Things that men and women do, sometimes to each other
As it’s Mother’s Day (Happy Hallmark Holiday to all you mothers), I thought I’d post this pic of a single mom who’s self-reliant and not shy to get her hands dirty around the house:
…or one who can do a twofer:
…and then there are the moms who can just get out and have a little fun on this, their special day:
Finally: every man should remember that if you ever forget Mother’s Day, this will happen:
…followed shortly by this:
You have been warned.
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.
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.
I have often said that had I been Rick Blaine in the movie Casablanca, I would have arranged to have Major Strasser send that Commie rat Viktor Laszlo off to a concentration camp, then spent the rest of the war in Casablanca making boatloads of money from the bar and lots of babies with Ilsa.
I grant you that in my scenario above, Casablanca would have been somewhat different from the version as released, but that’s just me. Others, however, are drawn to adventure, like this fool who is currently climbing Mt. Everest:
His name is Ben Fogle and he is an “adventurer”, which is all well and good while you’re a single young man with no responsibilities (which is why his counterparts in, say, the Marine Corps are considered expendable).
But Fogle leaves this behind to go on his adrenaline-junkie escapades:
It’s not just the fact that Marina Fogle is drop-dead lovely (which she is), but there are children involved. So when Daddy plunges to his death / gets eaten by a shark / dies of some hideous disease in a poxy jungle in some shithole country, these beautiful kids will have to come to terms with the fact that their Daddy thought that his adventures were more important than they were (which he clearly does).
Frankly, were I Mrs. Fogle, I’d ditch her selfish husband and hook up with someone more responsible. He wouldn’t have to be an accountant or lawyer or some equally-dreadful nebbish, just someone with a greater sense of familial duty than her existing husband. That she doesn’t do this makes her a better person than he is.
Nevertheless, Fogle will doubtless meet a pointless death like that Aussie idiot who was always playing with dangerous animals, and Mrs. Fogle can get on with her life. It’s just too bad that the kids have to suffer along the way.
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.
Anyone care to place a bet on how long this marriage will last, or how long it will take before Hubby has an affair?
…and I’ll also give 2-1 odds that the sex wasn’t that great, either.
Myself, I wouldn’t take any of those bets.
Of course, he might also be some pussified beta man who was prepared to wait for three (!!!) years to get laid, and still thinks that she’s within her rights to deny him sex now that they’re married.
If I were to let my imagination run riot, I could see other possibilities:
I’m also prepared to accept the power of “AND” in all the above scenarios, but I don’t think I’m too far off on any of them, though.