Innuendo, Death Of

The Brit version of our “dollar stores” (everything for a dollar) is named “Poundland”, and every year they spice up their Christmas commercials with something a little more daring.  This year was no exception:

Needless to say, the Perpetually Offended raced to the barricades, and the usual bullshit followed.

Now it’s my turn to be offended.  I happen to love using sexual banter, innuendo and double entendre  in my everyday speech.  I think sex is the spice of life, it’s certainly the spice of conversation, and as long as you don’t get crude and crass about it, it serves as both mental gymnastics and flirting.

I remember once having lunch with a coworker who happened to be an extraordinarily-beautiful woman — I mean, imagine a face like Monroe and a body like vintage Nigella, and you’re getting close.  As it happened, we decided to have dessert, and ordered:  she a strawberry sundae and I, a banana split.  When the dishes arrived, we both made a face of distaste.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She gestured at the maraschino sitting atop the sundae, and said, “I hate cherries.”  Then she asked, “And what’s wrong with yours?”
I pointed at the chopped nuts scattered all over the banana split, and said, “Ugh.”  (I hate mixing crunchy with soft textures in my food.)
Then I said, “Well, I’ll tell you what we can do.”
“What?”
“If you eat my nuts, I’ll pop your cherry.”

She laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks, then threw the cherry at me, still laughing.

I should point out that this incident took place in the early 1980s, when one could say stuff like this and not get arrested for aggravated patriarchy or whatever they call it these days.  Nowadays, of course, she’d complain to HR and I’d get crucified, lose my job and never be able to find work again.

I miss the old days.  God, I miss the old days.

Oh, and as for the story which introduced this post:  as much as I enjoy the occasional finger, I don’t really care much for the Cadbury’s version.

Not In My Day

Good grief.  I admit to being not easily shocked by people’s vicissitudes nowadays, but even so, this one left me gaping:

A married history teacher slept with at least five pupils at one of South Africa’s most elite schools, an investigation has revealed.
Fiona Viotti, 30, who is the niece of former South African national rugby coach Nick Mallett, was found to have slept with the boys at Bishops Diocesan College in Cape Town between 2013 and 2019.
The school called in lawyers to investigate Viotti after an 18-year-old pupil claimed he had been involved in an ‘intense’ sexual relationship with her, saying she became controlling when he tried to end it.
Investigators hired by the school found that she had been bedding pupils for at least six years, targeting boys who were over the age of consent.
Ms Viotti is also known to have filmed explicit videos of herself which were circulated within the school and online, but investigators failed to determine who she initially sent the footage to.
The probe found that she breached school codes and the code of ethics laid down by the SA Council of Educators [ya thank?–K.] likely meaning she will never teach again.
However, she will not face any disciplinary action from the school since she has already resigned. [!!!!!]

Needless to say, hubby has ditched her, and she is “receiving psychiatric help”.  Stupid bitch.

What makes this case interesting is that she’s a total babe, which would make her irresistible to most men, let alone callow adolescents — and yet she’s a pervert withal.  (Oh, of course  she’s a pervert;  if this had been a 30-year-old male teacher shagging his teenybopper girl students, he’d now be in chains [2,000-word rant about double standards deleted].)  Oh, and I should point out that in South Africa, the age of consent is sixteen.

En passant, I should also point out that Bishops D.C. is indeed one of the top high schools in South Africa (almost on a par with my alma mater  St. John’s College).  But clearly they do a better — or worse, depending on your viewpoint —  job of teacher recruitment than we did.

No Need To Wonder, Love

Continuing with my ongoing fascination for sexbots and how they’re going to change society comes this conclusion, from a chick writer no less:

The human experience of love, companionship and unconditional acceptance we often expect from our pets is being hacked, replicated and ultimately replaced by dolls who live in the cloud during the day and function as your robot wife/sex slave/ couch buddy at night. She can be anything you want her to be and demands nothing (unless you want her to). Soon she’ll be able to make sandwiches. I can’t help but wonder if a large majority of men won’t opt for the conflict-free humanoid over the real thing, with all of our baggage and hormones and mothers-in-law.

I don’t think it will be a majority  of men, but it’s going to be a bigger number than anyone would expect — and for this, we can thank the Feministicals, woo hoo.

Prediction:  It’ll be all over when the sexbots can make us sandwiches.

And pour a decent gin & tonic.

And reload our favorite .45 ACP cartridges… [okay, that’s enough, Kim.]

Then again

Mother Of The Year

Imagine locking your kids in a room and leaving them unattended just so you can go to a hotel and screw a random stranger.  Think it’s unlikely?  Think again:

A mother who locked her three young children in a bedroom with some toilet paper and a bucket as she met her new boyfriend for sex at the Holiday Inn has been jailed for 18 months.
The 32-year-old locked them away on her eldest son’s seventh birthday as she left for the Holiday Inn Express in Burnley, Lancashire.

I have no problem with the jailing, of course, except insofar as the sentence did not include the words “daily floggings” and “mandatory sterilization”.

Go ahead.  Change my mind.

 

Tangled Webs, Etc.

Try to follow along with this story (there may be a test).

Man and woman get engaged ‘cos they wuv each other.  (So far, so good, happens all the time.)  Man decides that he likes dressing up in women’s clothing.  (Okay, this doesn’t happen all the time, even nowadays.)  Woman can’t stand the thought of her man stealing her undies and bras (understandable), but instead of handing him his exit ticket, she decides to have an affair with another man (somewhat understandable, perhaps, but getting wonky).

Here’s where it goes all pear-shaped.

Bra-wearing fiance discovers the affair, and when he discovers that she’s going to leave him for Roger The Lodger, beats woman to death with a pole.  (I would call that an extreme reaction, but who am I to get all judgey about this?)  Then, when charged with his beloved’s murder, he claims that she  was “confrontational” and “provoked” him with words.  (Apparently, the deceased was Australian, so one can only imagine…)

In the midst of my laughter while reading the article, however, I just can’t help thinking that at some point, all this may somehow have been avoidable.

Maybe if the Brits stopped Australians from coming to the U.K., if transvestism was banned, or if extramarital bonking was outlawed (or all three)…?

Just sayin’.

The Old And The New

…or maybe, the old & the young:

Dennis Quaid, 65, is ‘ENGAGED to PhD student girlfriend Laura Savoie, 26’ just five months after going public

And a pic of the loving couple explains it all:

“HOW CAN SHE DO IT?” is the wail.

Oh, please.  In the first place, ol’ Dennis is rich, famous and, to be honest, not at all bad for 65.  (Jeez, I’m 65 and I wish I looked half  as good.)  As for why he wants to hook up with her… do I really have to explain that?

Go, Dennis, go!   Every old fart in the world is on your side, dude.  Even if we’re as jealous as hell.