Very Brief Encounter

We’re all familiar with the story of the classic 1940s movie Brief Encounter, where Trevor Howard and the exquisite Celia Johnson meet by chance at a railway station, and over a period of time are increasingly tempted to have a little extramarital fling.  (They don’t, of course, because morality and conscience and also because it wasn’t in the script.)

Nowadays, it appears, people seem to have little time for morality or anything other than a quick knee-trembler under similar circumstances:

Kate Jackson has also been handed a 12 month community order after the ‘al fresco’ romp in front of shoppers at 3.43pm. Jackson, 40, was waiting for a train home in Stalybridge, Greater Manchester on August 10 when she realised the train was delayed.
While waiting she got chatting with a stranger before passers-by saw her having intercourse with 44-year old Jonathon Pisani shortly after.
The pair both admitted outraging public decency, with Pisani due to appear in court for sentencing in December.

This being Manchester, of course, one should not be surprised and doubly so, considering the appearance of the coupling commuters.  [barf bag may be necessary:  follow link at own risk]

I do have a random thought arising from this, though:  if the woman has already been sentenced, why should it take more than another month to pass sentence on the man?

Perhaps my Brit Readers can cast light on the topic, once they’re done being violently ill.

Also, I need to make a note of the term al fresco romp, just for future reference when talking about coupling en plain air.

Fresh Fruit

I’m told that this is the new term for underage sex partners, although given that I’m at the “wrinkled prune” stage of life myself, I fail to see what I’m supposed to do with this information.

Anyway, here’s a sample of the above, this time from Strylia:

A former Tiger Air flight attendant who had sex with a 15-year-old boy has been released on bail after spending only one week in jail.
Melissa Nosti, from North Ryde in northern Sydney, had sex with a student at the school she used to work at as an attendance officer back in 2010.

You have to applaud her willingness to go the extra mile just to get the little scrote to stay in school — the parallel thought being that I bet that attendance among the other little scrotes was sky-high if she was spreading the love, so to speak.  And if her pictures are anything to go by, she probably was.

The only reason I noticed this at all is that the suburb where all this fresh fruit was being plucked is right next door to where the Sydney branch of my adopted family now lives.  (New Wife’s two sons and their wives live in Oz and Seffrica, respectively.)

A Triumph For Feminism

Let’s see:  because #feminismrules, you assign a female guard to an all-men’s prison.  What could possibly go wrong?

Quite a lot, apparently.

Lauren McIntyre, 32, is accused of having a sexual relationship with convicted double murderer Andrew Roberts over a four-month period at HMP Isle of Wight, Metro reported.
Prison guard McIntyre — believed to be a mother-of-two— is accused of willfully and without reasonable excuse or justification misconducting herself in a way which amounted to an abuse of the public’s trust in the office holder because she had secret sex with murderer Roberts.

And the choirboy?

Roberts was convicted of strangling girlfriend Louise L’Homme, 23, and their eight-month-old daughter at the home they shared in 2003. He is serving a life term in prison.

This is what happens when you mix men and women together in a closed environment.  (And for the benefit of the dense:  whether it’s in a prison, a co-ed campus dormitory or on board a Navy ship, they’re gonna have sex.)  ‘Twas ever thus, and no amount of Feministical Theory or Woeful Handwringing will prevent it.

In the old days, prison guards were called “screws”.  Nowadays, that nickname seems to have a whole different meaning, dunnit?

News Roundup

Today we feature the “All Sex, All The Time“-type roundup, with commentary shorter than Jerrold Nadler’s dick.  [sorry]

ummm Wayne, dude:  there’s this thing called a “vasectomy”

and given that he’s not rich, I think the newspaper owes us a tasteful pic of his erect phallus, so we can see just what this guy’s appeal is.

and you were slut-shamed because you were a choirgirl, right?

“sparent”?  What’s that, Lassie?  Hoofbeats?

given that her pool of likely suitors will come entirely from fanbois inside NASCAR Nation, I’d say her prospects are even slimmer than she thinks.

and when you’ve lost gayboi Graham Norton

not to mention a distinct shortage of willing penises.

if she’s going to get all her lovers’ faces tattooed there, she’s going to need ElastaGirl arms.

the main question being:  did we really need to know this about the late?

And finally:

hate to break it to you darlin’, but nobody cares why.  Here’s the proof:

Much better than Gwinnie’s bony ass.

Silver Linings, Gloomy Futures

Not every business has been adversely affected by the Chinkvirus and Gummint lockdowns:

A businesswoman who sells sex dolls has revealed how her company has been thriving throughout the pandemic, and that she’s noticed an increase in sales each time a new lockdown restriction comes into place.
Jade Stanley, 36, from Bromsgrove, Worcestershire, launched her company Sex Doll Official in 2018, and sells and rents plastic sex companions, some of which can cost up to £8,000, to ‘lonely’ customers.
The mother-of-four explained that due to widespread isolation during the coronavirus crisis, she saw surges in sales every time there was a change in lockdown rules, insisting customers want ‘more than just a sex toy’.


She also revealed that she’s noticed a much bigger demand for male and transgender sex dolls, and told there’s a ‘big market’ for couples who want to involve a ‘safe third party’ in the bedroom.

That might just be the thunder of horses’ hooves you’re hearing in the distance.

So just what does this little hotbed town of kinky sex look like?  Something like this:

…and further down the High Street:


Alert Readers may have noticed in the above pic one of Kim’s Favoritest Places In Britishland:  Greggs, purveyors of  fine pies and finer sausage rolls.  Things are not so rosy there:

Since reopening on July 2, the Newcastle-based firm’s like-for-like sales averaged at 71.2 per cent of its levels from 2019 for the 12-week period to September 26.
Greggs was performing well before the crisis its shares hit a record high of 2,550p in January. But they closed yesterday at 1,219p, down 47 per cent in the year to date.

So to all my Brit Readers, I beseech you:  start Kim’s “Every Meal With Greggs©” program with immediate effect, and to hell with your waistlines.

Your sex dolls won’t complain, I promise you.


Every so often I come across a headline which causes me to experience a complex reaction:

Russian beauty queen screaming ‘I hate women’ carries out horrifying knife attack on shop worker

Now I will confess that at times I too am tempted to strap on the old Anza Skinner and head for the fabric store, but only at times of severe provocation.

Like this one:

Female lingerie tycoon, 39, launches legal fight to force Garrick Club to admit women for first time in 189-year-old private members’ club’s history

Outside the suggestion of more gun-control laws, this is the kind of bullshit which causes me to throw shit across the room and shoot an extra hundred rounds at the range.  I’ve ranted about this topic so many times in the past (example:  here) that I can’t find anything more to say about it, other than perhaps in the invention of more swear words.

Of course, this is all happening in (formerly) Great Britain, where there’s no guaranteed freedom of association, but as my own take above on Augusta National indicates, that doesn’t mean that it can’t and won’t happen here too.

Ordinarily, I would just say (in answer to a demand to end men-only clubs) that we can do that only if all other gender-exclusionary clubs are likewise banned.   Here’s an example, from some list:

The Sorority club is an online network for professional women who want to collaborate and inspire others. While this is not a physical club, the members, 4% of whom are royalty, meet regularly at selected luxury venues in London. Membership is by invitation only, although by filling out their online pledge, you can encourage them to consider you for membership, just be sure to have a good answer to the question; ‘What do you value most in life?’
“The way women connect with each other is unique,” says founder Lisa Tse. “We have a tendency to overly criticize ourselves and often underplay our successes and achievements. In a collegiate environment of women, we thrive as we are always so supportive of our friends and aim to bring out the best in each other in a way we never do for ourselves.”
“We are also in desperate need of providing role models of real women living real lives who are successful on their own terms. We need to move away from traditional stereotypes of businesswoman and success and embrace the diverse and rich experience of inspiring women with amazing stories to tell.”

“The way women connect with each other is unique”?  Can I be the first to say that if I started a men-only club by saying “The way men connect with each other is unique”, I’d be castrated by the Feminazi Grrrrls faster than a Kardashian woman drops her panties for a rich Black guy.

Try this observation from another vagina-only club:

“There’s been a paradigm shift which means that increasingly women are seeking out other women’s company. Not that they don’t love their husbands and partners, but they often have deeper conversation with women than men. Women have become less competitive with each other, more embracing and there appears to be a sorority that is stronger than it’s ever been.”

Here’s a tip for these wimmens:  ignore the “paradigm shift” nonsense and invert the sexes, and that’s always been the case among men.  There are certain conversations that men can only have with other men — and I’m not just talking about shot groupings or 0-60 acceleration times.  And no, I’m not going to list any of those topics, because it’s nobody’s fucking business.  Unlike women, we don’t have to analyze and talk about everything — hence the need for men-only clubs like Garrick, where we can indulge ourselves with guy talk and not be interrupted by a group of people with, to be kind, a different (and stupid) set of talking points.

And show me one men-only club which actually harms women by their exclusion of cervix-owners from the dues list.

I’m running low on gin for my breakfast G&T (shuddup, we just got through a long weekend), or else I’d have a second pint.  Instead, I think I’ll just head to the 100-yard indoor range at the local gun club, where women aren’t excluded but where I’ve never actually seen a woman shooting off a Barrett, so I’m pretty much assured of male-only company (albeit without booze).

Fucking harpies.  When they ask why we hate wimmens so much, the universal answer should be:  “Because you’re always trying to pull shit like this.  Leave us the fuck alone.”

But they can’t, can they?