Every Day A New Thing

Because I read voraciously, and always have, I’ve followed an unspoken mantra that I should learn something new every single day of my life.  And by “new”, I don’t mean any old shit like the price of pizza at the new Italian restaurant up the road;  no, by golly, I mean something at least of historical, literary or cultural interest.

Longtime Readers will know that I am an unabashed Europhile when it comes to history;  my degree is in Modern European History (not “Western” history, by the way — my knowledge of U.S. history is at best a tad more than “adequate”), and seldom a day goes past when I don’t set out to learn something new about the period of 1750 – 1950 in Europe.

I think I need to broaden my horizons, however, because only yesterday I was brought up short when reading this article by Jorge Montoyo, where the very first paragraph provided this nugget:

During the Tang dynasty, a golden age for poets, Empress Wu Chao [Zhao]  forced every male dignitary who had an audience with her to wash his mouth with rose water and practice cunnilingus on her.  Diplomats and courtiers had to do their best so that their requests were met, and even then it was not a guarantee, since Chinese politics have always been cunning and inscrutable, with oscillations between the sun and the shadow of yin and yang.

My first thought, incidentally, was how loud the feministicals’ screams would be had this been a Chinese Emperor  who forced women seeking an audience to first give him a blowjob.  (My suspicion is that the modern-day Carrie Nations of Patriarchal Sexuality would have 1984’d this historical snippet out of the history books forever.)

My second thought was that Wu Zhao was quite a girl — she made Russia’s fearsome Catherine The Great look like a Victorian governess by comparison —  and if she had even half the power she seems to have wielded, her demand for pre-consultation cunnilingus doesn’t seem so far fetched.  Of course, she reigned for many years, which in itself is a little problematic, because early in her reign she probably looked something like this:

whereas in the later years of her reign, she looked like this:

In the first case, mandatory cunnilingus might have been no burden, nay even pleasurable.  But I have a suspicion that the cunnilingual prerequisite was probably instituted towards the end of her life… and I don’t think I need go any further with that  visual.

Still, I think it’s an examplary historical precedent for us to at least consider today, if for no other reason that even among historians who detest Wu Zhao, there is absolute consensus that her reign was, all things considered, hugely successful.  To quote but a couple of historians:

“To the horror of traditional Chinese historians, all members of the shih class, the continued success of the T’ang was in large measure due to an ex-concubine who finally usurped the throne itself…  Though she was ruthless towards her enemies, the period of her ascendency was a good one for China.  Government was sound, no rebellions occurred, abuses in the army and administration were stamped out and Korea was annexed, an achievement no previous Chinese had ever managed.”
Yong Yap Cotterell and Arthur Cotterell.

Here’s the thing:  if you knew, or were guaranteed, that including cunnilingus would result in as successful a reign (or term as head of government) as Wu’s, do you think any politician (male or female) would turn that down?

Of course, there’s no chance that any of today’s crop of European feministical politicos would ever institute such an exotic (erotic?) practice, because unlike Wu, they all seem devoid of a sense of humor.  And take a look at a sample of said feministical prime ministers and presidents:

You have to admit, though… oh, wait:

Forget I said anything.

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.

Confused

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.

Inexplicable Part Deux

I saw that the CanuckiPM’s wife has been diagnosed with the dreaded Wuhan virus.  I didn’t even know the little drip was married, so I hastened to see the evidence:

Wait… what?  Shome mishtake, shurrly.

She’s quite hot, in that bland north-of-the-48th-parallel way, and probably could have had her choice of Canucki-males.  But no.  This near-hottie did this:

…with this?

(Bernard Weil/Toronto Star via Getty Images)

Good grief.

Then I learned that she’s since had three children, all allegedly fathered by him.

As I said, inexplicable…

Inexplicable

Certain things in life cannot be explained, e.g.:

…and this:

…how this doofus ever became famous:

…and why people continue to believe that government-made levees won’t fail:

But in that set of of inexplicable things, this headline tops all of them:

Here’s what I don’t understand:  how the hell did this story ever get out?

Did the hairdresser brag about her feat on Faecesbook?  Were the hairdresser’s customers alerted to this man’s predicament by his muffled screams, and called the cops?

OR:  did this helpless victim get free (either by being released by his captor, or somehow breaking free by his own efforts)… and then complain about it to the cops?  What kind of man would do that?

And (if the newspaper account of this escapade is to be believed) even as the former were the case, why did the cops take him seriously?

Now if the hairdresser looked like this, then maybe I could understand it better.

…but once again, if the article is to be believed, she wasn’t that bad-looking (with the “Russian caveat”* in effect).

So… did this helpless sex slave think he was going to get his own back on her (so to speak) by shopping her to the cops?  If so, that worked out really  well for him, as he was tossed into jail for the action which got him into this predicament in the first place, and where he was likely to be raped again, only by men and without the after-sex reward of food, money and a pair of jeans.

Like I said:  inexplicable.


*the Russian caveat:  not all young Russian women look like worn-out Moscow street prostitutes, but it’s the safe way to bet.