Coming And Going

I knew quite a few men in my yoof who ran this danger:

A small Australian marsupial known as the antechinus shot to fame after the discovery of two new species five years ago, when scientists revealed how males every mating season are, quite literally, killing themselves by having too much sex.
During the brief breeding period, males ferociously copulate with as many females as possible, in violent sessions that can last upwards of 14 hours – and, their bodies deteriorate as a result.
In the animal kingdom, reproduction can be a dangerous and peculiar game.

Not just in the animal kingdom, Bubba. In humans, this circumstance is known as “Spring Break” where, as is the case for the antechinus, all that’s required is a multitude of willing female partners.

(If perchance you spot your daughter or [shudder]  granddaughter in either of the above pics, I apologize sincerely.)

And for those callow young men who think this antechinal fate couldn’t possibly befall them, let me assure you:  after a single bout of frantic lovemaking, you’ll be pleasantly sated; but after four such encounters with different partners, even over a whole weekend, you’ll feel like death would be a welcome respite.

So trust me:  after fourteen partners on the trot, your internal (and for that matter external) organs, like that of antechinus, are going to resemble raw beef, eggs and carrots after a minute spent in a blender.

Don’t ask me how I know this. I still have the nightmares.

Fishy

The old homosexual word for a woman is “fish” so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this headline (via Insty):

HuffPost: Women Would Rather Have Sex with a Fish Than a Man

Of course, it’s the Supreme Dreckmag itself, so I shouldn’t be surprised. However, unlike for most of their bullshit, this time there is some pictorial evidence to support their claim:

Once again, it is the extraordinarily-eccentric Helena Bonham-Carter so perhaps one should take it with a grain of salt; but still. (By the way: is it so wrong to find this pic very arousing?)

That said, I really do prefer HBC in more ummm conventional poses:

Were I not so allergic to manifestly-insane women, she might once have replaced Nigella in my Pantheon of Hotties.

Creature Comforts

According to reports, BritPrince Harry will be living with his new Hollywood wife in a tiny village in the Cotswolds area of Oxfordshire, out in the west of Britishland — and from personal experience, I can attest to the place’s extraordinary beauty. There is a silver lining to his cloud (the cloud being his bossy, oh-so modern and trendy spouse): his “local” will be the Falkland Arms, and a pretty place it is too…

Alert Readers will notice the presence of Britain’s best brewery on the sign, which means that Harry, a renowned drinker in his youth, will be able to drink pints of Wadworth 6X… assuming his health-Nazi wife allows him to ever visit the place, that is.

Depressing Statistic

As Longtime Readers all know, I look on most “studies” nowadays with the utmost skepticism, being as they generally employ shoddy data collection techniques, poor sampling and / or stupid analytic conclusions.

All that said, I found this one, from this study, to be at least credible:

Most relationships start with terrible or awkward sex.

Well, duh. That’s true of pretty much most human interaction,because you’re on unfamiliar territory and you need to get things straightened out before you can make it work properly.

Within the report, however, was a factoid which I found downright depressing:

69% of Americans admit that they get feelings of excitement right before sex with a new partner.

Now the last time I had sex with a new partner was during the Clinton presidency, so my memory may be failing me. But FFS: what other feelings can one have before first-time sex, if not excitement? Dread? Nausea? Fear? Disgust? And to make it worse: if 69% of folks get excited before a first-time bonk, that means that 31% don’t get excited, which seems incredible. I can understand pre-bonk anxiety, of course — which over half of people admit to — but one can be anxious about something yet still be excited about it. But 31 percent?

As I suggested above, this may just be shitty data, in which case we can carry on with our lives. But if the data can be trusted, then we as a society are in deep shit when something so basic, so natural, and (speaking from memory again) so much fun is not exciting.

Fat Chance

So… now Millennial Grrrrls would rather date older men?

I’ve noticed a new strategy among my set of female friends—lovely, intelligent, independent women—to combat the grime of the online dating world: date up.
I don’t mean status, I mean age. More and more women I know are dating men twice, yes twice, their age.
There have never been more advantages to relationships with older men, precisely because Tinder and its ilk have made dating feel impossible to those of us who don’t want to participate in the battle of who-cares-less. Reach back two decades and you are more likely to find a man who can’t fathom swiping through a series of pictures to find a mate for the night.
Older men are attentive, they aren’t threatened by your career success, they didn’t grow up watching porn on their laptops, and they certainly don’t expect sex from you before you’ve even had a chance to meet. It’s not an “old-fashioned” dating scheme, it’s just a more humane one.

Hate to burst your bubble, sweetie, but for the (older) men of my generation, just the fact that you were ever on Tinder is an automatic disqualification. And that’s just the start. I wouldn’t claim to speak on behalf of my generation of men, but here’s what I see amongst today’s young women (I can’t bring myself to call you “ladies” because you are the most unladylike creatures imaginable).

Millennial women are hopelessly vapid, shallow and amoral creatures. They have no philosophy outside the most banal, bumper-sticker tropes, and they are enslaved to a trashy popular culture that men like myself find repellent and atrocious — think of Kardashian TV, Real Housewives Of [wherever], Jersey Shore, Britain’s TOWIE and so on. Millennial women are also enslaved to technology like Facebook, Twitter and the like, are chained to their vile “smart” phones and consequently have the attention span of gnats. Worse than that, Millennial women are sexually promiscuous, with all the ghastly, pox-laden potential consequences that such a lifestyle entails.

While all this may entice some older guys into what your Millennial male counterparts scornfully call a “pump & dump” relationship — i.e. a short-term, mostly physical encounter — it does not bode well for your prospects if you’re looking for more than that. Do you think that despite our supposed “ignorance” of modern technology, we’re unaware of situations like SugarBabies.com and their ilk? (FYI: we older men refer to this as “prostitution“, no matter what you were taught in your Fem Studies classes.) It’s an instructive lesson to hear how the men who sponsor these tarts characterize their charges: disposable, cheap and ultimately, repulsive. (Ever wonder why so few sugar babies end up marrying their sugar daddies? Check the stats, if you can even understand them.) When you start setting your cap at this demographic, this is what awaits you.

So to all those “lovely, intelligent, independent women” who appear to have finally grown up and realized that they’re not quite the catch they imagined they were: you fucked up.  Now you have to deal with the consequences of the choices made back when you were in your late teens and twenties. (And by the way: most of you aren’t lovely, intelligent and independent: you’re slovenly, overweight, dull and horribly dependent on, well, just about everybody from your parents to HR departments to government.)

The biggest mistake you Millennial Grrrls ever made? Believing the feminist bullshit that your mothers’ generation foisted on you as gospel. Guess what?  You can’t have it all.  Never could, and nor can anyone, ever. Life is a series of compromises; and you lot compromised your morals, your youth, your self-respect and your womanhood, all in pursuit of the unattainable.

I’d say I’m sorry for your plight; but considering the misery that the so-called third-generation feminism has inflicted and continues to inflict on both men and women in today’s wretched society, I can’t sympathize with you in the slightest. There’s a term in the patriarchy which describes your situation perfectly:  tough shit.

Good luck, grrrls.

And welcome to the Thunder Dome.

Teacup, Storm In (#1,768)

On Britishland TV (ITV?) last week there was a kerfuffle because one of the morning show presenters made a stupid observation about the little denim dress that the weather girl (their term, not mine) was wearing on the show — something about her needing to be careful wearing that dress in the rain (because, as any fule kno, denim can shrink when wet).

Needless to say, a veritable shitstorm ensued because sexism, male chauvinism / piggishness etc. etc. ad nauseam. I leave it to others to decide whether the comment was tasteless — I found it quite funny, myself — but there are a couple of comments to be made about this silliness.

First, as any fule kno (2), such discussions are futile wifout pitchurs. Here’s the  denim dress in question:

Once again, I leave it to others to decide whether that’s appropriate attire for national television (my opinion: not), but whatever, I think we can all agree that the elfin Lucy Verasamy is as cute as a button, and as such she should be used to men commenting about her appearance without getting too bent out of shape about it. (Also, she’s 37 years old[!] which makes me feel about 137.) To be fair, ’twas not she who got all upset — apparently, some viewers got a hair up their collective ass over the comment, showing a distinctly-modern lack of sense of humor when it comes to matters pertaining to the male-female thing. Idiots.

Anyway, the next day young Lucy appeared on the show wearing this outfit:

My first thought was: “Damn, she’s got lovely legs.” My second thought was: “Why is she wearing so demure an outfit? She should have worn an even sexier dress” (in other words, daring the fool to make another stupid comment). That would have been priceless.

I should point out that Miss Verasamy is usually not at all shy about showing off her body:

…especially when on one of her many vacations. Nobody seems to care about any of that, of course, because grrrl power or something. And she’s always at some gala event or other:

    

But woe betide any man who responds positively to her appearance: that, of course, is Beyond The Pale.

I think we all need to grow up. I’m not suggesting that women walk around in that Muslim bullshit — never in a million years — but I’m sorry, ladies: if the goods aren’t to be viewed, don’t put them in the front window; but more especially, don’t be surprised if men respond to the visual because we are men and that’s what we do, despite all efforts of womyns to change many thousands of years of genetically-acquired behavior.

And men: if you’re going to open your big yap, show a little couth — especially if you’re going to be televised to an audience of millions of viewers. (I don’t think Madeley’s comment was out of line — if anything, it was just a gentle tease. But apparently teasing is now rape, or something.)

Mind you: nowadays, just gently complimenting a woman on her appearance (which she probably devoted hours towards) can make you Literally Worse Than Hitler.

Here’s the thing: if I can see that a woman has put a lot of effort into her appearance, I always compliment her. I was taught that this was a gentlemanly thing to do. But hey, I’m just a 1911 man, trying to get by in a 2017 world… no doubt there’s a prison sentence in my future.

Don’t care. I’m not going to stop.