tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74488676582644997062024-03-19T08:48:37.748+00:00Todger TalkSex, relationships and a good laugh without the bullshit, bravado and misinformationSamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12796175279935659886noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-21326115000690297722010-06-17T16:52:00.003+01:002010-06-17T18:01:23.940+01:00Mr Sex: World Cup Willy<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">So, the World Cup's on, and the northern half of Todger Talk is dead, dead, <i>dead </i>excited about it. And also painfully aware that he hasn't tossed up a blog post in <i>ages</i>. Obviously, the thing to do is to lob up something that links the two. But what?<br />
<br />
This.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN7Y9IRAWPf01FHLFlF-wcJpBNIeun8PmtlYxxqHsUaze7OuuiMRof_ewpaBYMy24TLkdeVnbmLx8FC-ZtfZpCH6D4kyQPPyknUILAQtz0hC3JJIKAPk7kFphESb6QIGSU5JA3ev5GQ8/s1600/MOND01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN7Y9IRAWPf01FHLFlF-wcJpBNIeun8PmtlYxxqHsUaze7OuuiMRof_ewpaBYMy24TLkdeVnbmLx8FC-ZtfZpCH6D4kyQPPyknUILAQtz0hC3JJIKAPk7kFphESb6QIGSU5JA3ev5GQ8/s320/MOND01.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<i>Cicciolina e Moana ai Mondali - </i>known to the English-speaking world as <i>Sex World Cup</i> - is one of those films that you hear about but can't believe was actually made. Not only is the only World Cup porn film in existence, but it's also the only wank film that any man has actually watched, all the way through, <i>to see how the plot turns out</i>. So, whether you like proper football or not, you can't deny that this film bears scrutiny.<br />
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So...let us return to the offices of the Italian Football Association, as they prepare to host the 1990 World Cup finals. Obviously, as host nation, they're desperate to win it. But how do they go about this - by pulling the squad from club games and forming a cohesive, match-fit unit? Making sure all the other countries hotels are surrounded by mental locals with klaxons? Fixing it so the hosts are the only team used to a rounder-than-ever-before match ball?</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiR7IF0DdjNDC3xblbU_cUWn4v4KBTf5uvJrjAd9v07_vMIDQWW2nEOykprUMCgfizGYkh_DOZ03m617FQjUdalQ4v-CD2kYWq8Zx9CLPVZQWwFmvj41vM2AFiu6aGM_vNZ2RtiFswHfs/s1600/MOND02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiR7IF0DdjNDC3xblbU_cUWn4v4KBTf5uvJrjAd9v07_vMIDQWW2nEOykprUMCgfizGYkh_DOZ03m617FQjUdalQ4v-CD2kYWq8Zx9CLPVZQWwFmvj41vM2AFiu6aGM_vNZ2RtiFswHfs/s400/MOND02.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
No. You get in La Cicciolina and Moana Pozzi, the absolute front rank of late 80's Italio-Grot, which isn't much of a surprise as it said all that in the title. Obviously, they've been drafted in to sort out the teams' dietry requirements, as well as proffering tactical advice on getting out of a potentially tricky group that contains Czechoslovakia, the USA and Austria...</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxpEdBrSAgwBrL5-30WLMYNU2ivpS8_FjR5XWBK2TX-iI_ZVMSlmnKtF-ctLCFwdTNQq6e3298NxLJ8CHF8RGrFsV-ch8VJ1uI9aqao0QjZvk6vRNaHdhsPTUHVrQBjV_WqqQQi4X-kk/s1600/MOND03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxpEdBrSAgwBrL5-30WLMYNU2ivpS8_FjR5XWBK2TX-iI_ZVMSlmnKtF-ctLCFwdTNQq6e3298NxLJ8CHF8RGrFsV-ch8VJ1uI9aqao0QjZvk6vRNaHdhsPTUHVrQBjV_WqqQQi4X-kk/s400/MOND03.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Oh yeah, forgot. Porn film.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, the plot is set up; La Cicc and Moana have been entrusted with the hopes of a nation by nobbling - with the emphasis firmly on the 'nob' side of the word - the star players of the opposition. So who is, ahem, first up?</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2iroNsGrbidX2doEt_8ysDTpDoyPduT9ih1bh1mX0djpUHyM-uKcJ6zhEvnnzzOMrJvlfboqoSjJJUIoYRBdbk9t48rnrkN92drGGl8kteXx328PNyhyphenhyphenwBKKKJPQk_ZTqJnpdkEemOA/s1600/MOND04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF2iroNsGrbidX2doEt_8ysDTpDoyPduT9ih1bh1mX0djpUHyM-uKcJ6zhEvnnzzOMrJvlfboqoSjJJUIoYRBdbk9t48rnrkN92drGGl8kteXx328PNyhyphenhyphenwBKKKJPQk_ZTqJnpdkEemOA/s400/MOND04.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Well, bugger me buttocks if it isn't <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lothar_Mattheus">Lothar Matt<span style="font-size: small;">ä</span>us</a> of West Germany. European Footballer of the year, captain of the team and the very rock of the German midfield (as well as someone who takes a very liberal, carefree European attitude to the donning of trousers). Moana cunningly disguises herself as an extremely sluttish chambermaid, gets into his suite, and offers him a portion on the eve of a crucial group match. Being an efficient professional to the tip of his toes, Lothar surely isn't going to expend vital energy in a pre-match workout, is he?<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrxkUZH6RBdXaBy_cJsvcY3OktSlH7XXNJluKsw3sy6rX7h-Wu8JrJQsKkyOpP6S-Kl8fpuRIxzikI7vsB0OnpZlOS_E308WVXeyMuoTsNYwrZjj34xklKTimV1GOHgPDOsNRzBGFNVI/s1600/MOND05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrxkUZH6RBdXaBy_cJsvcY3OktSlH7XXNJluKsw3sy6rX7h-Wu8JrJQsKkyOpP6S-Kl8fpuRIxzikI7vsB0OnpZlOS_E308WVXeyMuoTsNYwrZjj34xklKTimV1GOHgPDOsNRzBGFNVI/s400/MOND05.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Actually, yes. A bit of stock footage from the 1982 World Cup later, and Germany take a tonking from Italy, who are played by France. <br />
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So far, so good. But what follows next is, quite easily, the greatest moment in the admittedly minor genre of proper football-porn crossover films, as the next target is none other than Greatest Footballer in the Known Universe/coke-addled cheating bastard, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maradona">Diego Maradona</a>. And who do they get to portray this vital role?</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EF5ZsLe6LMM&hl=en_GB&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EF5ZsLe6LMM&hl=en_GB&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">That's right - <i>Ron fucking Jeremy</i>. As you can see in that totally-grot-free, not-going-to-get-you-bollocked-at-work video, there's something completely wrong - yet somehow wonderfully right - about having the most famous sportsman of the era played by porn's most prominent cock-on-a-gut. <br />
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Somehow, La Cicc and Moana manage to break into Argentina's training camp (which looks suspiciously like the back of West Germany's hotel) and offers him the chance to get his Hand of God on some porn star bod...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPbDjDaNS1mgvnDlf1pCbFuQtnvQPHLMObF_XGbGP2lvaITFwawFqhPlvXv-0JNe0J6FHtZ9IRvGisB6HKgG1P6gAKGS3gCiWiVd9CDacRBXWnTG3dxvc78fR8sUXRwSNdT7fN-2cgEQ/s1600/MOND07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPbDjDaNS1mgvnDlf1pCbFuQtnvQPHLMObF_XGbGP2lvaITFwawFqhPlvXv-0JNe0J6FHtZ9IRvGisB6HKgG1P6gAKGS3gCiWiVd9CDacRBXWnTG3dxvc78fR8sUXRwSNdT7fN-2cgEQ/s400/MOND07.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
...which leads to an outstanding banana shot...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRbOAzsS4oS3vjljBCvHBzKPEDbAhU3lNcX1sOiKfp4Wmveag20aAWCaBhkzqpfEQYSwhYgabu8K4iqdF6fZrALnNs9k7MfgFGo-3jhWIpASa-_8HMpzuv-fEEw2s_kWhVfEaSYLSFMGQ/s1600/MOND08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRbOAzsS4oS3vjljBCvHBzKPEDbAhU3lNcX1sOiKfp4Wmveag20aAWCaBhkzqpfEQYSwhYgabu8K4iqdF6fZrALnNs9k7MfgFGo-3jhWIpASa-_8HMpzuv-fEEw2s_kWhVfEaSYLSFMGQ/s400/MOND08.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...and Diego left so pleased with his performance, he applauds and kisses his own nob, uttering "Bravo...<i>bravo</i>" to himself. More stock footage from eight years previous, and it's bye-bye Argentina.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCu5t-XHsiJO83bEs3Z3dnzeHBA7mgtwbGhULVvJNW2RzAhb132wZd6XuqGhRB-RHJNi3cjoegdF9rPMLZDAX7qi-CSo8CyhRGuJtdInFS9QQ3Zkfv_J8dTE42nx2LKap7TucInk3nT-0/s1600/MOND09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCu5t-XHsiJO83bEs3Z3dnzeHBA7mgtwbGhULVvJNW2RzAhb132wZd6XuqGhRB-RHJNi3cjoegdF9rPMLZDAX7qi-CSo8CyhRGuJtdInFS9QQ3Zkfv_J8dTE42nx2LKap7TucInk3nT-0/s400/MOND09.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
So, West Germany and Argentina are out, and a very pissed-off Lothar and Maradona make an official protest to FIFA. What will FIFA Bloke In Bad Wig do? Offer to replay the games, at vast expense and inconvenience to the tournament? Or point out that no-one was actually forcing them to have it off with a couple of southern Euro-strumps and it's their own bleeding fault, really?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik6u08fCKd0N6dHGLsSkFAFr0syy5q09WTZaV3KxASecR_oBlXeHIoyva_ZIv-UKlIuIDIu8HrqbptecGlmHZCK3sXYmpvxFtmi_bsTVDUJP31sMjUrbjELYTT2nDWZA7K3wWjT5uePEY/s1600/MOND10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik6u08fCKd0N6dHGLsSkFAFr0syy5q09WTZaV3KxASecR_oBlXeHIoyva_ZIv-UKlIuIDIu8HrqbptecGlmHZCK3sXYmpvxFtmi_bsTVDUJP31sMjUrbjELYTT2nDWZA7K3wWjT5uePEY/s400/MOND10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Bonus point if you said 'Get a couple of second-division Italian porn sorts in, to pad the film out for another quarter of an hour'.<br />
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Now then, we're reaching the climax of the World Cup, and only one team stands in the way of the Azzuri and ultimate glory. No, it's not England (and thank <i>God </i>for that - the sight of a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dU0-fmKI0lU">Gazza</a> lookalike getting his end away would make me want to sever my genitalia and throw it into the back garden for next door's cat). It's the reigning European champions themselves, Holland. Which means that there's only one candidate for some World Copulation...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPoBoUfjZ-pDW6AicOh4BQIPCVV6JKr5RZLMhDiJ9ig5_xnsa15SLBlqly0vF-4fFnOUSKeM1t2MxztEVAJYm9ZKh_SpSPmEc6mOEtEPRVn3nIgP20rmLdUVebmlJDP8AqWLuZ-YFU_M/s1600/MOND11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPoBoUfjZ-pDW6AicOh4BQIPCVV6JKr5RZLMhDiJ9ig5_xnsa15SLBlqly0vF-4fFnOUSKeM1t2MxztEVAJYm9ZKh_SpSPmEc6mOEtEPRVn3nIgP20rmLdUVebmlJDP8AqWLuZ-YFU_M/s400/MOND11.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>...<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruud_Gullit">Ruud Gullit</a>, portrayed by American porn chap (and not the WWF wrestler) Sean Michaels, who remains to this day the only male porn actor I've ever met who was actually dead nice and not an arrogant twat. La Cicc - posing as a reporter - goes all Paula Yates on our hero...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd198bXomH3FOZ5w_Xt7r2qNV6mhrKUYnRsu4lSQMNc80J39xtlXKEiyEXqtyOVRPp3jHEXYMKpVxu3t53yy8pWhkTsfWvZHO147gGd2P4Pq6PatXwQBvgodgSSPEKBgf8qtQvWgh8SbA/s1600/MOND12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd198bXomH3FOZ5w_Xt7r2qNV6mhrKUYnRsu4lSQMNc80J39xtlXKEiyEXqtyOVRPp3jHEXYMKpVxu3t53yy8pWhkTsfWvZHO147gGd2P4Pq6PatXwQBvgodgSSPEKBgf8qtQvWgh8SbA/s400/MOND12.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
...and things get <i>properly</i> Ruud. Job done. FORZA AZZURI!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnVPli2p4IsmN9Jnr1I0N1la_FCsgeC7fjLBF9_UihHOUpQDWs0KzG9peIPfGp1ZVlf2OQ3YosoAvaJj5Vq7ahAJX6r2G87KXSisljhaAx-UAS1l3ZKKhnge8BMNwYRLSMFB8fnqHvt0/s1600/MOND13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnVPli2p4IsmN9Jnr1I0N1la_FCsgeC7fjLBF9_UihHOUpQDWs0KzG9peIPfGp1ZVlf2OQ3YosoAvaJj5Vq7ahAJX6r2G87KXSisljhaAx-UAS1l3ZKKhnge8BMNwYRLSMFB8fnqHvt0/s400/MOND13.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
But WAIT! After a girl-on-girl tuppence-licking session that drags out the film for another ten minutes, the girls get a phone call from the Italian FA, saying that Ruud is still not completely shagged over, and he's fit to play in the final. There's only one thing for it...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHbBMPHqK5O-QRZVMuHONtg7bMmvjiV9sFxaqoj8HnUHjcUG1QXMqthiqyuh3L0plWZMkNTdQJ-jzKS7JH1vBSi8ypnUb99ubRRR1JvXQUvRXzr1ddONyv1E4M1bJJyLCpWfTH9KHdrA/s1600/MOND14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHbBMPHqK5O-QRZVMuHONtg7bMmvjiV9sFxaqoj8HnUHjcUG1QXMqthiqyuh3L0plWZMkNTdQJ-jzKS7JH1vBSi8ypnUb99ubRRR1JvXQUvRXzr1ddONyv1E4M1bJJyLCpWfTH9KHdrA/s400/MOND14.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...a break-in into the Dutch dressing room right before the match. Strangely enough, Ruud is on his own, and the facilities are <i>shocking. </i>Look at that - one plastic bench, and a bought-from-the-market rip-off Italia '90 banner. Bad enough that the Dutch team were nobbled by a German newspaper in 1974 that claimed that they were having a massive orgy in their hotel before the final and pissed off the wives so much that Johan Cruyff swore he would never play in another World Cup, and being fucked over by Argentina in 1978 by a junta that made sure that no-one but the home team was going to win that one.<br />
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Oh yeah, sex blog, sorry...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYz0ci3ti1qj-FNkKcuFOSG_Fq17n6zp1ZzJ1I4W1K7AbO84ST2IU4kP2d30X4dpoZWPMtwO-AnRQP9AOxSj2AIvA0lgnNeAvNjXMqZaH7w1Jh5MGm9zo_B-M0__qr62Xibn1maAmB4k/s1600/MOND15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWYz0ci3ti1qj-FNkKcuFOSG_Fq17n6zp1ZzJ1I4W1K7AbO84ST2IU4kP2d30X4dpoZWPMtwO-AnRQP9AOxSj2AIvA0lgnNeAvNjXMqZaH7w1Jh5MGm9zo_B-M0__qr62Xibn1maAmB4k/s400/MOND15.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
SEXY FOOTBALL!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VWqXEGb56KpL1KGTa_pY1crkTnYlF_h-MgVu9P1JDwrTNQIpS7rBdqXK2nHnCyYXIxpwj2VboWgi3lzruOPByZRAFEBXMa8ePNRXW5vzp5te7RTNoDnQK_AY2sF-e9cHZq0UVoaJOV0/s1600/MOND16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5VWqXEGb56KpL1KGTa_pY1crkTnYlF_h-MgVu9P1JDwrTNQIpS7rBdqXK2nHnCyYXIxpwj2VboWgi3lzruOPByZRAFEBXMa8ePNRXW5vzp5te7RTNoDnQK_AY2sF-e9cHZq0UVoaJOV0/s400/MOND16.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
If this film has achieved nothing else - and it has - it's finally answered the mystery of <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport3/worldcup2002/hi/history/newsid_1749000/1749324.stm">what happened to Ronaldo just before the 1998 final</a>. Not surprisingly, Italy batter Holland, and get to hold up a trophy that looks fuck all like the World Cup...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXqDrNV5KQk2yzVbkqJsoBIm3k-MOhAgP6GYnOsRdGt4AeI-RNJ5MBskjkL5Yo1HcKpnEmZl-tzQ9WeHOlYghOm7gxBrLL9we5tfhtQboeqF1BrM3suqvfEpd7ri7SIAAFxOzkv9HMTU/s1600/MOND17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXqDrNV5KQk2yzVbkqJsoBIm3k-MOhAgP6GYnOsRdGt4AeI-RNJ5MBskjkL5Yo1HcKpnEmZl-tzQ9WeHOlYghOm7gxBrLL9we5tfhtQboeqF1BrM3suqvfEpd7ri7SIAAFxOzkv9HMTU/s400/MOND17.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
...and the winning team gets treated to a slap-up celebratory nosh.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifejmyovmJ50RzvE86sY6RwKBDDbaRZd9Sv35IOGpp071nnvrdizug4V5yYhz67Uba-nO_B7kR4OLtvP6nNKK9fEOdk8BnEa9zkfUcuxVtwIl3YHbWeojgN3lbK6752n4x_IK19ku2f0/s1600/MOND18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifejmyovmJ50RzvE86sY6RwKBDDbaRZd9Sv35IOGpp071nnvrdizug4V5yYhz67Uba-nO_B7kR4OLtvP6nNKK9fEOdk8BnEa9zkfUcuxVtwIl3YHbWeojgN3lbK6752n4x_IK19ku2f0/s400/MOND18.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Alas for the Italians, things didn't go quite to plan. Although Holland had a disappointing run (which ended in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfpaPIVO69Y">this less erotic exchange of body fluids</a>), they were knocked out of the semis by Argentina (which Maradona scoring a penno, but not with his ridiculously self-suckable cock), and eventual winners were Lothar's West Germany. And Gazza came home looking like <a href="http://no-gimmies.com/images/gazzabreasts.jpg">this</a>. Sadly, this is the first and only porn film set during the World Cup, although footy-grot <a href="http://www.triga-gay-dvds.co.uk/triga-football-wankers-part2.htm">appears to be very popular with gay lads</a> - and now that the players themselves are doing things like <a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article63841.ece">this</a>, it looks like we'll never see its like again.<br />
<br />
Now if you'll excuse me, Nigeria v Greece is almost done, and I have a sack of crisps to work through. Normal service will be resumed shortly.<br />
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</div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com157tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-5126060444333297682010-05-05T15:07:00.000+01:002010-05-05T15:07:57.542+01:00'Mr Sex': Danny Dyer is a Worthless Cunt<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...and 'Mens' magazines in the UK are shit.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gYZdsWC7FWfUPo9POOlhw8_gOSM-WnBxRUvelTifL_MEgFxFG3bSTvvmTKREhgapLpsDqOdK8-hXmIYQmvZgnnlPFNiH_kLoWy4IjovInK4bjd0Ga5IrAJ-Tt5C8M8RjwlU28KP1YRM/s1600/Danny-Dyer-Zoo-advice-col-006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gYZdsWC7FWfUPo9POOlhw8_gOSM-WnBxRUvelTifL_MEgFxFG3bSTvvmTKREhgapLpsDqOdK8-hXmIYQmvZgnnlPFNiH_kLoWy4IjovInK4bjd0Ga5IrAJ-Tt5C8M8RjwlU28KP1YRM/s400/Danny-Dyer-Zoo-advice-col-006.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-71363294448616122272010-04-27T22:35:00.005+01:002010-04-27T23:40:53.788+01:00'Mr Sex': Billy Three-Pens, the Phantom Sticker-Upper of Mansfield Road<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I dunno about you, but bollocks to the Internet - random scrawlings on subway walls and toilet doors have <i>always </i>been where it's at. How many times have I not been run over by a bus by going right out of my way to nip down to a subway so I could find out who got fingered by 'Tabby' there (with exact date and time), or who is a 'SLAGG who sucks COCKS for 20p' (or, indeed, what number I should ring '4 SEX')?<br />
<br />
(My all-time favourite is the one in six foot-high letters just on the outskirts of town, the first thing that Southerners see when they enter Nottingham; 'SUCK YOUR MUM')<i></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'll tell you; <i>loads of times. </i>So you can imagine my reaction when, in the process of taking my nephew to the barbers the other day, I came across this on Mansfield Road:<br />
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<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBYEo8mQMkFfkLTOmc-vywzYgrMaOJk_zZyLez_s2sUksf7aZaKI5D0uLrndWukgLM_yfVbsBmEc-BQwZJchidwzNERMIhoGG4XKQo1BpNe_PDhw8y5XDDtMILGyoTt5pw6xAL52WGN4/s1600/coxsux.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBYEo8mQMkFfkLTOmc-vywzYgrMaOJk_zZyLez_s2sUksf7aZaKI5D0uLrndWukgLM_yfVbsBmEc-BQwZJchidwzNERMIhoGG4XKQo1BpNe_PDhw8y5XDDtMILGyoTt5pw6xAL52WGN4/s320/coxsux.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
Before we go any further, and for those of you unfortunate to not live in Nottingham, there's two things you need to know about Mansfield Road;</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1) It's near the red light area<br />
<br />
2) It's renowned for having dead nice pubs and being festooned by absolute mentalists. The other night, for example, I came across a bloke walking up and down the street with a massive peregrine falcon on his arm. At <i>midnight</i>.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So where do we start here, then? For starters, the author is a very civic-minded person. No defacing Council property for him, or having to hold up a torch and look over his shoulder for the coppers; he uses massive stickers. Secondly - and more importantly - he has a <i>pencil case</i>. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As I had the foresight to take side-view pictures, here's the full version;</div><div style="color: #073763; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">COX SUX</span> </b>LOTS OF <span style="font-size: large;">SEX</span> UP A HILL</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;">PROSSIES I HAVE A 18" DICK </span></b>I CAN'T GET</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A CONDOM BIGG ENOUGH FOR MY GIANT LUV MUSCLE</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #073763; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">USE STRONG DISSINFECTIONS </span></span></b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #073763;">DIRTY TARTS 10P TRIFFLE IS A TIME TART</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Oh <i>dear</i>. I dunno about you, but I need to wash my eyes out with Strong Dissinfectiant. But what does it actually <i>mean</i>? Is this the plaintive cry of a man cursed with what other men desire, railing against the one-size-fits-all mantra of modern-day production? Who - or what - is 'Triffle'? Does he mean 'trifle'? Is there any significance to the use of the red marker pen? And should I be calling the police about this?<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-30458798084020232052010-04-14T14:22:00.005+01:002010-04-14T14:48:49.994+01:00'Mr Sex': Primark, the Hammer of the Paedophiles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2010/04/14/article-1271230876062-091A3502000005DC-269847_304x221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2010/04/14/article-1271230876062-091A3502000005DC-269847_304x221.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There are a lot of people in this country who are <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8619329.stm">currently ripping into Primark for their decision to sell bikinis with padded tops for girls as young as seven</a>. Some of them are expressing shock that the company have found a way to <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1028449/Exposed-Primarks-sweatshops-pay-children-just-60p-day.html">exploit even more children than the ones they employ in their sweatshops</a>, while newspapers, in their usual calm, measured tones, are going as far as to say that <a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/2931327/Primarks-padded-bikini-tops-for-kids-condemned.html">these items of beachwear are actually promoting paedophila</a>. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm sorry, but this is absolute piffle. I would like to be the first to congratulate Primark on their bold stance, which - in my opinion - actually <i>deters </i>paedophiles. Think about it; imagine, for a brief moment, that you're Gary Glitter in a raincoat, prowling Skegness beach, when you espy what you imagine to be a seven-year old girl in a Primark bikini. Just when you start doing that wiggly-finger gesture with both hands, you notice the top - <i>and stomp off in anger when you believe that what you thought was a child was actually a very small grown-up woman</i>. Surely this is what Primark were thinking when they conceptualised, designed, and then cleared the selling of a bikini with a padded bra for children - because the alternative doesn't bear thinking about.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So while other people continue to lambaste this fiercely ethical company for their courage to tackle the vital issues that other clothing companies shy away from, I applaud Primark for not at all being exploitative fuckwits in the slightest. And why stop there? Why not stitch fake hair into the bottoms while you're at it, Primark? Why not introduce a range of split-crotch knickers with Winnie The Pooh on them? What about My First Rabbit, or rub-on transfer slag antlers? <br />
<br />
(and by the way: <i>who actually bought this shit?</i>)<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-33321964908086598452010-04-10T17:18:00.003+01:002010-04-11T01:12:55.688+01:00'Mr Sex': That's it, I'm retiring<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">See, this is what happens when you don't keep your sex blog updated: a young pretender jumps in and knocks you out of the saddle. Warning: possibly not suitable for work, and <i>definitely </i>not suitable for eyes;</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><embed></embed><object height="243" width="400"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VoV0M9rFHo4&hl=en_GB&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VoV0M9rFHo4&hl=en_GB&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="400" height="243"></embed></object></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So let's review the art of, ahem, 'Pu$$y Eating', in case you missed anything;</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">1. Put on the kind of music you'd hear at a <b>Berni Inn</b>, or<b> the lobby of the Crossroads Motel</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">2. <b>Mouth the words 'I Love You'</b>, in the style of Derek Smalls during the middle eight of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfD-E9hKCWM">Listen To The Flower People</a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">3. Sensuously suckle upon your partner's <b>massively long forked clitoris</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">4. Pretend to have taken<b> a sheet of LSD the size of a queen-sized quilt cover</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">5. Mash <b>the breasts that have suddenly appeared around your partner's fanny</b></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">6. Generally, as my Nana used to say whenever I was playing Pac-Man on the Atari, <b>'not hold your mouth right'</b>. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
<b>Update:</b> And ladies - if you've ever lain abed at night fantasising about men erotically eating a miniature hunk of Lidl stollen to third-division Techno, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5HeywO3wLg&feature=related">your wish is my command</a>... </div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-53032692049004397232010-04-09T12:53:00.003+01:002010-04-09T13:31:22.747+01:00Sam: "That's not a Dad - THAT'S a Dad"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oyk_Yg-3mhbZ0vFFRuSS2MgntIgBvRFl-0w2ERoJV9fg2VB7vrWjgT43HSO35RelPD8bAWr2tyLjMmCgvVDBzJGNimbm177ECr_bueL5e_-p3bFKmuZsbi6E-2MWcnZEZPfuEwJmg-w/s1600/im_crocodile_dundee_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oyk_Yg-3mhbZ0vFFRuSS2MgntIgBvRFl-0w2ERoJV9fg2VB7vrWjgT43HSO35RelPD8bAWr2tyLjMmCgvVDBzJGNimbm177ECr_bueL5e_-p3bFKmuZsbi6E-2MWcnZEZPfuEwJmg-w/s320/im_crocodile_dundee_07.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
One of the most difficult things that I’ve had to confront in having a stroke involves some of the fundamental issues concerning my manhood and being a man. <br />
<br />
Let’s put this in context and give you some background: In Australia, where I come from, men are <i>men</i>. For my 14th birthday, I was taken walking in the <a href="http://www.exploroz.com/TrekNotes/Flinders/Gammon_Ranges_Bunyip_Chasm.aspx">Gammon Ranges</a> by my father, where they only have rain about every 200 years. We went with his best friend - a real man’s man who goes walking in the Olga Ranges with only a bow and arrow, making his living by hunting feral goats. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, on my 14th birthday, we climbed a mountain in the Olga ranges and we camped at the top. It actually snowed there for the first time in 200 years. Masculinity-wise, it was all downhill from there; nowadays, I'm an office and TV studio-bound laptop-masher with one arm that doesn't work, who currently can only get around with a stick. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As you can imagine, my image of what a true man is doesn't exactly match my current situation.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The real question I have to ask myself is; are my Dad and his mate a valid picture of manhood? It’s certainly a very macho picture of manhood, and I have to realise that I won’t be Crocodile Dundee after I’ve had a massive stroke. Probably a better question is; do I have to be Crocodile Dundee to be a good father? I think I’ve come to the conclusion: ‘No’.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I had a talk to one of my best friends about fatherhood, and he said that while most men are - obviously - physically capable of being a father, most are completely emotionally incapable and inadequate. If there's one thing that my stroke has done is force me to become more emotionally adequate - so after much deliberation, I feel that in the end I have come to the conclusion that once you have had a stroke you can still be a man and become a real father. And actually, I might even end up being a <i>better </i>father.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So what do you think? Do you have to be Crocodile Dundee to raise a child?</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-6218012265603299172010-04-07T15:02:00.000+01:002010-04-07T15:02:27.437+01:00Introducing Todger Talk TV<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We've been meaning to sort this for ages, and now it's finally been put together. Yes, me dears - now you can see what we (actually, <i>Sam</i>) looks like, in the pilot broadcast of our very own video section. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In this episode, Sam has a natter with <b>Andrew Rosetta</b>, a male escort with something between his ears as well as his legs. Not only did he do Thingy Whatsit for money, but he also won Escort of the Year at the Erotic Awards, is a sex worker union rep for the GMB, and wrote <i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Whatever-She-Wants-Confessions-Escort/dp/0091928141">Whatever She Wants</a>, </i>a biography of his decade-long career in the pay-for-play trade...</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="300" width="400"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10556329&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00ADEF&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10556329&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00ADEF&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
(Special thanks to the chaps at <a href="http://whatwho.tv/">WhatWho TV</a> for putting this together)</div></div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-20568316372684239972010-03-31T19:36:00.001+01:002010-03-31T19:38:02.078+01:00'Mr Sex': TIGER STYLE!<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, it is finally Spring, and - naturally - thoughts are turning to shagging. Particularly shagging outdoors. And <i>especially </i>shagging outdoors without having to lower your leopard-print disco trousers in the middle of the Arboretum. Thankfully, someone has been working on our behalf to cure our alfresco-nobbing ailments. Listen up, Rod Stewart: your dogging dreams have come true...<br />
<br />
<i>(Warning: Not suitable for workplaces that don't approve of its staff looking at man-arse)</i> </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6yjY_2vaa_Q&hl=en_GB&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6yjY_2vaa_Q&hl=en_GB&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sadly, the link at the end of the video doesn't work, which probably means that - <i>sigh - </i>like all great things on 'tinternet, it's fake. Mind you, I have several pairs of old jeans that do the job just as well.</div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-21604888160207191302010-03-09T12:24:00.006+00:002010-03-09T12:36:57.000+00:00'Mr Sex': Extreme Doormattiude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2l9Rl5IOdoPKEnNaL0WRSSIOdpdSmph60clUuSvD4OfIU1Sjm1X4kVDlL1q03cUY6nI6phrskwndUk5IX26DxY0WujDhi5tt6YgAT1amPOmOPzOkEJGC8n0FlvRwTbl6EYIg1JD1H3Q/s1600-h/doormat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2l9Rl5IOdoPKEnNaL0WRSSIOdpdSmph60clUuSvD4OfIU1Sjm1X4kVDlL1q03cUY6nI6phrskwndUk5IX26DxY0WujDhi5tt6YgAT1amPOmOPzOkEJGC8n0FlvRwTbl6EYIg1JD1H3Q/s320/doormat.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">Had a mate back in the day, and he invited me and another mate over to the flat that he'd just shacked up into with his new girlfriend. It was a tiny place, made even more so by the presence of a spoddy lad in a Marillion t-shirt, who skulked about in the kitchen for a while and grunted to himself before going back into his box room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On our way back to the last bus, me and Other Mate were delivering our reports on his new situation, when I said; "Who's the lodger, then? He's a right moody fucker."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Well, wouldn't you be, mate? He's her ex."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>"What?"</i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Yeah. She told him she'd been nobbing a new bloke, and he was welcome to stay, but she was moving him in and he'd have to take the spare room." </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"So when's he moving out?"</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"He's not. They've been like that for six months already."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, if he'd have been a friend, I would have put him straight; if any girlfriend of mine told me that not only been she been knocking off someone else behind my back, but she wanted to move said bloke to live with us, I would have said "No problem. After I've murdered the fucker and buried him under our patio, I'll leave out a fucking <i>deckchair </i>for you." I mean, if a relationship has died on its arse, what you <i>don't</i> do - even if it was you who instigated the break-up - is stick around to watch your partner's new relationship develop.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">Which brings us to the case of <a href="http://keysnews.com/node/21349" target="blank">Charles Judy</a>. Jesus in a jumpsuit, I thought Marillion T-Shirt-Wearing Spod-Cuckold was the King of Wrongness, but this lad takes the biscuit, if not the entire packet. Still hanging round with his ex-wife? No, mate. Going on a date with her to see her new knock-off? <i>No</i>, mate. Allowing her to drive your car when she's banned from driving (and in any case, your car is too knackered for the road)? <i>No</i>, mate. Having no problem with her shaving her flange in the driving seat while you steer from the passenger side? <i>NO, MATE</i>. <br />
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Obviously we don't know the whole story - perhaps he was so desperate to get shot of his ex that he'd do anything to drop her into the lap of the first bloke who showed the slightest bit of interest - but you don't want to see your ex's genitals. Particularly when they're dropping pubes on the floor of your car, because they're a bastard to pick up.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">So, dear TT readers, today's question is; a) have you ever experienced an example of extreme doormattitude from an acquaintance of yours, and b) what relaxation techniques have you deployed in order to stop yourself from slapping the shit out of them?</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><i><br />
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<i>(oh, and c): how in the name of God did she manage to keep her hand still whilst defoliating her lady-garden in a moving car? Is this a skill that all women can pull off?)</i></div>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-45222528295037100642010-03-06T06:23:00.004+00:002010-03-06T06:59:45.236+00:00Sex Toy Review: The Sex Counter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fdO7aD3t_o1Ezbgm1iSQUtjbBCUp-AXa5459XFxy4PzqLADPCQ9IYtJZ826spFC60Y3WC5OnFJ_Rbe03ZoQIl87zldBm034PBrk0vKsqJ7THWMN1eJFC1_umJzi1uK4GTWpdX5-DNdQ/s1600-h/cockringounter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fdO7aD3t_o1Ezbgm1iSQUtjbBCUp-AXa5459XFxy4PzqLADPCQ9IYtJZ826spFC60Y3WC5OnFJ_Rbe03ZoQIl87zldBm034PBrk0vKsqJ7THWMN1eJFC1_umJzi1uK4GTWpdX5-DNdQ/s320/cockringounter.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Just over two years into doing sex toy reviews, and we're already having a bang on the cock rings. Oh <i>dear</i>. How soon us chaps burn out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now then, I'm guessing we're all <i>au fait</i> with cock rings and what they do, yes? If you never tried one out, all I need to say is that; a) yes, they work very well at keeping the blood in and allowing our dingly-danglies to stay nice and bulbous when we need 'em to (because sometimes, to paraphrase Beyonce, if you want it, you really <i>have</i> gotta put a ring on it) and b) no matter how different they look - be they <a href="http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=2589">simple bits of thonginess</a> to <a href="http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=2486">elaborate cockular confections</a>, they're all pretty much of a muchness. While we highly recommend the ones with the vibratory bits attached (mainly because they give your partner the chance to grind down upon you cowgirl style, and give off the impression that you're wearing this for her pleasure, and not your necessity), essentially there's nothing massively fun about 'em.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Until now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On first impression, the Sex Counter is every mildly OCD male's dream product. Whether we like it or not, us chaps are horribly prone to boiling down our sexual performance down to the numbers - usually inches and notches. Thanks to this little puppy, we can now add a third equation; <i>thrusts</i>. Yes, as you've surmised from that picture, the Sex Counter is a nifty pedometer bolted onto a cock ring. Now you can triumphantly stomp into a bar where your recent ex is bitching about you to her mates, throw it on the table, and bellow; "I'M THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY <i>TWO</i> PUMPS AND A SQUIRT, ACTUALLY"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Instruction Sample:</b> Evidently, the packaging blurb was written by someone freelancing from his regular job of copywriting mentalist Janglish t-shirt slogans. <i>"You have your sexual experience, but do you remembered how hard you tried? Is this the coolest product beckoned you?"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>You will also need:</b> Some semblance of a bonk-on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Looks like:</b> a late 70s girlie digital watch, for a cat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Feels like:</b> Sad to say, a very flimsy cock ring. I mean, look at the thinness of the ringy bit; if your pubes are the least bit stubbly, you're going to worry about snapping it. I already clocked over 100 'thrusts' just by trying to put the bastard thing <i>on</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Clean-up:</b> This is where the product falls on its arse, alas. According to Janglish Copywriting Man, <i>you're only supposed to use it once, and then lob it.</i> Yes, that buttony bit at the top isn't a reset button; it's supposed to be a clit-teaser. I'm sorry, but I was looking forward to marking my progress on a massive chart over my bed until I finally managed to fill out all five figures on the display, and possibly even clock it, like you used to do on Pac-Man to impress your mates in the chip shop back in the day. According to a customer review in Lovehoney, however, you can get more than one go out of it with careful cleaning (it's not waterproof), but it's prone to conking out before you do. Hmph.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Partner compatibility:</b> Could be an aid in the battle against premature splodging, mainly because you're going to be thinking about nothing but your score, and possibly even stopping every now and then to have a look at it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Pros:</b> It's a bit of fun, and adds a whole new dimension to male sexual performance-related paranoia...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Cons:</b> ...but it's essentially a one-shot deal. Hopefully, this is just the start; what I want is something a lot more durable, with built-in features such as a beep every 100 thrusts, a stopwatch facility, a Glow function for night-time use, and a 'Tamacrotchi' feature where a big chunky dinosaur in lingerie demands to be 'fed' by different positions, and then rubs its belly and does a little stompy dance when you've made your partner have an orgasm.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=15394" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Sex Counter, was £5 until they ran out of stock, lovehoney.co.uk</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(663)</span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-24484749802314146302010-02-19T16:06:00.006+00:002010-02-19T16:30:33.894+00:00Sam: Frenemies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aIXUF2kAVvaTdtFFyYb7NR-Fun2Q-Bbm3JgwirdL7zvQ1EpNog25UhdMOo85IddouZcubUrjrBS1XBaMltlt8v17BPsny3y_7_zVg8UrjSvT0tBMNxAy6mU3o3vhpwob_EiipuNLF1U/s1600-h/et-tu-brute.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8aIXUF2kAVvaTdtFFyYb7NR-Fun2Q-Bbm3JgwirdL7zvQ1EpNog25UhdMOo85IddouZcubUrjrBS1XBaMltlt8v17BPsny3y_7_zVg8UrjSvT0tBMNxAy6mU3o3vhpwob_EiipuNLF1U/s320/et-tu-brute.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439991692217813602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Having a stroke has forced me to confront a wide range of issues - but the issue I</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> didn't actually expect to confront was the nature of my</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> friendships.<br /><br />After having post-stroke central fatigue, where</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> even talking is like lifting a mountain, it's forced me to confront the question of which</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> friends make me feel good and which friends don't. In other words, which</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> friends are really good and loyal - and which friends are <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frenemy" target="_blank">frenemies</a>.<br /><br />After a</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> bit of research, I've been relieved to find out that, apparently, most</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> people have a lot of the latter. According to US studies in fact, usually</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> 50% of our friends are frenemies, people that we feel ambivalent about. N</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ot only that, but these people are actually bad for our health. When we are</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">around them, we get so stressed out that it raises our blood pressure - so they</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> could in the end be dangerous to our health, or even kill us.<br /><br />W</span><span style="font-family:arial;">hen I've had to look at which friends make me feel good and give me energy</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> and which friends I feel ambivalent about, I feel much happier </span><span style="font-family:arial;">surrounding myself with people who make me feel good. So I'd like you to</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> do what I did and take the frenemy challenge - go through your Facebook list and count how</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> many friends make you feel good, and how many don't. Post your findings here, and let's</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> have a </span><span style="font-family:arial;">percentage </span><span style="font-family:arial;">breakdown of how many of your friends are frenemies.</span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-79744248214739920732010-02-09T20:24:00.009+00:002010-02-09T21:30:37.626+00:00'Mr Sex' doesnt want to see some puppies, thank you<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia828WJYMR5gX8LIGN4gq2n-cmz4zZEUmYQJd-M62dUAuwiUP8kNfBiBW1WD9fwFv1rpIsp3Va-sN2eLuwfQr3zmoun8y8UQRkEfNRHUooUx13wqzdjCHZIv3SeTl7L4U37zxkoIAXG6o/s1600-h/paedo.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia828WJYMR5gX8LIGN4gq2n-cmz4zZEUmYQJd-M62dUAuwiUP8kNfBiBW1WD9fwFv1rpIsp3Va-sN2eLuwfQr3zmoun8y8UQRkEfNRHUooUx13wqzdjCHZIv3SeTl7L4U37zxkoIAXG6o/s320/paedo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436345937074039330" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;">I've been meaning to start a new series of posts about the milestones and millstones that shaped my sexy, sexy life (working title: <span style="font-style: italic;">Wanks For The Memories</span>), but then I came across the following video and didn't want to put it in there. So I'll talk about it now.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Come with me, dear reader, to the playground of Westglade Infant School circa 1975, where a six year-old Young Master Sex has heard that, after the dinner hour, they're going to show the entire school a film - and it's not even anywhere near Christmas. Come the hour, a hundred or so youths, <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v188/Nishlord/westglade.jpg" target="_blank">all dressed as if they have been loaded into a cannon and fired through a local branch of Cancer Research</a> - sit cross-legged in the assembly room, unaware that we were going to be treated to 18 minutes of pure old-school 70s shit-up: <span style="font-style: italic;">Never Go WIth Strangers</span>...</span><br /><br /><object width="320" height="265"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/tQ65bhlojXg&hl=en_GB&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></object><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="265"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tQ65bhlojXg&hl=en_GB&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"></embed></object><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As any British person of a certain age will tell you, to be a kid in the 70s was to be absolutely bombarded with Public Information Films that warned you <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KryOYburlFI" target="_blank">not to retrieve your frisbee from a substation</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZGCEdv5ngg" target="_blank">let your cat mess about near the river</a> or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vb00H6mCTM8" target="_blank">hang around rubbish tips where Donald Pleasence lives</a>, but this was a step up. For starters, it was the first time I'd ever heard someone talk about people doing 'rude things' without directly refering to me. Secondly, its absolutely <span style="font-style: italic;">rammeth </span>with scariness, as jobbing actors willing to give up bit parts in any kids TV programme for the next 30 years stalk grubby Cockney urchins in flashing burgundy cars that go '<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">WAAAAAHHHHHH!</span>' when a child hoves into view, clasping half a pound of Tooty Frooties in one filthy hand, and a sweet little baby donkey in the other.</span><br /><br /><object width="320" height="265"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/eBIwB4fLxho&hl=en_GB&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></object><div style="text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="265"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/eBIwB4fLxho&hl=en_GB&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"></embed></object><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've had practically no luck digging out much information on this film, apart from the fact that it was already five years old when it got to us. But one thing I do know is that, by the time an enormous shadow looms over poor Lucy (a scene that ranks way up there with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DG9-7o6p6bM" target="_blank">the News At Ten theme tune</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YAgbpZN8zM" target="_blank">The Humphries</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvD-dLvHG9E" target="_blank">the Watch Out There's A Thief About man</a> as the scariest things EVER), every kid in that assembly hall has secretly vowed not to have anything to do with adults ever again. Because they're quite obviously <span style="font-style: italic;">all </span>after our arses. (And the fact that pretty much every male in the 70s looked like a paedophile didn't help matters much - I mean, cop a load of the blonde pimp sitting in that playground...)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Amazingly, it wasn't until 1981 that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QK8ZOiDyINk" target="_blank">the Government thought to replace it</a> (with none other than <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqTznu59InY" target="_blank">Clifford from Acorn Antiques</a> and what appears to be a frighteningly young Timothy Spall). Since then...who knows? Are these films even needed any more, seeing that virtually every newspaper and local news programme is paedo-mad these days, and kids don't seem to actually go out nowadays?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >(Footnote: approximately one month after I saw that film, me and my mates were approached by a bloke in a Colombo overcoat at the bottom of our road, flashing a police warrant and asking us to go with him for questioning. And we were about to, until the nosey old bag opposite told him to piss off. I was well dischuffed, seeing as I'd already been in a police car for shoplifiting and thought it was dead exciting. It wasn't until ten years later, when I was lying in bed thinking about that moment in the early hours of the morning, that I sat bolt upright and screamed the entire street down)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMAHOilswS6A4d2efDE7cTUSQQa8j_jojQENbSBpDXyOU0-GWzMKdAlnAv1Ft01SFL4w5BEH00rtmHYV2HV9ESgg_OdLQRwQH5Un8jBILn6p5x5xE-Sq0NT0oAhfBKSTb8S-RUFhZ7kY/s1600-h/paedo.jpg"><br /></a>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-18654576677398780802010-01-26T21:50:00.012+00:002010-01-27T01:45:05.710+00:00Something for the Ladies # 30 - with special guest...<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8AtqGrXvR-1fZuyZjVAW8bhIe7giMGvlM3fMVrAdUkzr3ijyMFuynKZ4b6u7EYPwFlNJu6uDIu8muJ7ieaAGPl5ym1lKRN4xfeJJeNodtH5B3e_FukcL1MSJ4e2b0ZZKF0JRLaW2Ch8/s1600-h/sarahhedley.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 205px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8AtqGrXvR-1fZuyZjVAW8bhIe7giMGvlM3fMVrAdUkzr3ijyMFuynKZ4b6u7EYPwFlNJu6uDIu8muJ7ieaAGPl5ym1lKRN4xfeJJeNodtH5B3e_FukcL1MSJ4e2b0ZZKF0JRLaW2Ch8/s320/sarahhedley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431169570183328658" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span">todger dot talk @ googlemail dot com</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. We shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.<br /><br />While Sam's making some serious progress on the health front, I sent the Sex-Signal </span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span">a-scything through the sky for urgent assistance from my sexpert brethren and sistren in helping me deal with the backlog of mail. And I can't lie to you; I'm right chuffed about my first lovely assistant...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sarah Hedley </span>is my absolute fave UK sexpert. The former Editor of <a href="http://www.scarletmagazine.co.uk/" target="_blank">Scarlet</a> - Britain's sauciest womens' mag - and Sex Editor of <a href="http://www.cosmopolitan.co.uk/" target="_blank">Cosmo UK</a>, Sarah is the author of <a href="http://www.littlebrown.co.uk/Title/9780749940904" target="_blank">7 Days To Amazing Sex</a> - a brand new crash course in fruitiness that is guaranteed to have you and your partner at it like knives in a mere week. If you're suffering from a beached whale of a sex life, Sarah is your personal Greenpeace - and this book is a massive helicopter, winching down a wet towel. Not only that, but she's also the wise sage that 'Mr Sex' communes with whenever he requires sexy, sexy wisdom on things he knows not. Except that she's younger and better-looking than me. Buy that bad boy <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Days-Amazing-Sex-Revolutionise-Your/dp/0749940905/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1264064322&sr=1-1" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br />Anyway...</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Anonymous writes:</span> Almost all the women I know now have sex toys, and I’m dying to try one out with my partner of six years - but he’s dismissed the idea several times, with the view ‘why would you need a plastic cock, when I’ve got a real flesh-and-blood one?’. I pointed out that his cock didn’t vibrate, but I don’t think that really helped my cause. I’ve decided I’m just going to buy one and if he doesn’t like it, sod him. Am I being insensitive? Or is he just a bit selfish? </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Mr Sex' says:</span> On first impressions, yes – he’s being a selfish get. Have you tried telling him that he’s not allowed to have a quick one off the wrist when you’re not about? Course you haven’t. And if you’ve been in a relationship for as long your two have and he’s putting the block on any progression in your sex life, that’s usually the time to start wondering about getting rid.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But having said that, let’s look at it from his point of view. Quite a few men hear the phrase ‘I fancy a go on a sex toy’ and unfortunately translate it into ‘Oi, your cock isn’t long/thick/<span style="font-style: italic;">good </span>enough’. Sometimes because they assume that cock-in-fanny activity is the be-all and end-all of sexual intercourse, sometimes because they’re scared of the realisation that their partner has been thinking about other ways of getting themselves off, and sometimes because they fear that if you’re using a dildo, you’ll have no need for him. Either way, Sex Toy = <span style="font-style: italic;">Threat</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Obviously, from an outsider’s point of view, this is all bollocks. Partners with sex toys are <span style="font-style: italic;">ace</span>, and there’s three reasons why; firstly, because I’d much rather have them using a sex toy than someone else’s nob. Secondly, because I rather like my partners having as many orgasms as possible, and sex toys can do things that I can’t – after all, my proud gentleman doesn’t have prongs going off the side, and it can’t rotate in the middle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But - and more selfishly - the third and most important reason sex toys are so mint is that they allow her as many orgasms as possible while I'm in her presence without me having to be bonked up 24/7 (because even though mine is flesh-and-blood too, sometimes it's just <span style="font-style: italic;">flesh, </span>if you know what I mean and I think you do). And there is nothing - <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing -</span> saucier than having your partner let you use a vibrator on her. So yeah, Laddo is not only misguided, but missing out big style.<br /><br />As for how to get him out of his current mindset? Well, let me slap the penis-shaped baton into the hand of Ms Hedley, and let her run with it…</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sarah says:</span> Lots of guys suffer from what I call Toy Envy and feel threatened by either the dimensions or capabilities of sex toys. But when your optimum sexual satisfaction is dependent on your vibe, that’s one little friend you really need your man to get along with. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Whether you buy your toy online, from a catalogue or a sex store, drag your man along to browse the options if possible – that way he’ll feel included, even if he complains about it, rather than feeling like you’ve gone behind his back.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Opt for something small and powerful – after all, it’s the vibrations rather than the size that’ll be of benefit to your clitoris. It might also help to pick something that isn’t penis-shaped (it’s a lot harder for him to compare his manhood to a vibrating butterfly or lipstick). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">When you’ve made the selection, ask him to pick up the bill – this might like seem like a tall order as he’s against the purchase from the start, but in the long run it will help him feel responsible for any orgasms the toy produces. Also, return the treat by picking out a male toy just for him; 'Mr Sex' knows all about the <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2008/05/sex-toy-review-tenga-onacups.html" target="_blank">joys</a> of the <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2008/07/sex-toy-review-tenga-flip-hole.html" target="_blank">new</a> <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2009/02/sex-toy-review-tenga-egg.html" target="_blank">Tenga</a> <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2009/10/sex-toy-review-tenga-flip-hole-black.html" target="_blank">range</a> from Japan…</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Spend some secret alone-time working out how to use your toy to optimum effect (try not to scream with joy if he’s in the vicinity, as this will do little for his ego), then invite him to ‘his own private sex show’ and let him watch while you use the toy on yourself – regardless of his apprehensions about battery-powered gadgets, it’ll be hard for him to feel anything other than hard, if you catch my drift. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Seeing you use the toy externally will be reassuring and put an end to any fear that you’re only using toys because he’s not big enough to satisfy you. If you do use the toy internally, try to eroticise that for him by saying things like, “When I’m doing this I’m imagining you inside me”. At the same time as marrying the notion of toy-play with him being turned on, you’ll be feeding him info on how to use the toy on you, which will boost his confidence for when it’s his turn to take the controls. Good luck!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">TT readers: <span style="font-style: italic;">Comment!</span></span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-42162469129419157282010-01-14T02:10:00.006+00:002010-01-14T02:51:07.635+00:00Nottingham NEEDS Fluffers<span style="font-family:arial;">I was aware that the recession was still kicking my dear home town in the bollocks, but I </span><span style="font-family:arial;">never</span> realised things were <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>desperate;<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNz6lBC3oBe9XKXRICRpPi49mc8HZ29Ggjh40_WZ-2jnTOpN2qK7SiOrLK0GqVLf_67kSxezSOIOJCESs8-9f9lqN9HK00QfP-99j5LwY6Ghucx-8-YCObyfHi-w8frxXY2DxemaBJXo/s1600-h/xxxjobs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNz6lBC3oBe9XKXRICRpPi49mc8HZ29Ggjh40_WZ-2jnTOpN2qK7SiOrLK0GqVLf_67kSxezSOIOJCESs8-9f9lqN9HK00QfP-99j5LwY6Ghucx-8-YCObyfHi-w8frxXY2DxemaBJXo/s320/xxxjobs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426413122311481154" border="0" /></a>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-33149521196262002052010-01-12T17:35:00.015+00:002010-01-12T23:54:32.394+00:00'Mr Sex' treats you, the patient Todger Talk Reader, to his holiday slides<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5rhy9xyQAXlobigqFsHByGcvfR_ZDiluQoUNlahG_sCjIuwuqptIeHA-Ah_NCq90Zs9Itxy-qdKTV2DmTCqKSZM9B9dbgpxMq4owHE0vMXwLWn1mkbEBW9EyPoAHG2YemKeSgdze2Qc/s1600-h/skeggy.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5rhy9xyQAXlobigqFsHByGcvfR_ZDiluQoUNlahG_sCjIuwuqptIeHA-Ah_NCq90Zs9Itxy-qdKTV2DmTCqKSZM9B9dbgpxMq4owHE0vMXwLWn1mkbEBW9EyPoAHG2YemKeSgdze2Qc/s320/skeggy.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425908585558672770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">After the end of a trying year for the staff of Todger Talk, and the seemingly endless trudge through another horrific winter (I'm looking out the window now; everywhere is caked with horribly dirty snow. It's like a giant bird has shat upon the whole country), it's only natural that thoughts turn to the last holiday one had. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, as a special treat, I'm going to show you a selection of pictures from my last sojourn, <span style="font-style: italic;">en familie</span>, to a caravan park in Chapel St Leonards. And I can already hear you saying; "But what shagging-related palaver is to be had there, 'Mr Sex'?". Well, that's the reason I went, to be honest - I was expecting to take a much-needed break from the maelstrom of humpery and pumpery.<br /><br />I was wrong.<br /><br />My holiday - as per usual - was absolutely <span style="font-style: italic;">rammeth </span>with sex. For one, it was a spiritual journey to the very caravan site upon which I was conceived. For two, Chapel St Leonards is next to <a href="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/articles.cfm/id/720" target="_blank">Skegness</a>, which - as you will discover - should actually be called <span style="font-style: italic;">Sexness</span>, laden as it is with the musky tang of eroticism. Come, dear reader - let us plump up the pillows, and have a goz at the following...</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPSf9fvjLUC6s9tz6-sJozn0HzxEA6u7sZI2PwmKbi8oRxahyphenhyphengHdMA8ywk_Rfqok7h-TW8586NzQMi7dtO70Zeurb92NHLfR0zdOHjggGBiUsRY6LAtk6R74Qk74gDS60tJSGH3TOOvQ/s1600-h/thongs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPSf9fvjLUC6s9tz6-sJozn0HzxEA6u7sZI2PwmKbi8oRxahyphenhyphengHdMA8ywk_Rfqok7h-TW8586NzQMi7dtO70Zeurb92NHLfR0zdOHjggGBiUsRY6LAtk6R74Qk74gDS60tJSGH3TOOvQ/s320/thongs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425907551196020626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">This was the first thing I, my nephew and his mate encountered outside the caravan site - he thought it was selling bubble gum, bless. But who could disagree with the sales pitch, and its claim that new climactic plateaux could be attained by wrapping a quid's worth of material around your paramour's flange? Remember, though - <span style="font-style: italic;">styles may vary</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >(Child's face has been obscured not because he's a young offender, but because he's my nephew and I don't want him kicking the living shit out of me in 2017)</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRupWFUZrmCiRnH8Jol4iuqAhT1rxdD0fOyoT3AnK_zNj0KdHO_OJ_k73SNOndM2F9w5XdAgJKO64JBknBGX1U0se4W6aucNoV09CzdZBq87BatZI7KuMmkqxtgy21sIy5XbG6Z3jP0g4/s1600-h/massive+kecks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRupWFUZrmCiRnH8Jol4iuqAhT1rxdD0fOyoT3AnK_zNj0KdHO_OJ_k73SNOndM2F9w5XdAgJKO64JBknBGX1U0se4W6aucNoV09CzdZBq87BatZI7KuMmkqxtgy21sIy5XbG6Z3jP0g4/s320/massive+kecks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425907364424182178" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Here, our young models are in the camp shop, demonstrating the style of garment more suitable for the average holidaymaker at Chapel (seriously, I'm not lying - I was by far the most attractive single man in the area. Unfortunately, I was also the most attractive single woman, as well). More alarmingly - and I kick myself for not getting a photo of this - the shop had a row of massive black dildos right behind the counter. I didn't know where to put me face when I went in there with me Mam for some suntan lotion.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(Incidentally, I overheard the following conversation between my youthful charges one night, on the way to the chip shop;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"I know what happens at Hooters"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"What?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"The women come out with boxer shorts on their heads, and do cartwheels to clown music. And they rub mud into their lips, because they're too trampy to afford proper make-up")</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOl5CM8qbC0j4dKjnH1jTAY1DKCbt0ZPiNjWU_XnIQJQWMENzxOHo9M4z0BwPJR3tsA7pzti0gwnhVUr72evgXQWYwMEtF3TWwG57ikCknjYt4jBG8EEDXOuT4v6kUjyWC5ypUcNfrSB8/s1600-h/teddy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOl5CM8qbC0j4dKjnH1jTAY1DKCbt0ZPiNjWU_XnIQJQWMENzxOHo9M4z0BwPJR3tsA7pzti0gwnhVUr72evgXQWYwMEtF3TWwG57ikCknjYt4jBG8EEDXOuT4v6kUjyWC5ypUcNfrSB8/s320/teddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425907172010020258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Obviously, when you're at a British seaside resort, you can't go five minutes without cramming as many chips into your maw as possible - and even here, the ugly head of Sex rears up and screams at you. Unless I get proof to the contrary, this chippy is offering poultry-based lingerie, probably with a scoop of chips nestling in the gusset.<br /><br />Because the alternative explanation - that the shop is using minced-up bits of one animal to make another one entirely - does not bear thinking about.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5oOmIylN0d67PcP4PjqcXxjzQhFt7i5ltpl1zCRLIGUWapWig7EYy_Dv2Abt6BzOFWD5H0b97CdCYM5FjT2yj8I6BesWM3KUGUG6di_IgBgJltkHrMsv_LN1zgfOEi9G8aDP9Wxwyv8/s1600-h/love+machine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5oOmIylN0d67PcP4PjqcXxjzQhFt7i5ltpl1zCRLIGUWapWig7EYy_Dv2Abt6BzOFWD5H0b97CdCYM5FjT2yj8I6BesWM3KUGUG6di_IgBgJltkHrMsv_LN1zgfOEi9G8aDP9Wxwyv8/s320/love+machine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425907034473623346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Another facet of the Skegness holiday is spending precious hours being dragged around arcades by youths, and I must say the standard has declined considerably, with an endless cascade of tuppenny waterfalls, knackered-up NBA Jam cabinets, tubby young girls sulkily 'performing' upon the Dance Dance Revolution machines in the manner of arthritic old men stubbing out fags with their feet and only two - that's right, <span style="font-style: italic;">two </span>- pinball tables in the entire area.<br /><br />Bizarrely, my nephew and his friend were <span style="font-style: italic;">insanely </span>addicted to the love tester machines, meaning that Uncle Sex had to stand over two eight year-olds who were finding out how erotically charged they were by the highly technical method of slapping their filthy hands on the cabinet, leaving me to explain to said girls that no, I wasn't trying to groom them, while my darling nephew shouted; "HAAAH! I'm STERILE and you're not!" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(pause)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"What does sterile mean?"</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiriHVOWRHN4qeb4s8FSm_HHEgQAxD366M3L5_LI88J-uZJ4EWTUSxM0dFYTLkueDDhFnn6DgzfuaHYcUKOyZOUyScdXIMA5aUHMJnqUeWRzEKlFEaELpg7-kvMaIw9r4Ks4Wq68vdcgko/s1600-h/stags.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiriHVOWRHN4qeb4s8FSm_HHEgQAxD366M3L5_LI88J-uZJ4EWTUSxM0dFYTLkueDDhFnn6DgzfuaHYcUKOyZOUyScdXIMA5aUHMJnqUeWRzEKlFEaELpg7-kvMaIw9r4Ks4Wq68vdcgko/s320/stags.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425906901121928434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Non-sexual item alert: </span>These cost £65. The pair. Next time I have to go to a wedding between two people I'm not bothered about seeing again, they're getting these.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXLySJpTm6toZHQOXcQtlWE7wCYQj1WYiGDW5v2isDukLDBQ8Ly4ytdRa2lVQj05CVMeAn3buctZlZ1PGkLt0rMhCuOHcOFLe97XHfSHJ4DLd0Ey0Rhyr5Lt35S-qvhaVlX9nzs1gVOU/s1600-h/smally+balls.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXLySJpTm6toZHQOXcQtlWE7wCYQj1WYiGDW5v2isDukLDBQ8Ly4ytdRa2lVQj05CVMeAn3buctZlZ1PGkLt0rMhCuOHcOFLe97XHfSHJ4DLd0Ey0Rhyr5Lt35S-qvhaVlX9nzs1gVOU/s320/smally+balls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425905249621329186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">This cruel and debilitating affliction is going to be the Todger Talk designated charity for 2010.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgek9JwQotLs8flrMfQKzyZ_6vh7o-IgycBUhcIPnBB70x9njBmPsdVq5fSplK0n8ZOF6xY8mudWzCgBmhgla2v6ZLH8EzGARDQShKweOhbVLdoYh5AcYBhrLG4PVVIpDES0hvyvIBAbDQ/s1600-h/rock+chips.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgek9JwQotLs8flrMfQKzyZ_6vh7o-IgycBUhcIPnBB70x9njBmPsdVq5fSplK0n8ZOF6xY8mudWzCgBmhgla2v6ZLH8EzGARDQShKweOhbVLdoYh5AcYBhrLG4PVVIpDES0hvyvIBAbDQ/s320/rock+chips.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425905084652559282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Right, it's now the middle of the week, so time to start wondering about how I'm going to shag up the teeth of my nearest and dearest, through the medium of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rock_%28confectionery%29" target="_blank">rock</a>. The above is a charming example of the genre...</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6YsusPYNIVQk9DiMGxrIrO7UHLK1QcheO-VaVlk9Pv8EYrCagMe7M20oS-fbHoeWOSI1su5fKWKV0I-GM740h4fpfvjQHFwLQQDuxreMhKZBZHiJRXAhJd_0sc88xC8E3YKqbXme_7Y/s1600-h/rock+cock.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6YsusPYNIVQk9DiMGxrIrO7UHLK1QcheO-VaVlk9Pv8EYrCagMe7M20oS-fbHoeWOSI1su5fKWKV0I-GM740h4fpfvjQHFwLQQDuxreMhKZBZHiJRXAhJd_0sc88xC8E3YKqbXme_7Y/s320/rock+cock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425904882949501586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">While this is...er....oh <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span>.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrIx0fleg6NbOT6Pj4sEKPPVZPHaXC36Uglcd23GMQ_bFBwyLPiJMTjuYPbEw71MGtL9VlTf94ZAA9w75P_TY1GZWV8u2fI4G6fCBsU66Zy4hQyGerlw_V0R9ZclEQbVmtUwdGhHuPu8/s1600-h/kebabs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrIx0fleg6NbOT6Pj4sEKPPVZPHaXC36Uglcd23GMQ_bFBwyLPiJMTjuYPbEw71MGtL9VlTf94ZAA9w75P_TY1GZWV8u2fI4G6fCBsU66Zy4hQyGerlw_V0R9ZclEQbVmtUwdGhHuPu8/s320/kebabs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425904574083142082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">In fact, it's fair to say that I would have seen less cock if I had stopped at home and watched the collected works of Ron Jeremy, whilst posing naked in a room consisting of full-length wall-to-wall mirrors.<br /><br />Oh, and please note the 'Titties Kebab'; they're the cocks, but with the bell-ends snipped off.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXg_wpv4_ufjLhcakKaelz8Qi54FHAcjH4gqYUnwLMsXOZCJY3WY9j_47MSUWVVRw0fJL-W7Iy9nC75G7QFHhhPrGsC6Vw477biOHsgJHT2su0TuBlWGSqwFCDM6RUyIaCpBXFOow1P8g/s1600-h/bnp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXg_wpv4_ufjLhcakKaelz8Qi54FHAcjH4gqYUnwLMsXOZCJY3WY9j_47MSUWVVRw0fJL-W7Iy9nC75G7QFHhhPrGsC6Vw477biOHsgJHT2su0TuBlWGSqwFCDM6RUyIaCpBXFOow1P8g/s320/bnp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425904444176228834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Non-sexual item alert: </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh dear. If only the people who actually bought a mug with the logo of a bunch of racist mouth-breathers would follow the example set by the donkeys at bottom right. All together now;<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blackie<br />And Snowy<br />Live together in perfect harmony<br />Side by side on the eastern seaboard<br />Oh. Lord<br />Why can't we?</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhjfpuxl2BlP6qhyOm7dwgD4ZzBo7k391Eng-a-0mTJ5OIX98hLjFDujCV3a21F2AkcdOxFupVvuqni97Q7A7tXFY1nief85eM6Z1o_cXwjiiGGU3vDxs01I1dbXW5feWsl0GCxdDP0w/s1600-h/broken+cock.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhjfpuxl2BlP6qhyOm7dwgD4ZzBo7k391Eng-a-0mTJ5OIX98hLjFDujCV3a21F2AkcdOxFupVvuqni97Q7A7tXFY1nief85eM6Z1o_cXwjiiGGU3vDxs01I1dbXW5feWsl0GCxdDP0w/s320/broken+cock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425904242592507794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Horrifyingly reminiscent of <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2008/01/mr-sex-reason-i-joined-this-blog.html" target="_blank">the first post I ever made for this blog</a>.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rwNI85M-X8wSIjGEL3NUFvJXS9J-L6-KEg33UPFBhp-mdlLeT_8zcDp8EG20dbVMDdcCbS3ppOJLgdsDtQnSiErqX0NyVj4CV0Xeq1iYD0dHKFzwxCoQESVmbvaBiptOsQQAGl_trZ4/s1600-h/dancers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rwNI85M-X8wSIjGEL3NUFvJXS9J-L6-KEg33UPFBhp-mdlLeT_8zcDp8EG20dbVMDdcCbS3ppOJLgdsDtQnSiErqX0NyVj4CV0Xeq1iYD0dHKFzwxCoQESVmbvaBiptOsQQAGl_trZ4/s320/dancers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425903841938012338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">These are the dancing girls at <a href="http://www.theclubtropicana.com/" target="_blank">Club Tropicana</a>, the local cabaret that I practically used to live in as a kid, when it was the Maid Marian Club. Back then, the dancers were called the Champagne Kittens, and were classy as fuck. When I was 12 and starting to become even more sexually aware when I was at the age of, say 8, I was sitting on the very front table up against the stage, and they came out in stockings and basques and put on a scintillating performance to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oisr9QqWrOs" target="_blank">Bad Boys by Wham!</a>, resulting in me sending a basket of scampi and chips flying across the table when one of them recited the spoken word bit in my ear.<br /><br />Sadly, it has to be said that the standard has dropped since then; the current artistes - The Boy Toy Dancers - carried on like 14 year-olds putting on a lesbian show at a bus stop after one litre of Lambrini too many.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOnAqupaetwxGcytp0_o4kAMusI50Tmm6DUyppP2u4INMtG7gJPSZ2fWpSVPgPW0bxhZ-PdmmUdz2G4Z2_zpz1w_6j8FaqZsn2hFZFnWgwK4GAXub5kcj7HRJ0FL2cHy1aQ1WZqUj8I4/s1600-h/Friday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOnAqupaetwxGcytp0_o4kAMusI50Tmm6DUyppP2u4INMtG7gJPSZ2fWpSVPgPW0bxhZ-PdmmUdz2G4Z2_zpz1w_6j8FaqZsn2hFZFnWgwK4GAXub5kcj7HRJ0FL2cHy1aQ1WZqUj8I4/s320/Friday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425903650737973554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">And this is the horrifyingly ironic thing about Skegness - even when you take into account the phallic symbolism, cheap underwear (constructed from meat or otherwise), opportunities to test one's sexual prowess and, and <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span>, I'm willing to bet that <span style="font-style: italic;">nobody </span>had sex in Skeggy and surrounding area all week. I know I certainly didn't - the above image was taken when I went out on the pull on the Friday night (and if I had been there one more night, I could have witnessed a performance by the lead singer of the band who produced <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1foGOIJI6g" target="_blank">this early-70s erotic classic</a>)</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Happy New Year, everyone. Let us all move on.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">(Main image provided by the ludicrously gifted <a href="http://www.rikkimarr.com/" target="_blank">Rikki Marr</a>, who is Dead Good and Skill) </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"> </span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-294336344697783102009-12-09T00:15:00.002+00:002009-12-09T00:23:39.021+00:00'Jingle Bells' or 'Paedophile'?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9Dxkx3Bg0ZicQgK1AhR_lgG_YOhN4EMVvV5P1bD75i2RJ92p-fp5Hy4yD86WaEe9WHwiA6N2zgSjWD8HAKblLVzAm3QJaYxfpAocVIeTw6O-YGjJ0ocC1ychHi2mujAh1bqiTCxDVv0/s1600-h/paedomouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9Dxkx3Bg0ZicQgK1AhR_lgG_YOhN4EMVvV5P1bD75i2RJ92p-fp5Hy4yD86WaEe9WHwiA6N2zgSjWD8HAKblLVzAm3QJaYxfpAocVIeTw6O-YGjJ0ocC1ychHi2mujAh1bqiTCxDVv0/s320/paedomouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413025491442401586" border="0" /></a><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newsvideo/weirdnewsvideo/6753404/Toy-mouse-recalled-after-claims-it-sings-paedophile-instead-of-Jingle-Bells.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">You </span>decide!</a>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-12015982586370303822009-12-08T11:44:00.005+00:002009-12-08T16:28:23.241+00:00Something for the Ladies # 29<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8Xdjk_T4NOTigLmXFDYZu4dA7BdQcaTZx9LRpaRHdSHG-_cir9z0LHcmyudtdo5iw-vqKk7djW4xCHRCXWcCLm3hZASEyMDSJhDPPTuEoyDOG2PmOBDk6dhSx5932jmIMAwvefG-7Yg/s1600-h/pottingthebrown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8Xdjk_T4NOTigLmXFDYZu4dA7BdQcaTZx9LRpaRHdSHG-_cir9z0LHcmyudtdo5iw-vqKk7djW4xCHRCXWcCLm3hZASEyMDSJhDPPTuEoyDOG2PmOBDk6dhSx5932jmIMAwvefG-7Yg/s320/pottingthebrown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412830226859771938" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span">todger dot talk @ googlemail dot com</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. We shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" ><br />Analonymous writes:</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> I’d like to ask you a question about anal sex – not ‘should I do it?’, as I and the guy I am currently fucking like it very much. However, I’m a bit worried about the potential mess it could create. I’m super-clean, neat and orderly, but due to his length he can achieve some pretty impressive depths. I’ve always wondered – as a man, do you worry about the occasional mess, or once the fucking starts do you gloss over any potential disasters and just appreciate what’s going on?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">'Mr Sex' says:</span> Hm. You'd completely asked the wrong chap here, me duck, as my anal sex experiences extend only as far as shoving things up my arse for <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/search/label/Sex%20Toy%20Reviews">the sex toy review section of this very blog</a> - so I'm definately going to have to punt this dilemma out to our lovely, lovely readers who know far better than I.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However, your concerns are valid and universal; unless you fancy having a go at that scat thing you've seen on the internet, you're aiming for a highly intimate experience, not an IRA-style dirty protest circa 1975. Going by the experiences of some of my friends, which have been related time and again in pubs, I would surmise that there's a minimal risk of wrongery occuring - but when it does go wrong, it can be amazingly spectacular (my favourite tale ended with the phrase "When I pulled out, the next thing I saw was a <span style="font-style: italic;">roostertail </span>of shit"). Obviously, an experience as traumatic as that could possibly put you off for several lifetimes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Let's demolish the main myth about anal; there's no guarantee that you'll end up with a shitty dick, which puts a lot of men off. After a few goes on a prostate stimulator, I've discovered that - as long as you're not busting to curl one off - there is very little (if any) fecal matter on the end of whatever you're shoving in there. Yes, there's loads of lube (and its occasional by-product, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santorum_%28sexual_neologism%29">Santorum</a>), but it's nothing you can't handle. I'd say that you should always prepare for the worst, so if it does happen, you can deal with it as quickly as possible. When I'm testing prostate stimulators, for example, I always have;</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">A massive beach towel over the bed (in case the worst happens)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A roll of kitchen towels or bog roll (so I can wipe anything that needs wiping)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Easy access to a carrier bag in a waste paper bin (to lob everything into and seal)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">An oil burner on the go (so my room doesn't whiff of anything it shouldn't)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Something heavy wedged up against the door (because I live in a shared house)</span></blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">Now, I don't really <span style="font-style: italic;">need</span> all of that rammell, but it calms me down. After all, if you're tensed up, you might as well try to shove a baseball bat through the eye of a needle. So I suggest that you get your own emergency kit on standby, and enjoy worry-free bum-sex.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sam says: </span>Apart from being surprised that 'Mr Sex' is still an anal virgin, my advice is simple. The main selling point about anal sex is that it's still seen as dirty - both figuratively and (in certain circumstances) actually. 'Mr Sex' is right about the general un-ickiness of the rectum, but if your man is as long as you say he is, there's the potential for an, um, accident.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The best thing to do is to sit down and have a talk about it. Point out that you love anal as much as he does, but make clear that you'd relax and be able to enjoy it even more if you had a clean-up routine, should the worst came to the worst. I think it's totally fair for him to take charge of that particular matter, seeing as you're the one who will probably be in most need of the loo afterwards - and when it comes to anal sex, from foreplay to afterplay, the recipient should always be the one who takes charge.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And it goes without saying that you should use as much lube as possible, and for God's sake use the toilet beforehand if you feel the slightest inclination to. But you already know that, right?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Readers of TT - <span style="font-style: italic;">comment!</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-18970499789746103732009-10-22T20:20:00.008+01:002009-10-23T09:52:56.083+01:00Sex Toy Review: Tenga Flip Hole Black<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.lovehoney.co.uk/prodimages/250/21166.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 250px;" src="http://images.lovehoney.co.uk/prodimages/250/21166.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;">Now, if you've had the slightest read of Todger Talk, you'll know that we stand four-square behind the following truths;</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />1. Sex is natural.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />2. Sex is good.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">3. Not everybody does it, but everybody should.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />4. Sex is natural.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">5. Sex is fun.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />6. The <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2008/07/sex-toy-review-tenga-flip-hole.html">Tenga Fliphole</a> is the best male sex toy in the world, bar none.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />How so? Let us count the ways in which it rings all the bells; It doesn't look like a hacked-off bit of lady-bit, it does things to your manhood that no human can, and - most importantly - it's a piece of piss to clean. For anyone who owns one, it's the best thing you can do to your nob bar giving it a regular wash and not trapping it in lift doors. So much so, in fact, that it seems impossible to improve upon.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />So when I was alerted to the fact that they've brought out a new one (finished in black), and asked if I'd like to have a bang on it, my immediate answer was 'Really?' and 'Hell motherflipping <span style="font-style: italic;">yes</span>'. And here it is...</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br />Instruction Sample:</span> Actually, I can't remember getting one, as I mangled up the packaging in a frenzy to get at it. You don't need one. It's a sex toy. Locate hole, lob in your giggle-stick, and the rest writes itself.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">You will also need:</span> A stand-by supply of lube. As before, there are three sample stoppers of Tenga's very own Real, Mild and Wild lube, but unlike other sex toys (that get shoved so bar back into the wardrobe that they end up somewhere in Narnia), this is something you're going to want to use long after the samples run out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Looks like: </span>Something that is NONE MORE BLACK. No longer does it resemble a room deodorizer - it now takes on the shape and form of a ridiculously expensive 7" speaker. Leave it on your living room shelf, and your mates - who would have taken a tentitive sniff at it before - will now strain their ears towards it. But the really important developments are inside, as Tenga have completely - fnarr - <span style="font-style: italic;">retooled </span>what is known round here as the Nobsticle Course. Cop a load of this;</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblYcW9hpEVUjF9a7YebXy4UvUr4ZJMx_9gU6Z9W9CFurI8PNgybSB0TCt-2upr7qMJve5MPjyWUdvYJI5jV6wZbX6fxAIcuPGhjRA62fpYh3SkPtlmKkXOhR3hxEcQDBMi8NenfbcaBk/s1600-h/teng1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblYcW9hpEVUjF9a7YebXy4UvUr4ZJMx_9gU6Z9W9CFurI8PNgybSB0TCt-2upr7qMJve5MPjyWUdvYJI5jV6wZbX6fxAIcuPGhjRA62fpYh3SkPtlmKkXOhR3hxEcQDBMi8NenfbcaBk/s320/teng1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395709667525507426" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgivlSYWhGwgp2z00Ct_YnbeMNmIwOX9V6zCREq_r69_Yx1BVsHJKkBxBuPn0bqSGJeZiEqzSxE_nzvvyWZLn4RCDIjfY5gSH7YH_wRNxTN57tfBYu3jCH9N1NLzOfdowRJi8s9Z7RkhB8/s1600-h/teng2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 152px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgivlSYWhGwgp2z00Ct_YnbeMNmIwOX9V6zCREq_r69_Yx1BVsHJKkBxBuPn0bqSGJeZiEqzSxE_nzvvyWZLn4RCDIjfY5gSH7YH_wRNxTN57tfBYu3jCH9N1NLzOfdowRJi8s9Z7RkhB8/s320/teng2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395709839606468738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Feels like: </span>Well, as you can see, they've gone heavily for the Toblerone look for your shaft, before encasing your bell-end in a tight cocoon of nobbles, bobbles, ribs, ridges and fronds. Imagine that you were a giant, and you decided to have penetrative sex with the world's most expensive bouncy castle. That's exactly what it feels like. And yes, it <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>better than the original.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Clean-up:</span> Again, dead easy; slide out the side bits, open the clam-shell, rinse it out, prop it up on the side-bits, leave to dry.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><b>Partner compatibility:</b></span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Er, no.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Pros:</span> The best male sex toy in the world now looks and feels better.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cons: </span><span>Bit more expensive than the original, but extremely worth it. Look out, all you plastic fannies, rubber arseholes and grubby wank-sleeves; there is a <span style="font-style: italic;">new </span>king in town.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Tenga Flip Hole Black, £79.99, kindly provided by <a href="http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=17376">Lovehoney.co.uk</a></span></span> </span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-83714142151266218402009-10-15T12:01:00.005+01:002009-10-15T12:13:19.936+01:00'Mr Sex': Oh God, it's HIM again<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRp7IoIgaIpvNYbnp_ZIqylS5h4_7YslkP52edi6ud-8rnR6I66y6fOjjQ2H4kugI4FcbOA4D6i00_weL07ztRF1GZzzVOmWHa-fnXa4lMs8xRFh8YccrgSwHBqgB73mVPRoMqdRPBZg/s1600-h/gw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRp7IoIgaIpvNYbnp_ZIqylS5h4_7YslkP52edi6ud-8rnR6I66y6fOjjQ2H4kugI4FcbOA4D6i00_weL07ztRF1GZzzVOmWHa-fnXa4lMs8xRFh8YccrgSwHBqgB73mVPRoMqdRPBZg/s320/gw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392780865471768450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Whilst performing his quarterly task of going through all the shit in the cellar, 'Mr Sex' came across another letter that was sent to a porn mag, that he rescued from the bin. And - would you believe it? - it was from the reigning champion of the TT Porn Letter section; the Groundskeeper Willie soundalike who enchanted us all a while back with <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2008/02/mr-sex-return-of-porn-letters.html">this missive</a>, and <a href="http://todgertalk.blogspot.com/2008/06/mr-sex-return-of-porn-letters-and.html">this beautifully constructed bit of prose.</a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I must warn you, however, that the following letter takes his oeuvre into an entirely new Solar System of wrongness. Seriously. You may not want to read this while you're getting through the contents of your lunchbox, lest your monitor be blanketed with gobs of semi-masticated sandwich. <span style="font-style: italic;">You have been warned.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">MY DARLING MONIKA</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I wish I could plant a thousand KISSERS XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX upon your gorgeous sexy BUM. I think about you always and. I guess I just canie resist yor sweet beautiful FIGER oor your charm too. MONIKA you ARE THE Moast Beautiful sweethearts I KEN/KNOW oor Indeed I have ever seen. Yer just a GORGEOUS Beautiful sexy GIRL and Boy. you sure do excite Me to the point I nearly pee mysel. It almoast happens nearly every time I see you in MAYFAIR. AW MONIKA yer've got a BEAUTIFUL FACE. and you deffinatly need NO MAKE UP as YOUR GORGEOUS jist the way you are. you've got the MOAST Beautiful eyes and GORGEOUS Beautiful sweet lips. aw MONIKA I'm wishing I was the cludgie/Toilet seat that you sit your BUM on. then at least I could see yer sweet cuteand VERY sexy BOT. aw MONIKA your just so fuckin Beautiful and OOO what a GORGEOUS PAIR. I also wish I wis YER PANTIES so I could be close up to your ever so juicy pussy. aw MONIKA. yer would have smiled this morning. aw us well hung laddies had Big Big HARD ON'S as we were all in love with you. but Me I just want to BATH and Wash and Soap that sexy BOT of yours DARLIN just so much. I carn't stop mysel DREAMING of you and then sometimes when I ken I'm going to CUM I manage somehow to always shoot it over my sister's BUM.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">MONIKA your no stuck up like the other COWS in MAYFAIR. I widnie even suck their TITS dry o MILK. Nope MONIKA yer just so genuiene Sweet Sexy GIRL and I'm just So in loth whith you. there's Somethin about youer BOTTY that I just carn't resist. Must be your nice PERT BUM cheecks. I have always wanted to tell you MONIKA just how much you Mean to Me. I guess yer no that now. I Just wish they'd Make a FUCKIN POTTY nice and Confy to sit yer BOT upon, then. I'd be SAT all day Wanking over you. My SPUNK flying everywhere eh. Your just a Very Special GIRL MONIKA to Me. before I set eyes upon you I didn't even KEN/KNOW What A Wet Dream Was like. Oor to be able just to MASTERBATE too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Other lassies are FUCK ALL MONIKA compared to you. I used to Smell My Sisters KNICKERS Quiet a helluva lot and then I would get a funny feeling and SHOOT my CUM in them. I have never Really Appreciated a GIRL before not untill MONIKA I saw you. Now I no I'm lookin at a Real STUNNING GORGEOUS Beautiful Sexy GIRL. I have nere telt any WAN this afore MONIKA but when I had my first Girlie I just couldnie Wait tae get her Knickers off. I took her in tae the Cludgie/Toilet and I pulled her Knickers down and I saw a string. Course I pulled it there wis blood alover her pussy so I made love to her. aw MONIKA it was great after she peed over my cock. I use to finger her PUSSY tae make her JUICERS Flow. Then I licked my fingers. they tasted BRAW/GREAT. Noo MONIKA. I've fallen FUR YE/YOU. Sweetheart tae me MONIKA yer beautiful MONIKA. I feel so much Love for you DARLIN MONIKA. I just love and adore you. And I think YOUR SO PRETTY. aw DARLIN now, I must snuggle down in my Bed and HUV More Sticky Dreams MONIKA OVER YOU.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">MONIKA TAK CARE DARLIN</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">ALL MY LOVE HUGS EN KISSERS</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">LOVE YA SEXY BUM</span></blockquote>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-89450803100262475292009-10-07T12:48:00.005+01:002009-10-07T13:18:11.761+01:00Cage-fighting Cross-Dressers 2, Pissed-Up Window-Lickers 0<span style="font-family:arial;">It's the 11th anniversary of the cowardly attack on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matthew_Shepard">Matthew Shepard</a>, and sad to say, things haven't changed that much since then. However, <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1218651/Thugs-attack-men-dresses--turn-cage-fighters.html">the following news story</a> and accompanying CCTV footage might just make your day - if not year. Please look out for;<br /><br />* Spiderman getting started on<br />* The fat mong Hulking himself up, as if chinning someone the weight of his last dinner was something to be proud of<br />* The streak of piss with his shirt off deciding to have a go at someone in drag<br />* Said someone in drag picking his handbag up after the comprehensive battering.<br /><br />Well done, chaps. Maybe you could combine two of the biggest entertainment phenomenons of the decade by doing a burlesque show before knocking the shit out of each other in a cage.<br /></span><br /><center><br /><object height="246" width="400"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oSILex-2Uu8&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oSILex-2Uu8&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="246" width="400"></embed></object></center>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-46816655689700753612009-10-02T08:56:00.008+01:002009-10-19T13:41:22.068+01:00'Mr Sex': HEAR ME NOW!<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/images/1/image/circusflyerFRONT.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 528px;" src="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/images/1/image/circusflyerFRONT.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">If you're in Nottingham this Saturday, Oct 3rd, 'Mr Sex' would like you not to bother with Goose Fair (it's nowhere near as good as it used to be) and extends an invitation to clock his first spoken word gig. It's part of the mammoth <a href="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/articles.cfm/id/2650">LeftLion Circus Extravaganza</a>, a FREE all-dayer spread over nine venues in the Canning Circus area of God's favourite city, featuring loads of bands, plenty-plenty artiness, a bouncy castle, loads of people dressed up as dead celebrities and more spoken word than you shake a stick at. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I'll be pulling a double shift upstairs at the Hand and Heart on Derby Road from about 6.50pm. First off, I'll be in conversation with <a href="http://thegirlfriendexperience-bea.blogspot.com/">Rebecca Dakin</a>, a former escort who has just dropped the autobiographical </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Girlfriend-Experience-Rebecca-Bea-Dakin/dp/1844547523/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1254471883&sr=8-1">The Girlfriend Experience</a> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">and has already been <a href="http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/news/358718/I-went-from-convent-girl-to-hooker-The-Girlfriend-Experience-by-Rebecca-Dakin.html">misquoted and fucked over by the News of the World</a>, which is a sure sign that you've properly arrived as a writer. We'll be having a natter about her book (which pisses all over Belle De Jour), and how one can enter the world of the sex worker and come out the other side without being a casualty. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And then, about half seven, I'll be reading out a selection of sex toy reviews, letters sent to porn mags, and a few things I haven't even posted yet</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">So if you're knocking about, come and say hello. And if you can't, have a listen to the <a href="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/audio.cfm/id/49">Write Lion podcast</a> where and me and Rebecca talk shop and moan about how rubbish it is to pull in Nottingham (about 52 minutes in - and oh dear, judging by the quality of my reading, I'd better get some practice in...)<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/images/1/image/circusBACKweb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 529px;" src="http://www.leftlion.co.uk/images/1/image/circusBACKweb.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-82396578662179384922009-10-01T03:35:00.006+01:002009-10-01T12:33:33.791+01:00'Mr Sex' and the Brick Shithouses of Scunthorpe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYBiedSrcx_biLARwIcmtrSPMosBV1Tvy06T8cnKFErbmT16fyF4pyNFaONMxyvjV7lijtaN7FBsViwKyXD3HX4yKm7F7tELCl1lKNS4Oqs6DdHldN_NA3nrKjfoDJnSGxYE35j53MvE/s1600-h/scunny.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYBiedSrcx_biLARwIcmtrSPMosBV1Tvy06T8cnKFErbmT16fyF4pyNFaONMxyvjV7lijtaN7FBsViwKyXD3HX4yKm7F7tELCl1lKNS4Oqs6DdHldN_NA3nrKjfoDJnSGxYE35j53MvE/s320/scunny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387458444398169202" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of all the stripping gigs I ever did, the scariest by far were always the nightclub jobs. Two words; <span style="font-style: italic;">Mixed Audience</span>. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The women - who would usually go mental at the mere thrust of a groin - would keep themselves in check. The men, to a man, saw you as a threat to their womenfolk and wanted to punch you in the face, over and over, until it splintered like a mouldy coconut. Half the audience were cowed into silence, while the other half stared at you in sullen rage. You used to laugh at the perils of stripping at all-female gigs - the gouge marks in someone's bare arse, someone's glasses being mangled by having them crushed against a jacked-up, Wonderbra'd-to-death cleavage, or a G-string wedgie. When we laid out our kit in the back room of Mr Fisters, Glassers, Peter Sutcliffe's Astoria or any other divey club that any sane person would usually cross an ocean to avoid, the laughter stopped. The danger was <span style="font-style: italic;">omnipresent</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Plenty of near-maimed incidents stick out in my mind, but I'll just tell you about one for now; Scunthorpe. No disrespect to anyone from that particular part of Lincolnshire, but it's mainly known here for three things - being the only place in the UK that contains the word 'cunt', an article in The Sun that unfairly claimed that the place contained the ugliest women in the country, and a terribly misguided attempt by a local nightclub to prove said paper wrong by running a Miss Scunthorpe competition, which - to put it mildly - failed to argue its case ever so slightly.<br /><br />The same nightclub we were booked at. Oh dear.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As it turned out, the gig passed off without incident. Sure, if looks could kill, we would have been smeared right up the back wall with the words 'DEATH TO PONCY STRIPPING WANKERS WHO THINK THEY'RE SUMMAT' daubed in our own blood, but glasses remained unlobbed, and the women looked no different to anywhere else.<br /><br />After we'd packed up and loaded the van, the last and most important bit of business remained; legging it to the nearest chip shop before it shut. Problem was, I had to go back to the dressing room to fetch me jacket. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On my way back, desperate to ram as many slivers of deep-fried potato into my maw as possible, I saw them coming the other way. Six brick shithouses from Scunthorpe. And fucking hell, they were <span style="font-style: italic;">massive</span>. Massive slabs of pissed-up Scunthorpians, who had obviously not pulled that night. Mainly because they'd spent an entire hour of their lives being in the same room as us, being made to listen to <span style="font-style: italic;">You Can Leave Your Hat On</span>. I nodded at them, and walked past.<br /><br />And then one of them turned around and bellowed loud enough to set off all the car alarms in Lincolnshire.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"'EY! YO'!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh, <span style="font-style: italic;">shit</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Ah know yo', dun't ah? Yo' were one of them fookin' strippers, wan't yer?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Er, yeah mate"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Fucking hell. What did I say <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>for? God, I wish the others were here. That would prolong my life for another five seconds.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Yeah, I seen yer in the club. Where your lot from?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Er...London"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Christ on a crisp packet, did I really want to die that badly? I might as well have said "From your Mam's house, where I've just been giving her one. Up the arse"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">They moved in. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh <span style="font-style: italic;">shit</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"So did yer get any fanneh, then?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is it. This is where I die. In Scunthorpe.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Er, no mate."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Long pause. My bollocks have now shrivelled to the size of Cadbury's Mini Eggs. Brick Shithouse No.1 turns to his mates.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Fookin' 'ell, you heard <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span>? This poor cunt's come all the way from fookin' <span style="font-style: italic;">London</span>, and he's bin up on that stage there wi' 'is cock aht and all sorts, and even <span style="font-style: italic;">'ee's</span> got nowt, because" - and here he takes a deep breath - "ALL AAH WOMEN ARE FOOKIN' <span style="font-style: italic;">PIGS </span>AND <span style="font-style: italic;">HOONDS</span>" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">They all grunted in agreement. And it dawned upon me: <span style="font-style: italic;">this man is actually apologising for the quality of his local womenfolk.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"You goo home, mate, and you tell 'em that paper wor fookin' right. They're all fookin' MOOSES raand 'ere. They're not worth a WANK. Ah wish ah could come with yer, mate - I bet there's some right proper fanneh dahn there, in't there?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And he shook my hand. And then his mates did.<br /><br />And then I whimpered with teary-cheeked jags of relieved laughter, in the back of a mini-bus, all the way down the M1.<br /><br /></span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-84635691106845214842009-09-15T13:12:00.008+01:002009-09-15T22:36:55.119+01:00Nobody puts 'Mr Sex' in a corner<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://news.filefront.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/12212dirty-dancing-posters.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 356px; height: 450px;" src="http://news.filefront.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/12212dirty-dancing-posters.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Right, so I was due to get back on the Sex-Horse this week after an extended layoff and a holiday (which I'll tell you about later), but recent events have forced me to ask a question that's been on my mind for ages; <span style="font-style: italic;">what is it about women and Dirty Dancing</span>?<br /><br />I swear <span style="font-style: italic;">down</span> that whenever two or more women are gathered together in the same room, that film goes on the DVD. You could lock Germaine Greer, Myra Hyndley, Margaret Thatcher and Kali the Hindu Goddess into a living room, and five minutes later they'd be in their pyjamas, ramming enormous slabs of Cadburys Dairy Milk into their maws and bracing theirselves for a goz at Patrick Swayze's arse. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />No disrepect to our female readers, and certainly none to Mr Swayze either (apart from saying "You were in <span style="font-style: italic;">Red Dawn</span>, the worst film ever. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ugh!</span>"), but here's the male perspective on <span style="font-style: italic;">Dirty Dancing</span>; it's a <span style="font-style: italic;">bag of old ringpieces</span>. Let us go through the plot; I've never actually <span style="font-style: italic;">seen</span> the film in full, but I've walked past the living room to the fridge enough times whilst tutting loudly to get a decent handle on it;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">* Some girl called Baby arrives at a posh Butlins on her holiday with her Mam and Dad. (and before I say anything else, you need to know that I would <span style="font-style: italic;">kill </span>to know someone called 'Baby', as it would give me licence to talk like this all the time)<br /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8t3cHF2QSUQ&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8t3cHF2QSUQ&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />* Obviously, because this is a film about some bird on holiday, she runs into Patrick Swayze at a party, sees a bit of the old Dirty Dancing, and gets a wide-on for him. But let's stop just just there a moment to make a brief comparison. <span style="font-style: italic;">This</span> is Dirty Dancing;</span><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9vKUyV19Fl4&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9vKUyV19Fl4&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So are these lads;</span><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uLpVfJVxw64&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uLpVfJVxw64&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And this is outright </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >filthy</span><span style="font-family:arial;">;</span><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/q6uGkq4JyK0&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/q6uGkq4JyK0&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oKUTOLSeMM">This</a>, on the other hand, is not. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Ooh look, he nearly brushed against her tit! My senses is <span style="font-style: italic;">inflamed! </span><span>I'm s</span>orry, but I find there's far more erotic interplay and sexual tension between <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ow8YZLdnfQ4">Barry and Yvonne in Hi-De-Hi</a>. And how bitterly ironic that, while the females of the world were watching this, their male counterparts were wanking themselves bandy over <span style="font-style: italic;">Debbie Does Dallas</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Electric Blue 14</span>. God hates people.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">* Anyway, Patrick Swayze has got a cob-on because his dance partner has got pregnant and is going to have a backstreet abortion that goes wrong. Don't know if they do a dance routine in that scene. Wouldn't be surprised.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">* Patrick Swayze predictably teaches Baby how to dance, and they start nobbing each other (hm, an older man slapping it about with someone called 'Baby'; I'm not sure <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>film would be made today, eh readers?)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />* Some other stuff happens</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />* <span style="font-style: italic;">Time Of My Fucking Life</span> comes on, and Patrick Swayze picks Baby up and lifts her into the air. This, apparently, is the scene that the entire film hinges upon - whether a grown man can pick up a slip of a girl and raise her above his shoulders. <span style="font-style: italic;">For fuck's sake</span>. So you've basically spent an entire film waiting for something that would have happened in the first 30 seconds of <span style="font-style: italic;">Britain's Strongest Man.<br /><br /></span>(And let us never forget, chaps - this film is totally responsible for the fact that we have to go to bleedin' Salsa classes if we want to get our ends away nowadays)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">* Then Patrick Swayze comes into Baby's factory in a white Navy suit, lobs her over his shoulders, and walks out while Joe Cocker murders <span style="font-style: italic;">Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong</span>. Or something.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And yet, despite all the evidence I've laid out here, something about it strikes a ridiculously tremulous chord within the womenfolk of this planet - including huge chunks of the intelligent, alternative, feminist ones. Consider the facts; first video in the world to sell over a million copies. $213m grossed from a film that cost $5m. God knows how many DVDs. Countless millions of pounds pumped into the brewing industry due to males going "Oh, not this shit again, I'm going to the pub".</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, ladies - <span style="font-style: italic;">please </span>- educate not only me, but any other chap who just doesn't get it. I understand there may be some rite-of-passageness going on here, but when there are so many films just like this knocking about, why this one? Why? <span style="font-style: italic;">Why?<br /><br /><br /></span></span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-11963417852194347252009-08-11T11:51:00.004+01:002009-08-11T12:00:15.530+01:00'Mr Sex': On yor INTERNETS, beeing a PEEDO<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJptvXQttUaaMBnewC2MV6Wz_EzE8a0PS6R23ZkksI9EwZO8vZ0rI1gg8EPUutcbQEnTRNcvk4yKx29J4IntdANSDJW8BONShASARQ_CkSArZPcq1kHxVcfhuuWU_8d8v_FuiHLu4XZs/s1600-h/kittyporndb9.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJptvXQttUaaMBnewC2MV6Wz_EzE8a0PS6R23ZkksI9EwZO8vZ0rI1gg8EPUutcbQEnTRNcvk4yKx29J4IntdANSDJW8BONShASARQ_CkSArZPcq1kHxVcfhuuWU_8d8v_FuiHLu4XZs/s320/kittyporndb9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368659183034491586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's despicable enough for a man from Florida to get caught downloading child porn. Absolutely outrageous for him to pin the blame on a </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/breakingnews/sfl-cat-downloads-porn-bn080709,0,6415792.story">poor defenceless pussy cat</a><span style="font-family:arial;">. Mind you, my cat - the lovely yet vicious Sharon - is always using my phone to send pictures of her genitals to that massive tom on the other estate, so I hope this man gets a fair hearing.</span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7448867658264499706.post-60012646259943725352009-07-30T13:38:00.003+01:002009-07-30T13:48:48.976+01:00Something for the Ladies # 28<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.alloallo.org.uk/episodes/13c.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 265px;" src="http://www.alloallo.org.uk/episodes/13c.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px;font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span">todger dot talk @ googlemail dot com</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. We shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span">This week's question...<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Anonymous writes:</span> My boyfriend and I have been together two years. However, we had a brief break-up a year ago when he had a drunken fumble with a mutual 'friend' of ours.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm about to move to France with work for six months, and we were positive about continuing long distance for that time. However, I have just found out from one of his friends that he is about to move into her house (with several others) as her father owns the house and has offered them cheap rent.<br /><br />Upon questioning, he said he was putting off telling me as was worried about my reaction, and he's only doing it because of the cheap rent. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">He's offered to pull out and live somewhere else if I'm not comfortable with it but I'm not sure that offer is sincere, plus I know he really needs somewhere with cheap rent.<br /><br />I'm tempted to cut and run, as I don't want to have to be in France wondering if he's got pissed and shagged her. Or am I being unreasonable?</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />‘Mr Sex’ says:</span> Yes. You are being <span style="font-style: italic;">totally </span>unreasonable. Here would be the reasoned, thought-out and rational response to such a development;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">1) Punching him right in his twattish face for even knocking about with this woman after what happened, let alone thinking about moving in with her</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">2) Kicking him squarely in the groin for not having the balls to even tell you about this – not because he was worried about your reaction (see how he turns it all onto you?), but because he knows he’s wrong</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />3) Taking a hammer to his kneecaps for being a deceitful, cowardly mingebag</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />4) Nobbing him off entirely, and shacking up with, I dunno, a mime artiste. Or some bloke in a Breton shirt who sells onions on a bike.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">That may sound a bit harsh, but come the fuck <span style="font-style: italic;">on</span>, me dear. The first rule of post-affair relationship-mending is that the offending party has to take steps to cut the other person out of their life as completely as possible. The fact that he’s intending to share a microwave with her suggests to me that he’s either still up for a portion off her, or he’s thicker than Barry White’s shit on Boxing Day morning. Either way, he’s completely disrespecting you at a time when you’re going through massive upheaval in your life.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />You obviously don’t like this woman, and the idea that she’s still hanging about gets your hackles up – so if he can’t see that, he’s being <span style="font-style: italic;">ridiculously</span> insensitive, and the fact that he's offering to backpedal is more to do with him being found out than him having a scrap of decency. You’re obviously going to be wound up to buggery while you’re away in any case whether he moves in or not - so give this bell-end his P45 of Love, get yourself over the Channel, and help yourself to a hefty slice of French Fancy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sam says:</span> Let's face facts, here; you are in a rubbish relationship. And, if you choose to stick with it, it's about to get even more rubbish. Yes, long-distance relationships have every chance of working out, but only when there is a very high level of mutual trust and respect. You are getting - and will continue to get - neither from this bloke. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />As 'Mr Sex' points out, when you've been tempted in a relationship, you have to remove that temptation. He's already put his hand in the fire and gone 'Ow'. Now he's giving himself every opportunity to put his hand back in again and again, leaving you with a charred arm of a relationship. My advice; dump him, move on, and go and find someone who will treat you with the decency you deserve.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Readers of TT: <span style="font-style: italic;">Comment!</span></span>Nottingham's 'Mr Sex'http://www.blogger.com/profile/09769299051936139851noreply@blogger.com15