddy’s parents place, in the company of her grandmother visiting for the weekend while her parents were away… It was pleasant and jovial start and we assured the sweet old dear numerous times that we were no more than two people who simply enjoyed each others company. This of course was true at the time. I don’t lie, and I certainly don’t lie to other people’s grandmothers. It’s part of my charm that manages to struggle to the surface on occasion, and this just so happened to be one of those occasions. Granny thought me a lovely lad, a bit of an odd dress sense, but perfectly lovely.

The plan for the evening was that I would be shown around my mate’s neck of the woods. I mean her neighbourhood, not her other “neck of the woods”. That part was entirely unplanned and I think surprised everyone. We headed out into the night with granny’s blessing to go be young. Which to us meant go get retarded drunk. The alcohol and conversation flowed that night. Every possible facet of life and what it all meant was discussed as we bar hopped around her little town. I probably discovered something profound and meaningful in all that talk, but it was obliterated by the amount of tequila I poured down my throat. I believe the count was up to 15 tequila shots, when we eventually crash landed back at her place both shit faced and ready to suck face. This incidentally, planted the seed for a strategy I would employ for years involving getting blind drunk, talking incessantly, and then pulling out my penis. If you ever plan on using this method I can vouch that it has about a 100% chance of your penis being played with, but only about a 30% chance that it won’t be by you. Some are thoroughly charmed by your straightforwardness and some are inclined to strike out and scream for help. C’est la vie.

pop art, comic book, woman slapping man, pervet getting smacked

happens more than I like to admit

We were just in middle of passionate love-making… To the casual observer it looked like two drunk people making a good go of fucking on the couch. When the inevitable happened, a lesson that I never really learnt in the years preceding or since that night, that when I have had that much liquor, my dick won’t cooperate with anyone. My dear friend and current object of lust was trying her damnedest to get a rise out of the offending appendage when unbeknownst to us, our skin on skin slapping must have alerted her grandmother to something not quite right happening in the house. She knew the sound even if she couldn’t quite place from where and when. She sat up right, hopped out of bed with the agility of a much younger woman, wrapped herself in her old lady night-gown and made her way through the dark house like a fucking ninja to investigate the origin of the strange but familiar sounds. What she found was two pale naked bodies lit only by moonlight engaged in what can only be described as a blow job. She stood for a moment, shocked, unable to believe the scene in front of her. I, being the only one able to look around the room was equally stunned and speechless. It seemed like an eternity that our gazes locked, watching horror creep over each other’s faces. Both our cheeks going crimson, hers from anger, mine from being sucked off, until there was nothing to be done but to break the silence. There wasn’t exactly silence if I’m completely honest. I’m certain there was a slurp or two in those few milliseconds.

grandma, gun

visions of my future

Granny broke her granddaughters concentration and the silence by shouting, “So this is what just friends do?!”. She didn’t wait for an answer, thankfully. She blurted something about getting dressed and going to bed while making a hasty retreat down the corridor back to her room. Our dear friend, mortified at being caught with cock in mouth, covered her face and understandably took a minute to curl up and die a little inside. While she did that I located my scattered clothes and pulled them on ready to make my exit. I was a gentleman though and waited when she went to check that Granny hadn’t died of a heart attack. I fought my initial instincts then to get the fuck out the house and run before Gran came back with a weapon of some sort. When our, now dressed, mate returned she insisted on account of my drunk state that I still spend the night, albeit, on the couch, fully clothed and far away from her. After some whispered debate, I finally relented when I realised that the situation was far more embarrassing for grandmother and granddaughter than it was for me. I was also assured nothing violent would happen to me while I slept so I reluctantly agreed. We made coffee and sat on the aforementioned couch, and laughed at how the night had ended. To me, a rather good indication that we were to stay good mates.

That morning, I awoke with a pounding head, tongue like sand and cock that felt thoroughly used. I was greeted by the sounds of Granny and one of her friends having Sunday tea while I was passed out, just feet away. I pretended to be asleep for as long as possible but eventually I had to relieve my bladder. I can’t say I’ve ever had such an awkward morning before or since. Then I haven’t been caught completely naked with a future generation’s head in my lap since then either. Strangely, Granny agreed not to tell anyone about what the three of us had shared that night and it seemed like it ended there. That is until a few years later, when our mate’s mother, who I managed to make multiple good impressions on and was on great terms with, hinted that she had been clued in on what had happened on her lounge suit all those years ago. In my shock and embarrassment, I’m afraid I probably didn’t offer up a very good apology at the time… So, Mrs “Mate’s Mom”, if you ever read this, I really am sorry I got my balls out and all over your living room… and I’m sorry you just read the details of what happened that night now.


look like a kiddie fiddler!

It’s coming to the end of November, and thus the close of Movember. Meaning most non-pedos are itching to shear off their moustaches. If you live in a hole in the side of a mountain and only just ventured down to discover that humans have begun using things called, “computers” that connect to this thing called the, “internet” and just stumbled on here, I’ll explain…

I dub these cave hippies... Adam and Eve.

Movember is about raising awareness for cancers that effect men. What this has to do with growing hair on your upper lip, is that prostate cancer the most dreaded of cancers for men, messes with the hormones that make men “manly”, called Androgens. I’ll skip the technical stuff and just say that these Androgens make your spunk, and make you grow facial fuzz. Anyway, there is no cure but there are some preventative measures you can take. Eat your veggies, take your vitamins, and look after your cholesterol, and one that you should be doing already anyway, avoiding sexually transmitted diseases. The medications to treat high cholesterol and STD’s have been linked to cancer of the prostate.

Besides the obvious threat of clogged arteries and mangy looking genitals, you can now add, cancer threat, to the list of motivations to keep yourself relatively healthy. By the way, besides not pissing normally and fucking up your baby gravy production, prostate cancer will stop you from standing to full attention. That’s right lads, no more hiding the purple headed ferret in its burrow.  There is, however, another prevention method that I suspect will appeal more than those mentioned already… frequent ejaculation. Yup, from now on if you’re caught molesting yourself, instead of that, awkward eye avoiding until it seems like it’s been forgotten thing, we all do. You can now claim prostate cancer prevention. I think I just heard the wankers of the world cheer in unison.

He's stoked, she's amused, he's super stoked, and he's just figuring out that he's a wanker.

To sum up, we create awareness about prostate cancer by showing off that we can still grow hair on our faces… Kind of cruel, if you think about it. Never one to avoid showing off in front of those suffering from a dread disease, I had designs on growing a pencil moustache like John Waters. Most wouldn’t let Johnny in their barn near livestock, never mind passed the threshold of the front door and grant access to family pets, or gods forbid, children. That was my aim though. I wanted to be cool like J.W. If I can make it awkward for people to even look at me, I’m winning in my head. Unfortunately, due to some overzealous pruning, I ruined any chance of showing off my ‘tache and freaking out young mothers in malls. Hopefully next November, I’ll woo woman and intimidate men simply by showing up with my “mo” oh so glorious. If you still think that Movember is a load of shit. I just educated your once ignorant self, proof that it works.

Johnny Waters doing what he does naturally... Looking weird as hell.


everybody loves a trainwreck… especially me.

Dear Jesulbub,

I would like to give thanks to you for putting morons on this wet rock called Earth and then letting them loose. Their antics, although infuriating and sometimes scary, at times, offer me great amusement when I need it most. Like just the other day, when I was in the middle of a particularly stressful week, you let one of your many morons skip merrily on to the interwebs and it clicked it’s way on to twitter, where this particular child of yours, managed to fuck up a major international brand’s image for South Africa in the space of one afternoon… I sat in my office and followed the carnage with great interest, and I am thankful for all the laughs as I watched it spiral out of control ending with a big bloody nuclear fallout of an explosion, that was the public’s backlash at stupidity.

Your’s Forever Grateful,

P. Blood

I know I can say some pretty sexist and misogynistic shit on this blog. I am aware of it but I do it anyway. I try to make up for it usually by including some form of apology or admission that I am being a dick… It might not be enough, but then I don’t particularly care if you’re offended. This is a personal blog about nothing, just because I happen to have followers and readers doesn’t make me responsible for anything. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. There are plenty of other yawn worthy blogs to entertain your small minds out there. Even after saying that, there is some stuff I won’t write here or anywhere else for that matter… Like the dumb shit some ass hole, sitting in Durex’s offices somewhere in South Africa, started tweeting. Whoever let this mouth breather near a computer and explained to him (it was definitely a dude. No woman would have made those jokes) how to use twitter, clearly didn’t go as far as explaining what he was doing and the impact it would have if he managed to piss people off. Oh man… Did he piss people off. I have been trying for over a year to get that kind of hatred aimed at me. Clearly, I’ve been doing it wrong. All I need to do is remove my brain, let a 100 chimps shit all over it, stick it back in my head, and let the monkey crap spill out…

Gladly shit on your brain, old chap. But, whatever for?

I like all  social media we have available to us these days. It’s benefits out-weight the negatives by far, but like I explained to some new small-town friends and family, it is still a relatively new technology that we haven’t fully learnt to deal with yet. Our society is still catching up in a way. It is very apparent that not everyone is up to using social media properly, and with the appropriate level of restraint. I have faith though, that one day it will be no more complicated or unfathomable to even the dullest of light bulbs as using a telephone. If anything,  DurexSA’s twitter tragedy, will hopefully be a lesson to others, that letting any old wannabe keyboard jockey that talks a lot, manage your brand’s social media, is not a good idea, because it potentially leads to…

DurexSA gives it a whole new meaning, don't they?


wall to wall plastic cocks.

If you’re planning on going to the Durban Sexpo, you best avoid being a single hetero male… You will eventually tire of the whole affair, and spend most of your time at the bar, paying out the nose for beer, trying to figure out if it’s lecherous to hit on woman at a Sexpo… WARNING: It is. It’s akin to standing in the lingerie section trying to pick up woman.

Durban Sexpo

I’m not even entirely sure why anyone would want to go to the Sexpo. The majority of the stuff on show can be found in your corner sex store. Probably at a less of a mark up as well. The stuff that you can’t find at a sex store you can order online. I know some of you are going to say, but going to a sex store is an uncomfortable experience for the less sexually liberated folk. How is walking around a crowded well-lit exhibition hall trying to decide which cock replacement to buy any less intimidating than walking into a dimly lit, often pretty discreet adult store? First off, you’re unlikely to bump in to anyone you know, which trust me, after watching the encounter my mate had with some  female acquaintance, not realising she was testing the range on the remote for a water proof vibrating love egg, is something you’d rather not happen.

Love Egg

for those who don't know... this is a love egg.

The need for a Sexpo at all is beyond me… You can find everything and anything you’d want on the internet… Buy a porno? Are you mental!? Most of the internet is made of porn! I browsed the aisle and none of the DVD’s on sale were niche sort of variety that you couldn’t find more variety of online. They’re called download torrents, learn to use them… Okay, what about wank toys? No dude that I know takes his sword polishing that seriously to want to fork out hard-earned cash for a five-minute tug job that he essentially has to still perform himself. The one device looked like a plucked uncooked starved chicken. How the fuck you could shake hands with the milkman with that thing, I have no idea. The novelty of it would wear off quick; quicker than it takes an orgasm addict to spank his frank. For the ladies, there is a massive amount to choose from. Double ended 18 inch dildo to something that looks like a gate remote. Seriously you could attach it to your keys, and no one would think twice. There are aisles of dress up stuff, but I’m certain most of them will be used on Halloween when all the ladies let out their inner slut bag. You know it’s true! There are the millions of different lubricants and edible stuffs which is really more novelty than legitimately naughty. I was impressed by some of the designs of the more “ipod” looking penis replacements but other than being a kind of space age looking ornament, I have no use for that shit. Another exhibitor that caught my attention was the lady who takes plaster casts of sexy bits and paints really awesome stuff on them. The butterflies were really impressive…

Safe to say, the Sexpo in its entirety is geared toward women. If you’re one of those normal, well-adjusted people, in a healthy relationship you’ll have a good time too picking out your bedroom play things. If you get bored with walking around with your tired old bag of a partner you could always go check out the Woman’s or Men’s Lounges… By lounge they mean mini strip club. I didn’t go in, but judging from all the screaming from the Woman’s Lounge it was wild in there. As to be expected all you heard from the Men’s Lounge was music… takes real concentration to check out moving titties. I was there for few hours and the main stage had a whole bunch of stuff going on. I didn’t find any of it that titillating, but maybe I’m just too far gone down the pervert trail, so I won’t bash it too much. Although watching average Joe and Jane lick chocolate of each other isn’t sexy at all… Watching best friends Jane and Judy do it though had potential, but they weren’t stripping off like the Joes were, so it got lame quick.

Once again though, it has to be said, Durban is left wanting. The Jo’burg Sexpo is by miles far better than the pathetic show they have going at Durban Exhibition Centre. Like Durban doesn’t want to see Kayden Kross, Jesse Jane and Alektra Blue! We get Pricasso, some idiot couple doing and aerial show you can see at a weak circus and that hypnotist dude that hypnotised a tow truck driver’s chubby teenage girlfriend to make sex noises. I pulled a face like someone farted the whole time… Disgusting! We don’t even get that tattooed Nazi chick who boned Sandra Bullock’s husband…

my type of woman... if I wanted to be scared to close my eyes.

Over all, I’m cynical of the whole event. 4 days of your average pedestrian walking around trying to act nonchalant about butt plugs and vibrators with so many added features that a normal cock looks like a useless fleshy piss hose. If I was pressed to say something nice, the Durban Sexpo is good for a laugh. Gather up some mates and go point and snigger at the dildo’s moulded off better men that compete with horses for biggest dong. I’d rather people go and hopefully the Durban event improve to the same standard as Joburg’s. If anything you can show off how sexually liberated you are, even though you’re too embarrassed to go to an Adult World…

Go check out the Sexpo site for more details and to book tickets…


a tribute to a tit.

As a bit of a tribute to a friend who is improving the lives of many men today, from her perspective she’s improving her own but I know she’s really being a humanitarian, I thought I would write about those things that fascinate and amuse us male of the species. From birth, with a short break when we think girls are disgusting but our boogers are just fine, to puberty, and from there on till death we are hooked. The Inuit people have something to the tune of 100 words for snow, understandable because 99% of the time they are surrounded by the shit. Men, in general, probably surpass that number even if just by making up stupid noises and gesturing, because frankly we are obsessed with the magic that is, boobs.

hypnotic, aren't they? tell me that's not magic!

You quickly realise how much these parts of the female anatomy matter to us men when you consider just how many names we give them and the endless array of descriptions we use to explain to our mates, in detail, just how awesome they are. I don’t condone men turning our female counterparts in to little more than sex objects that occasionally speak and have a hint of personality. Not at all. Women are wholly fascinating and at times completely confusing creatures that no man has ever managed to fully decipher. They deserve respect and at very least should be treated with a degree of caution. This is probably why we men focus in on your chest pillows so much, ladies. Unlike your minds, or peculiar ways, we can understand ta-tas. We like them. We want them. We have a clearly marked area that we need to pay special attention to. The reasons for all this are inconsequential. We have bars, magazines and most of the internet dedicated to those fun bags. Boobs of every imaginable shade, big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones, ones that you  never actually want to see, and ones you wish you could, but know in your heart you will have to pay for the pleasure, to see. In our tender teen years we fantasized endlessly about them and embarrassed ourselves for years just trying to get the briefest glimpse of cleavage or the tiniest feel of chesticles. The idea of actually laying our peepers on a real pair, with full view of nips, in person, drove our younger selves to blistering masturbation. I’m afraid not much changes as we get older. The skills we acquire through trial and error over the years help us not to embarrass ourselves quite as often but it still happens. Why, just the other day I lost myself while gazing for an inappropriate length of time upon a rather lovely pair in a low-cut black top, only to suddenly snap out of my trance and see that the owner of said lovely pair was glaring directly back at me with an expression of disgust and contempt, her boyfriend had a smirk on I wish I could have slapped off his smug face. Not being one for random violence, I just grinned and averted my eyes like a decent pervert. For future reference ladies, if you catch a guy doing that, stare at his crotch with a bemused look. It was done to me one night and I don’t think my ego has quite recovered from it yet.

even the ancients were mad about them. not much in the way of a face, but the boobs are sweet.

So, my mate is getting her boobs augmented, which if you’ve seen those shows that graphically document it, it is a god awful gruesome, painful procedure. I wouldn’t go through it for anything in the world.  I, like many guys, cringe at the idea of waxing my pubes never mind going through bloody, extreme surgery. Yet we all enjoy and rejoice the fact that ladies make their jugs even better. We come to think of it as normal. It’s extremely selfish of us to expect woman to go through all those discomforts, I think. So lads, I say the next time you see your lady-friend, girlfriend, wife, mistress, work colleague that you act inappropriately towards, and if you’re weird, your cousin or blood relative, give them your thanks, and thank them on behalf of men everywhere for making those bazoombas look better than what a god that doesn’t exist saw fit to bestow on them, and for occasionally sharing them, if not with you, some other lucky bastard. In fact, thank every woman you meet for putting up with our idiotic kind. We owe them that much at least for all the pain and discomfort they go through to look good for us. Although woman should probably take pity on us men. We may be intelligent enough of a species to be able dominate and control our environment to the extent that we have and fly to outer space, (today is the 50th anniversary of the first man in space, if you didn’t know) but we can’t get a handle on our titty fascination. There is small yet pervasive part of our brains, that when we suspect a glorious rack lurks below your blouse, we turn into drooling tools. If that isn’t worthy of pity, I don’t know what is.


tart up your t**t.

Pubic hair… Who looks at a bush and says to themselves, “I could make some money off that!” As strange as it sounds, someone did. I’m not talking about the conventional waxing, pruning services either. Throw that out altogether. This mind took it a few steps further. A mind like that is a wondrous thing, as much as it’s disturbing. The founder of betty™, apparently got the idea while in Rome. I bet it was just her playing around with hair dye and realising it burnt like shit when she put dye near sensitive areas. Then, that doesn’t make it sound as chic does it?

The other day while lazing in front of my computer avoiding work, looking at facebook I saw one of betty™’s ads come up on the side panel. I usually never pay attention to them because they’re mostly bullshit. This one however got my attention and I’m glad it did. After telling my brother he informed me that those ads are tailored to you based on your use of facebook, but for the life of me I have no idea how the-book-of-face thought this would be an appropriate product to market to me. Other than to make fun of.

It’s all down to personal taste… Pubic hair, I mean. Some like it wild. God knows why. I haven’t met a guy yet who prefers “al naturale”. In fact a few of my mates have literally pulled their hands out of girls knickers so fast you’d think something bit them, and made hasty retreats from otherwise really attractive girls because of excess hair. Thankfully I haven’t encountered a woolly snatch yet, so I’ve yet to know what my reaction would be. I’m pretty adverse to just the sight of a healthy panty-forest though so I may do a runner too. I’ve come across a few different types of styles in my time but overall the trend is less is more. As a result of this, I keep my own patch bald, or as close to as possible. I think of it as a common courtesy. According to Cosmo, it means I’ll try just about any form of kink at least once… Which is true, but I don’t put much faith in the accurateness of a magazine notorious for making mens’ lives harder by filling womans’ heads with drivel and solving their problems with questionnaires.

Back to my point… Here is a company that offers ladies and men I guess, the products with which to get creative with their clam beards. You can now sport a heart, bow tie, lightening bolt or lips on your mounds ladies! That’s awesome!!! I’d be pretty impressed if I whipped down a girls girly things to be greeted by a Hot Pink heart… Or even a blue lightening bolt. Why not, right? My only issue with the product is that it really does say a lot about Western society. We’ve stooped to such depths of blind consumerism that we can be sold products to make, what essentially every man and lesbian want since they hit puberty, to look like something out of a cartoon porno. To me, tarting up a twat is worse than paying top dollar for bottled water. Bottled water to my mind is the pinnacle of useless consumerism. It’s like selling breathable air. Then again, guys want lady bits as much if not more than clean air or water. Not that anyone is selling or buying sex here, it’s a just a comparison because we’re talking about a product.

Understandably I’m taking the view of a cynical male on essentially a product for woman. It wouldn’t exist if woman didn’t want to use it, that’s a given. I’m sure the cheeky little front bum secret is quite exciting for them. The reaction they get whenever the lucky laddie sees her decorated downstairs must be fun too. I’m all for the ladies making it fun for everyone. As long as there isn’t a rash of seasonal sprucing up, like red hearts around valentines day or green Christmas trees around the festive season. This very product has graced the pages of such womanly reading fair as Oprah’s O Magazine and Vogue, twice! It’s also appeared in Playboy Magazine, which I think hints quite accurately that this product may have come out of some male fantasy rather than any woman’s’ idea of fun in the bedroom…

In my humble opinion, I’m all for it. Only when I’m lying there having my post cigarette I’ll be thinking, “Surely you could have spent your money on something more important?” but only to myself of course. To show I’m not a complete sexist bastard, as a show of support for betty™, I thought I’d give some suggestions for new charmcils™, their cleverly named pube stencils.

  • An arrow (up or down, it’s up to you)
  • The word “Hi!” (who doesn’t like this informal friendly greeting)
  • A “welcome” mat (it’s obvious I think)
  • Smiley Face (for when it’s angry)
  • Musical note (we all know it happens)
  • Light bulb (men aren’t the only ones to generate thoughts down there)
  • “X” (like on a treasure map)
  • Speech bubble (to be filled in with a marker)
  • Christmas Tree (it’s mentioned but alas not an actual charmcil™)
  • Fish (crude, but comical)
  • An inverted moustache (could be an entire set here)

If you have an idea for a charmcil™ add it below in the comments section, I’m sure others and the folks at betty™ would love to hear them. To end off, for once I’m interested in your opinion. So to entertain yourself for a few moments more, answer the poll question below.

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