Monday, 22 December 2008

Sam: Christmas Wind Up

Well the team at TT are winding up for the year - we are all taking a break and will be back on January 5th with the full complement of Mr Sex, Danonymous, Lee and myself to keep you giggling and thinking for 2009.

Thanks so much for your support, comments, gripes and opinions throughout the year - it's you guys we do this for and hearing from you all makes it really worth while. In case you are feeling a bit nostalgic, we certainly are, below are a few of our favourites posts from the year. Feel free to share your own!

Have a great Christmas and see you all again in the New Year!

Thursday, 18 December 2008

Sam: Santa Baby

I don’t really do stuff from PRs on TT, but, who are our mates, just brought out some great Christmas figures that are close to my heart.

Basically it backs up my opinion that the Christmas office party is one of the best opportunities to pull in the year – it’s pretty much the only time at work that a bit of naughtiness is actually expected. Apparently 7 out of 10 people they polled will use the Christmas party to try and pull a colleague and 1 in 3 don’t even to bother to go home and just use the photo copier or their bosses desk for a shag. 1 in 10 actually claim that they got a promotion as a result of their Christmas party antics.

Work is actually one of the best place to meet someone – in the US 40% of couples meet a either university or through work. The trouble is with HR breathing down everyone’s necks, actually getting something happening at work is quite tricky – usually requiring a concerted effort to actually get them out of the office. The Christmas party is the one time of the year where you can make a pass and probably get away with it. So if you still have your office Yule celebrations to come, go on, why not make a move on that colleague you’ve had your eye on, if your really lucky you might even get a pay rise to boot.

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

Lee: We Need to Talk

When I’ve been dumped it’s always been pretty clinical, it’s just over. Ultimately at the time, when you are involved it sounds a bit blunt, but it’s the best way. Doesn’t leave any room for error. It’s black and white, bang it’s done. I think myself I’ve probably done it myself that way. I think it depends on the circumstances. I met one girl I met a few years ago and I got a text about meeting up. I wrote back saying, I’m out with my friends, down to my parents tonight, then down the hospital tomorrow to see my Dad. Should be back tomorrow night, failing that definitely around on Tuesday. In other words, we can definitely meet Tuesday, possibly Monday. I just get text straight back from her saying ‘I think we need to talk’.

I never saw her again. ‘We need to talk’, that is never going to be a good thing, that either means you are going to have to back down, or they are going to bin you. ‘We need to talk’ is effectively giving your four weeks notice. Anything else is just sugaring the pill. If anyone thinks it is anything other than that they should stop doing the lottery as well – they’re living in a dream world. 99.9999% certain you are going to get axed. 'We need to talk' and you just think right, I’ll leave it at that then.

There was one occasion where a woman just went off the radar. That is a crap one. It was literally everything was alright, then everything was off. Nothing. Silence.  Just on a purely, shit, what’s going on terms, it’s like, was she alive? Some inkling that you are still present on earth would still suffice. I am the sort of person who thinks, is she OK?

Talking about going off the radar, I met another girl, just got her a drink and was going to the loo. I came out and she was gone. My mate told me she’d gone down to the petrol station to get some fags. Well she never came back. And there was her drink. I thought shit. In the end I took a drive by to the Petrol Station  just to be on the safe side. She wasn’t there. She’d told me where she worked, so on the Monday I phoned her work and they told me ‘No, she’s not in’. This was not making me feel any more secure. I called them the next day again, and they said, no, still not in. So at this point I was really shitting myself, thinking, this is a crimewatch job. Something was said, and the woman said ‘oh, we’ve heard from her’. I went oh, that’s all I needed to know.

As it transpired, she went for a pack of fags and as she was crossing the road she broke her toe on the pavement. She ended up down at Whitechapel Hospital in the A&E and her parents came up to get her. Only me. 

You can see Lee this Saturday at the Fym Fyg Bar in Bethnal Green.

Sam: Welcome Lee Hurst!

Well in our never ending quest to keep you laughing, talking and thinking about sex and relationships we’ve managed to recruit Comedian Lee Hurst to join the Todger Talk team as a guest writer.

Keep an eye out for his meandering thoughts on sex, love and relationships over the next month. 

Friday, 12 December 2008

'Mr Sex': What to do when someone you've been besotted with for ages starts going out with someone else and you just want to scream "NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!"

We’ve been here before, oh so many times; you meet someone. You get on. Famously. Really famously. You start knocking about. You fall for them. You subtly (or not, as the case may be) let them know. Nothing happens, but you have this lingering feeling that it might. You still carry on seeing each other, and talk for hours about anything and everything. Nothing happens, but that’s OK, because you’re playing the long game. You tell your mates in moments of weakness. They tell their mates, some of whom are mates of her mates. You carry on seeing each other. You get to know each other better. Nothing happens. You tell your mates even more in greater detail in more alcoholic moments of weakness. You get absolutely locked into this other person, scrabbling around for opportunities to meet up and chances to impress upon them now absolutely mint you are. You develop full-blown Frienditis. And still, nothing happens.

And then, something does happen. They start going out with someone else, leaving you feeling like shit on a stick. What do you do? Well, if you’re like me (who happens to be the King of this particular situation), you do two things;


2) You immediately fix the fuck up and look bastard well sharp.

Because although the natural reaction is to go all Emo and have a good mornge because someone’s inadvertently ripped your heart out and is currently wiping their arse with it, there’s a far greater emergency; preventing yourself from feeling any more of a twat than you already do. You think trying to snare someone is a bastard of a job? Try putting the brakes on your ardour. It’s like trying to pedal a penny-farthing backwards. That’s being towed by four rampaging elephants. On ice.

Whatever you do, you can’t win – but you can not lose. Here’s how I deal with it whenever the bouncers at Club Meaningful Relationship tell me my shoes are too casual, and they don’t like my face, and point me towards the Bus Shelter of Unrequited Love.

Now then; when shit like this happens, there’s two natural inclinations. The first one is to throw a massive sulk and blank said person. Which is a wrong ‘un: you’ll only prove they were right to cock their nose up at you in the first place, and I’ve lost more than one extremely brilliant friend this way. The second one is to go the other way entirely; to make out everything is cool, you’re completely alright about it, and nothing has changed. That’s even more of a wrong ‘un – you’ve still got a mard-on while they’re feeling massively brilliant about themselves, meaning that the balance of power (which was pretty skewed in their favour in the first place) is off the chart. Not only that, but you’ll be bending over backwards for them when you get the slightest hint that their new relationship might not be as brilliant as it seemed (been there, done that too – it’s fucking horrible).

First off, you take yourself out of the situation completely until you’re ready to deal with them again, because if you don’t, it’s gonna be an absolute train-wreck. Either you’re going to see them in the pub and be compelled to ease out of the place without anyone noticing (which’ll make everyone notice), or they’re going to come over and commence a conversation that’ll be as awkward as fuck. Not to mention everyone who knows about the situation will want to make sure you’re alright, which is the absolute last thing you want.

The only sane thing to do, I find, is to get away from the horrible soap opera that your life has become as soon as you can. I find sitting at home in my mankiest, ripped-at-the-crotch-so-my-bollocks-hang-out-like-clackers jeans and cramming takeaway curry into my maw whilst simultaneously playing Mario Kart, screaming “FUCK OFF AHT ME WAY, LUIGI!” and shouting along to this makes things better. You may want to try something different. It won’t be as good as my way, though.

When you’ve got all that out of your system, you’re ready to move on to phase two; re-establishing the relationship in light of the new situation, without making yourself look a total bell-end. This is a tricky one, because if they were worthy of your attention in the first place, they’re going to be as nervous about it as you are about letting you down, and worried that you were only being a decent human being because you were trying to get their knickers off. I find that smiling and nodding at them in the pub is a good start, followed by running off like a bastard.

Then, you pick up the conversation at a later date, but subtly omitting displays of outright affection. No more kisses at the ends of e-mails, overtly smoochy hugs at the end of face-to-face contact, or engineering chance meetings that end at your or their house at 3am. Most importantly, you quietly refrain from offering your services every five minutes, especially when they haven’t really asked for them. Basically, you make clear that you’re going to remain a faithful friend, but you’re nobody’s bitch – and you have to keep a bit of distance from now on so you can move on, whilst not getting in the way of their new thing. But without saying it, obviously, because that’s a bit of a mental thing to come out with.

When all this is established, you can move on to stage three; the rest of your life. At some point – fuck knows when, but it’ll happen – you’ll be able to talk openly and have a laugh about it, and it’ll happen so naturally that you need no coaching from me, and you’ll be proper mates again.

(You may have noticed that I’ve left out a very important part of the equation – the other person. I can’t really offer much advice here, because if you’re anything like me, you’re never going to be able to like the cunt, no matter how decent and undeserving of ire they are. When you’re really into someone, they could be going out with Jesus, and you’re still going to be muttering “Look at that fucking beardy twat, going around like he thinks he’s summat” to yourself. Best thing to do is be polite without getting involved).

Of course, you could circumnavigate all of this mither by simply saying ; “Look, I think you’re fucking ace. I’ll never stop wanting to be your friend. I didn't want to fall for you and risk fucking up a brilliant friendship, but I'm only human. I’m very sure I’ll be an absolute mard-arse in your presence at the moment, so I’m hibernating for a bit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pretend to be someone in a cut-off denim jacket, a large nappy and a mushroomy hat, and throw shells at Luigi for a bit. Because that bastard has had it coming to him for too long now."

But who'd be so gormless as to do that?

Wednesday, 10 December 2008

Danonymous Dan: Sick of Scolding

Sorry for my lack of words recently but I have been sick, and I don’t mean that in a Fritzel kind of way. I’m talking man-cold first class, with a medal in chesty cough, and a citation for blurred vision in the face of severe migraines. Honestly, when I sneeze I spray paint the bedroom.

Illness never seemed much of problem in life before – I’d just call in sick and turn the Xbox on. But I work for myself now: calling in sick means nothing gets done. If you couple starting a live music/comedy/arts production company with my stand-up comedy gigging, it becomes clear that my overworked self was due an illness. It’s a particularly virulent bastard too – all the people I live with have it, loads of the stand-up comics I know have it, and it lasts about two weeks, “Mum! Mum! I’m Dying!”

I don’t often wish I still lived at home, but when I am sick, like any man, I want the brow-rubbing, soup-ladling, hot-water bottle love that only a mother can give me. I want the ‘poor little bunny’ type stuff from the Man Stroke Woman sketch show.

‘But you have a girlfriend – surely she’s nice to you?’

My girlfriend lives in the US (major long distance, I know) but when I am ill I am sort of glad she’s so far away because her scorn at my sickness is somehow less cutting when delivered via a webcam.

During the periods of time we have lived together for months at a time the exact chain of events is this: I tell her I am ill; for the next five hours she is quite nice to me; and then that’s it. If I’m not better after that, she switches into scorn mode and I have to go and cower in an airing cupboard so she can’t find me.

Imagine my upset when I read a Telegraph article, which appeared to suggest this is commonplace – apparently many women do this? 

Now I know the research is just cynical PR nonsense dreamt up in the Monday morning meeting of whichever PR agency handles Reckitt Benckiser. However, we all know the scorn men receive for having ‘man-colds’.

The flipside to this one is that when she is ill, I do tend to try and offer lots of sympathy. In a slightly strange and thankfully-not-physical way, I turn into my mother. Why is this? If she’s ill, I jump to her every whim and wish, but if I am sick, I get beaten like a ginger stepchild. Also why is it that a mother will give this care, but a girlfriend won’t, despite that girlfriend receiving that level of loving caring attention from me?

I know what you are thinking… and no, I am not only nice to her just so she gets better quicker so I can knob her again. Of course, that is a gratifying side effect.

Tuesday, 9 December 2008

Sam: Ouch that hurts

My clients go through some rough and tumble, but one of them recently went to through something that took the cake. She and her man had been going through a really tough time and he had been wanting to ‘talk’ (coming from a man it’s nearly always bad news). So they got together for their ‘talk’, were walking along together and then he spilt the beans:

‘I think you ought to know, I’m going to change my relationship status on Facebook’.

We have all heard of people being dumped on Facebook, or by text but somehow this is so much more pathetic, so much more ridiculous. This is a man who is so gutless that when he try’s to do something face to face he has to use a website as a prop to dump someone. I’m still trying to put my finger on why this is so outrageous, gutless, spineless and well just leaves me a bit flabbergasted. You know what it is – he was pretending to have the guts to do it face to face, but in reality used an electronic dumping prop. In my books that is more gutless than just facing up to what a spineless scumbag you are and doing it on the internet or by text.

I guess that you can tell this really got my goat. Feel free to share and vent your own spleen if you need a bit of public catharsis. Certainly made me feel better.

Monday, 8 December 2008

Sex Toy Review: The Puma Swede Lotus Fleshlight

Yes, I know; we’ve been here before. But these things are so damned popular that they’re becoming a victim of their own success - if I see a torch in anyone’s house, I automatically assume it’s a Fleshlight (and I hope me Dad will start talking to me before the 25th, or me Mam will kick off at me for ruining Xmas again) – and when they bring out new variations on a ridiculously successful theme, I feel I would be letting the side down if I didn't chuck in me tuppence. Or anything else.

I assume you know all about the Fleshlight (and if you don’t, look at this before you do anything else), and you feel that there’s little more to be said about them. But look at these. They’re special. Not only do they contain the actual molding of a porn star’s flange (I chose Puma Swede, mainly because she sounded like a sports vegetable), but they’ve even got their signatures embossed on the side, as if said porn stars were self-harming, but in an extremely egotistical manner. And hark at the blurb!

"Hi, I'm Puma Swede and I'm from Sweden - ever have Swedish pussy before? If you haven't let me tell you - it's the best there is. Don't take my word for it, come fuck my Puma Swede Fleshlight and you'll see for yourself. I know after you're done, you'll be saying what all the other guys say: "Swede is all I need..." Can't wait for you to fuck me!"

Awr. Me neither, Puma. But until then, I’ll have a go on this fanny in a torch.

You Will Also Need: The obligatory shitload of lube, and some tissues. Although most of your spendings will go into the torch, there is the risk of splashback over your best jumper when you withdraw, resulting in you having to rinse it under the tap, resulting in you looking like you’ve pissed yourself, resulting in you holding said damp spot under the drier in the works toilets, looking like you’ve just pissed yourself.

Looks like: Someone’s fanny. In a torch. As I’ve mentioned before, I really don’t get the idea of porn-star minge-moulding. As a friend of mine once said; “When you’ve seen one fanny, you’ve seen them all,” and, after putting aside the fact that he was 14 when he said that, in the playground, and he actually hadn’t seen anyone’s fanny yet, he sort of had a vague point when it comes to this sort of thing. Do people actually hold their Puma Swede Fleshlights up to the telly when they’re watching some grot, and exclaim; “Hang on a minute! This looks nowt like! I’ve been skanked!”? Personally, if it was an accurate recreation of the bits of some girl in the pub that I fancied, or the woman on the local news, my interest would be a bit more piqued. And then I'd be disgusted with myself.

Also, it has to be said that the colour scheme leaves a lot to be desired. I felt like I was having sex with one of those fake ice creams made of marshmallows that they sell in Greggs. Never mind sticking me cock in: I wanted to put a Flake in there.

Feels like: This is where all negatives are obliterated. Not content with tampering with the colour scheme and the moulding, they’ve even tinkered with the inside. Now there’s a new insert – called the Lotus – that is a rollercoaster for the todge. Like all proper male sex toys, it doesn’t feel like a shag, but nor does it feel like a wank. It’s a Third Way, people. This is what Tony Blair was going on about, I believe.

Clean-up: The great thing about Fleshlights is they’re easy to de-grot. Unfortunately, they’re just as easy to forget about, meaning that you leave them in the bathroom of a shared house all day, and only remember when you’re at work, causing you to emit an involuntary animal cry of doom-laden realisation, and everyone turns to look at you. Ahem.

Partner compatibility: Minimal, unless your missus gets turned on by you shagging household items. Having said that, some women I know would love to see their partners having a go on the fully see-though version.

Pros: Put aside the celebrity endorsement, and it’s still a Fleshlight with a new bumpy ride.

Cons: They completely missed a trick with the casing that would have made it even more personal: by making it look like an exact replica of the actual torch Puma Swede has in her own utility cupboard. God, that would have been amazing.

The Puma Swede Lotus Fleshlight, £49.99, kindly provided by

Wednesday, 3 December 2008

Sam: Cultural Confusion

It’s Christmas party season, and I’ve been out chatting as usual. My most recent interesting conversation was with a very attractive and very single Italian woman. She was totally confused as to why, after years in England she had failed to snag a boyfriend.

Since these things are endlessly fascinating I started asking her some questions. Were the only guys that actually approached her idiot womaniser types? ‘Yes! How did you know?’, She asked surprised. How did she feel about making it clear that man was interested in her ‘Well I couldn’t do that, I’d be acting like a slut!’. Things started to become clear this was a case of cultural confusion. The thing is that in Italy if you give out any signals at all (e.g. making eye contact or smiling) you are pretty much seen as being totally up for it. You can start to see why friendly American women get into so much trouble and feel totally sexually harassed in Italy.

The interesting thing is that while all cultures tend to use the same basic flirting signals, the whole flirting dance changes in every county you go to – in some places it is as different as the language.  Sometimes it is louder, sometimes more subtle. The problem for this Italian woman is that in Italy the rules are very different to the UK. In Italy a man is interested he will relentlessly pursue his woman only giving up after a long and heated chase. ‘Of course in Italy No means yes!’ She proclaimed. ‘It is like a film I saw set in Rome, there is a man, who has just seen a woman, he runs up to her, proclaiming his love. She slaps him, tells him to fuck off and to get away from her. The next scene he grabs her and they both kiss passionately!’. Try the same thing in the UK and they would probably be calling the police.

So this poor Italian woman had completely turned off all her public flirting signals (as is appropriate for Italy), which means British men presume she is unavailable and she only attracts the womanising rule breakers. It would be nice is someone could get around to publishing the International Languages of Love. Would lead to a lot less confusion for everyone.