Love And Sex In The Time Of Self-Isolation

There have been all sorts of crappy articles written about how people are coping (or not) with their enforced separation from society — e.g. “OMG am I ever going to get laid again?” — all of which have apparently been written by Twinks, Snowflakes and similarly socially-inept twerps.

But Oglaf has the best (and funniest) take, I think.  (As with all his stuff, it’s NSFW — oh, what the hell am I thinking?  You’re ALL working from home, aren’t you?  Go ahead and click on the link.)

Incentive And Compromise

How would you like to own a house like this one, set in 1,100 acres of the gorgeous Wiltshire countryside:

According to its Wikipedia entry:

The grounds of the house are noted for their re-established wildlife, including fallow deer.  The grounds are also noted as one of the top game bird shooting venues in the country:  The Field  magazine voted it one of the UK’s ten top venues for pheasant shooting.

Sounds all very pleasant, doesn’t it?  As it happens, Ashcombe House belongs to movie director Guy Ritchie (of Lock Stock and Snatch fame), who came into ownership of the place as part of his divorce settlement from Madonna.

Which leads me to this question — posed to me originally by The Fiend Englishman — and, I think, it’s really a difficult one:

Would you sleep with Madonna for a couple-three years (as Ritchie did) if you knew that at the end of it all, you’d come to possess this fantastic estate?

Just so we’re clear on the topic, though:  we’re not talking about this Madonna:

…nor even this Madonna:

No, we’re talking about this Madonna:

Now before everyone runs screaming from the room, I should point out (as did The Englishman) that along the way, you would probably have learned more than a few revolting naughty bedroom tricks which may (repeat may ) have made the eventual ownership of Ashcombe House a little less unpleasant;  and indeed, Ritchie seems to have escaped more-or-less unscathed from his years-long encounter with Madge, along with possession of both his venereal health and his genitalia (which I admit thinking would have been a long shot in both cases).

So, Gentle Readers:  a magnificent estate with lots of prime birdshooting, in exchange for a few years of plunging into Madame Grotesque’s well-trodden pudenda?  Or is no real estate worth that sacrifice?

Your thoughts, in Comments.


From Insty:


There’s another way to have sex?  Who knew?

I always said sex is better from behind paper bags… but then again, I’m just old-fashioned about this kind of thing.

…collar and tie optional after the first date, of course.

Bite Me

I noted the disappearance of Chris “Tingles Up And Down My Leg” Matthews from some Commie TV network (don’t watch any, no idea which one), but while I’m not sorry to see the asshole go, the reason why he “retired” (sexual harassment) just makes me want to reach for a new bottle of J&B.  Here’s part of his farewell statement:

“Compliments on a woman’s appearance that some men, including me, might have once incorrectly thought were OK, were never OK. Not then and certainly not today.”

Apparently, Matthews said to some TV totty:  “Why have I never fallen in love with you before?”

To me, that’s just about as big a compliment a man could pay a woman.  Also, the fact that the septuagenarian Matthews said that signals that he was obviously not hitting on her — I mean, old guys say that kind of stuff to younger women all the time (“If I were thirty years younger, I’d ask you for a date” etc.) — and let me be crystal clear about this:  such declarations are, and always have been, a compliment.

Of course, in today’s fucking ultra-sensitive #MeToo #KillAllMen #BelieveAllWomen #AndreaDworkinWorld, that’s seen as no different from pushing a woman against a wall and forcing her to feel your dick.  (In another milieu, that outlook is little different from PETA’s “a rat is a dog is a boy” extremist equivalence.)

All I can say is that I’m glad that I don’t work for a modern corporation, nor will I ever again;  and I’m also glad that I live in the South, where women still understand (and indeed practice) the subtle art of flirtation.

Because I’m not going to quit.  As I’ve said many times in the past, I live for harmless flirting and complimenting women — it establishes my love for women and, more importantly, it stops me from treating women the same way I tend to treat men — harshly (because, duh, we’re men  and that’s how we treat each other).

Even more than that:  I can’t quit behaving with women the way I do;  it’s as deeply ingrained in my character as my table manners — maybe more so — and without that subtle interplay with the other sex, I’d just become a caricature grumpy old man who hates everybody.  (As it is, that attitude is never far from the surface at the best of times.)  I’m not going to change just because it’s no longer acceptable to some women:  I’m going to open doors for them, help them stow their luggage on an airliner, walk on the street-side of a sidewalk and yes, compliment them on their appearance and all the other stuff that I’ve done my entire adult life.

And quite frankly, if any woman has a problem with that, she can fuck right off.  (That’s just a little taste of — to coin a phrase — the other side of Kim, and it’s not very pleasant.)

Oh, and to Chris Matthews:  it’s always been okay to compliment a woman on her appearance;  it’s just that in today’s pussified world, some self-appointed arbiters of Acceptable Behavior have changed the rules on us.  Fuck ’em.

Past The Sell-By Date

Okay, this one got a series of snorks from me, because I’m a sick bastard.  A sample:

All the comments are from women… and sadly, they’re more tragic than funny.

I think that Feminism, when viewed from a historical perspective, will prove to have become completely counter-productive (if not actually destructive) for women after the 1970s, simply because I think it was founded on a faulty premise:  unlike the famous saying, the fact is that you can’t have it all — never could, never will.  Life is a series of compromises, but some compromises are worse than others — women waiting to get married until they’re in their mid- to late thirties being a good example.

If you have daughters in their late teens or early twenties, feel free to pass this link on to them, as a warning.

Quote Of The Day

From !SCIENCE! comes this rather un-PC statement:

“To characterize this line of reasoning as having no basis in reality would be an egregious understatement. It is false at every conceivable scale of resolution.”

No, it’s not Marxist economics (although that might run a close second);  it’s this “gender spectrum” bullshit, which (like Marxist economics) only exists at all because people wish it to be true.