Sausage Nipples

Zion The Sausage Queen

We went to a lovely BBQ last sunday.

I brought sausages, mini burgers and Ginger beer.

The ex refuses to eat the ends of sausages – Cutting them off instead, rather delicately with a knife.

I remarked they looked just like nipples and promptly ate them with gusto.

The ex cringed. It’s true they did look like nipples. Not that’s unappetising - Delicious sausages! Fresh off the barbi

I haven’t ever been to a fetish/sexy-party club night.

I’d like to go just to see it maybe once in my life, but the ex said my tolerance level would be 20 mins or so, then I’d be bored and want to leave.

(Quite true. Watching other people have sex is like watching people play tennis. What’s the point? I’m not playing tennis.)

The ex said,

“Of course I would probably stay longer.”

So I don’t understand if you’re willing to watch real people, regular flabby people even having sex in public, then what’s the problem with the sausage nipples?

Headline for May 30, 2011:

Man addicted to sausages seeks help

Best quote:

‘Apparently I just like sausages, plain and simple,’ Mr Harding said, after admitting that therapy hasn’t helped.

Waiting Room Idea

Imagine looking under 'Glamour' only to find 'Butt Boys' or 'Super Slutz'. The 'z' makes it an extra slutty slut.

This is vaguely related to my Visa Post, even though their waiting room had no magazines, only a flamboyant security guard. A very large black man who was squished inside the compact photo booth, accidentally kicked it so violently that the rather camp guard yelled flirtatiously from the door,

“You alright there, big man? Why, I thought I might have to come in and give you CPR!”

You know how most waiting rooms offer a selection of somewhat banal magazines?

The standard ones, like Readers Digest, OK, Hello, Glamour. If it’s a more up market waiting room – GQ, Vogue, Country Magazine, The New Yorker, The Times.

None of them recent, obviously. There’s probably a circulation library catering only for waiting rooms, recycling seriously out of date magazines. Ones that are still making Clinton-Lewinski jokes.

So what if every time you visited your doctor, dentist or hairdresser, you smuggle in a naughty mag and surreptitiously sneak it in under a few of the other magazines.

Then you go for your appointment, teeth done, whatever, you leave. Leaving behind the hidden magazine.

I like the idea of some nice Auntie who comes in after you’ve left, and while going through the Glamour, Hello or perhaps a Reader Digests finds a magazine titled

Bound & Gagged

or Daddy (U.S. This sounds pretty good.You know exactly what to expect. Now that’s good branding.)

or Handjobs Magazine: (U.S. Again, good branding, but its pretty specific. Auntie might enjoy it.)

or Chastity (India. The articles are really amazing. I know that sounds like a cliché, but these really are. For the spelling and grammar alone, it’s worth investing in one of these.)

or  Anal Magazine (Mexico. They really should export.)

Penis Drawings

Shape Analysis

I really love drawing penises. I realised that while drawing this.

Sure, I enjoy drawing vaginas too, but I find they don’t have the same comedic value.

This is not based on any particular sexual preference, I’m merely referring to the shapes when you draw them.

The cock with its cylinder and two circles is so much funnier looking. (see above, my seriously M.A diagram)

The vagina has a more elegant, modified elliptical shape, which makes me feel it ought to be taken more seriously.

I can’t imagine some tagger graffiting vaginas on underground passes and subway walls with the same carefree abandon as scrawling a big, giant, hairy knob. Knob drawings are far more carefree.

Also entirely hairy ones. The hair is not just on the balls, but everywhere. Like a Chewbacca of cocks.

I was doodling a hairy cock on a napkin at Prithvi ages ago and Bhangar who was sat there with Riddhi, got offended because I covered the whole cock in hair.

He said they didn’t look like that, it’s insulting. Only the balls have hair.

I suppose he had a point.

Now I just draw ones with veins, unless I want to be insulting. I find it helps to add the detail.

See? That’s so M.A. of me! How can they get rid of M.A. illustration??

This is the world penis drawing competition. I’m thinking of entering.

Brilliant Advert to Promote Safe Sex:
http://www.liveleak.com/e/3cd_1268037569

Dick-Tater. A fun cock pun. If I were a competition judge I'd let it win. 

Latex

Condom

Isn’t it funny how condoms aren’t made to measure?

i.e. available in small, medium or large sizes?

With a mans ego it doesn’t seem feasible.

Imagine having to go up to the counter of a pharmacy and say:

“Could I have…one glycodin…”

“A pack of paracetamol and….”

“…a pack of extra-extra small Durex please?”

“Oh no! It’s not for me…..my friend….very shy..”.

“He’s just waiting in the car…very shy….”

I guess he could ask his girlfriend to do it but that might be even worse.

Every time she asks for the extra-extra small Durex as she buys her pack of Tampax, ‘it’ (the inadequate penis size *snicker*) would mock her.

Just at that point some smart ass guy would slide up next to her at the counter wink at her while he asks the chemist,

“Yar! 12 super mundo large, thanks you please.”

At some point she might even fall for it.

R. once made H. go to a chemist while she sat in the rick, with explicit instructions to get her a pack of sanitary towels. He came back and she said

“Sorry I forgot! Can you go back and get me some toothpaste?”

“What the fuck dude? Like fuck man..*grumble grumble mutter*”

but grumbling aside returned dutifully with the toothpaste.

R. then promptly sent him back to buy a pack of condoms *insert more grumbling here*

R. is worried of what people might think of nice desi ladki buying ‘sex goods’ haw haw!

Although I wonder what the chemist must have thought,

“Condoms, toothpaste and sanitary towels? Hai hai!”

As a triple threat combo it’s a bit suspect. Kinky man, that H.

Condoms ‘too big’ for Indian men

Eoughan kindly sent me this highly amusing link to this article which I’m sure many Indian men would hate to read, but I can definitely confirm this about at least one Carter road inhabitant. Poor bastard.

Cheaters Logic: Extended Raged Filled Rant.

Went out for a drink with A. and the ex last night.

We sat on the pavement outside the Dog and Duck in Soho, drinking and smoking most of the contents of my pack, occasionally being accosted by fag thieves (I hate them) and drunken bums who stumbled up muttering things like

“You’re talking with your hands again”only to then stumble away.

A Lex-doppleganger came up to ask us inane questions claiming he was filming for his YouTube based TV channel called ‘Community United National T.V.’ (or CUN TV)

Questions like

“Nipples or belly buttons?”

“Wheatabix or extreme violence?”

A. answered in her Greek drawl,

“Weeellll, neepples beeecaaause theeey arrrrre niiiicerrrrr to leeeeeck.”

The CUN TV man seemed thrilled with such a porn star answer.

A. additionally regaled me with horror stories reported by other smoking veterans, about the horrific conditions smokers are forced to face in these harsh times.

Fabric (a vile club) apparently makes you que to go out for a smoke. You are then stamped with a number and placed into a group. The group is taken out into a square where there is a timer. Once the timer goes off whether you’ve finished your cigarette or not, you are then shoved and pushed, cattle that you are, back into the bowels of the club.

Immediately the next marked and stamped group are put out to graze. Sort of like a cross between a cattle ranch and Auschwitz. Why people still choose to go there is beyond me.

About Cheaters & Cheating:

The ex, A. and I got into a very heated debate on cheating. A. and the ex were in one camp while I was defending the rights of non-cheaters in another.

Arguing with cheaters is like attempting to walk on a bog. No matter what you do, you’ll be dragged down into the muck of their rational.

Cheaters Logic:
It’s the convenience in attitude that excuses you from all responsibility of your actions.

Their self-excusing rational:

1. “Oh it was a mistake. People make mistakes!”

2. ”I didn’t want to hurt anyone!”

4. “I really love my partner, I really do. I care so much”

5. “But I couldn’t help how I feel…”

6. “It was beyond my control!”

7. “You don’t understand. You never know, it could happen to you one day!”

8. “It was really hard for me. Oh I’m such a victim here. Sob sob boo hoo poor me.”

The ex and A. bond over my non-cheating insensitivity to such a sad situation. It never is their fault. Circumstance conspired to do this to them. We (the non-cheaters) just don’t understand.

By applying this simple 8 step rational formula, cheaters can thus have all the ease and luxury of having their cake and eating it while simultaneously denying that free will had any part to play.

They did nothing. They are the innocent suffers.

I’m assuming that were P & M present with A. & the ex they’d have all agreed with each other (cheaters united after all) patting each other cordially on the back.

I don’t argue with being unable to control how you feel, but to go from that to claiming you are equally incapable of controlling your actions seems to me to be a massive leap in logic.

Let us challenge their argument one point at a time:

1. They made a mistake.

OK, yes. You fucked up. No argument here.

But this also depends a little on how you define cheating and how big is this ‘mistake’?

Is it just some mild flirtation at a party, or maybe drunken kissing, or full-blown intercourse.  (I know someone who defines holding hands with someone else as cheating.)

I would find it hard to pass off intercourse as just ‘a mistake’. Maybe I lack the required amount of hormones that would just happily wipe out all parts of my brain that acknowledge this is wrong and allow for the insertion of assorted body parts without a qualm.

2. They don’t want to hurt anyone. If they tell, people will just be hurt and they’ll get dumped.

How inconvenient for them.

I asked A. if her boyfriend ever cheated on her wouldn’t she want to know?

No. If he still really loves her and he fucks someone else, but as long as she doesn’t know it’s OK.

What would happen if she found out regardless? They’ll have a massive argument break up.

And then what..? It would be pointless, she says.

Personally I’d like the person I’m going out with to have the decency to admit they crossed a line, but more crucially give me the option of either staying or going.

As opposed to them making that decision for me, and taking the path of least resistance and greatest convenience for themselves. This seems to me supremely selfish. I don’t even know how a relationship can work with that kind of secret.

Additionally I’d also like to know exactly what kind of person I’m actually dating, instead of the edited version that they choose to present me with.

All these people, these friends of mine, these cheaters – Their partners (or ex partners as it usually is) clearly seem have no idea who these people really are and what they are truly like. It’s probably just me, but I find it unbelievable depressing that these guys are dating people who don’t really even know them. 

3. The Ex and A. go on and on about how much they may care about the person they are cheating on, that’s why it’s so hard for them (poor dears).

You can talk about love until hearts shoot out of your arse in a beautiful valentine spray but it means nothing unless your actions actually confirm it (although hearts shooting out of their arses would be kind of cool).

I’m not certain, but fucking someone else…? Is it positive confirmation…. of this so-called ‘caring’? Of course it is! It must mean they love more than people who don’t cheat.

4. A. argues passionately that I don’t know what I’m talking about, I might do it one day, only then would I understand.

“You dooon’t knoooow whaaaat will happen! If you keep theeeese ideeeeealistic opinions you will be miserrrrrable! I am teelling yoou Jaaa-neeeen”

The last part is probably true. Being idealistic means there are always lots of lovely people like A., P., M. and the ex to help shatter your faith in the basic decency of other humans.

People like me just don’t understand. Cheaters are excluded from any responsibility from actions because it’s all out of their control. Don’t you see? They can’t help themselves. They are the victims here!! They’re special and I’m just too idealistic. I have no idea!

It’s also insulting that they seem to think (and especially the ex) that an occasion where I could have fucked off with someone else has never yet presented itself and that’s why I haven’t done it. The ex at some point said I didn’t realize when people were hitting on me, as if that in some way means I’m less likely to be tempted.

But the point is not that there is or isn’t temptation, but that I simply choose not to fuck someone over until it was more convenient to dump the one I’ve grown bored with.

Really all arguments aside this is what it boils down to:

The real ‘cheaters dilemma’ is – Who should I ditch? Ol’ partner A or new partner B?

What if B and I don’t work out? Will A take me back? Can’t I just test B out until I’m sure. A will never know. If it’s just a fling it won’t matter anyway.

Ah how lovely. What a shame I’m such an idealist.

These cheaters and their fucking logic! Their lame ass cop-out that cheating isn’t within their control is what I refute so strongly. It’s actively setting off on a course of action that involves a number of conscious decisions and then excusing yourself of any blame.

Sometimes you don’t have a choice blah blah.What absolute bollocks. Fucking seriously. The day I sympathise with a fucking cheater is the day I can turn rocks into solid gold. I ought to sympathize with what they went through because I am capable of saying ‘no’??

God this cheaters logic really disgusts me. I feel myself filling with bile even as I type.

I don’t know about anyone else but I have a small list of things on principle I would never do:

1. Beat up an animal.
2. Beat up a kid.
3. Steal from my friends.
4. Seriously rat out a friend.
5. Cheat.
6. Become a stripper.
7. Become a hooker.
8. Do heroin
9. Approve of the Pope
10. Approve of Bush.
11. Last but not least: Shit out a bunch of kids

My list isn’t a hugely complicated one, in fact the last 6 aren’t even principles – more like general notes to myself.

If I were to apply A. and the ex’s rubbish argument that you can’t control your feelings or actions, to any of the above… then for example could I, should I steal from my friends? It would be easy. They trust me.

L. has been over enough times, passed out, the contents of her purse littering my living room. How hard would it be to nick money off her? She’d never even know, she’d assume she lost it when she was wasted. There really isn’t anything to stop me from acting on this. I wouldn’t get caught, no one would know, so no one would get hurt right?

They abuse me soundly for saying I would never cheat just on principle. Apparently having principles makes me a huge chump who is destined for misery.

I find it quite depressing that I have so many friends and a significant other whose attitude, opinions and principles I can’t even begin to scrape up a marginal respect for.

I’m really rooting for the under dog here –  Those poor bastards (the various boyfriends) these people have so cavalierly screwed over.

And over

and over and over and over.

I believe the only thing that would hurt these cheaters would be if their lovely wardrobes of fabulous outfits and expensive designer accessories were completely trashed. (All of them are well dressed individuals) I don’t think anything else would affect them in the slightest.

Where will they be without the Gucci belt, the Lanvin wallet, the vintage Chanel shoes, all their precious clothes?

Material goods are really what lasts when love has faded.

I almost give up hope that cheaters will ever get the comeuppance they all so richly deserve until I came across something like this. It renews all my hope in poetic justice.

www.cheaters.com.

There now. I’ve vented as much bile I could. I’m worn out from all the rage and tension. I think in fact it is time for a fag.

Any other cheaters (oh so sorry I meant ‘victims’) or non-cheaters (insensitive morons like me) reading this – I wouldn’t mind your added bile/denial/agreement.

The Ivy on Thursday

Lecture by Simon Stern, the ‘master’ of copy right law, all day in the photography dungeon.

By about 4 o clock my eyes had glazed over and all attempts at concentration had flown out the door. Chris was doodling two faces in his note-book, Foz was doodling a naked woman with very hairy breasts (setting the standard). It was all very nostalgic, like being back in school again.

The lecture was excellent. Every time Mr. Stern dropped his cane he would yell loudly, “FUCK!” or “BUGGER!”. We finally finished at 4:30 and once Simon Stern was far away we all stand around admiring Foz’s scribbles of hairy breasts.

Yes it was a fine lecture, but I’m not going to talk about it. This post is entirely an excuse to gossip about the filthy things we were discussing in the pub.

We attend the Jigsaw photography mini exhibition in the dungeon. It wasn’t hugely impressive but free beer is a wonderful lure. The ‘artwork’ is largely ignored except by occasionally saying,

“Why the fuck did that one win?”

We are thrown out eventually and go to the Ivy to continue. Fer gives me a pill which combined with the beer makes me talk very fast for about 10 minutes but by the time we get tot the pub I’m feeling quite high and serene.

“Anna…”

I say,

“I’m feeling quite high.”

and Anna laughs at me.

Luckily in about 15 minutes all of this wears off and I’m relatively sober again.

Lord Foster Vader has finally seduced Dan (photography tutor) to the dark side. Dan has abandoned all his old photo buddies so that he can snuggle up next to Foz in the pub (so cute).

There is great strength in the power of the dark side (illustration). Young Dan has yet much to learn.

Some first years nearby try talking to Foz at some point and Fernanda is immediately green with jealousy that for one moment his attention is taken from us (her).

“Why are they talking to him! Its our year! We are graduating! I’m going to tell them…..”

“What do you mean no?? Don’t tell me no!! You are pissing me off! I’m telling them….”

“HEY YOU! THIS IS OUR TUTOR… HE’S OURS!! YOU CAN”T TALK TO HIM. HE’S OURS!”

“NO. NO! WE ARE GRADUATING UNTIL THEN YOU CANT TALK TO HIM OK?”

“NO. NO! DON’T YOU TALK TO HIM!!”

…all the while keep a vice like grip around his shoulders. He looked slightly bashful and embarrassed. He’s going to have to teach those first years in a few months and they won’t be too happy about all the previous territorial pissing around him.

Anna and Georgina and I giggle and try to pretend we don’t really know Fer, we just always happen to be seated on the same table. Purely coincidental. (Although, I secretly think its adorable the way she’s so possessive and passionate about Foz. That aside, she is fucking mental.)

Foz tries to escape Fernanda by jumping over the bench but knocks over a couple of glasses that shatter predictably. Everyone applauds. Foz blushes like a little girl.

Since the course is now over I have not the slightest care for any sense of restraint. I mentioned a passing thought that had occurred to me during a bored and sexually frustrated moment: I claimed (and still claim) that Geoff is so bumbling, so helpless, so completely loony that I’m convinced it’s a merely an elaborate facade masking the soul of a sexual dynamo.

Anna and Fernanda yell at me for such a blasphemy. Geoff?? No, no not Geoff! (Geoff is about 70 and bananas)

Anna says with her fingers pressing her temples,

“Janine I always thought you were mad but mostly made sense…I’ve lost all respect for you now…Geoff? Seriously not Geoff???”

“Noooooooo oh my god it’s just so sick, noooooooooooo you don’t underrrrrstand its sick! Tutors cant be sexual they are like gods! (tutors are gods?? and she calls me sick) It’s so wrong you are sick Janeeeeen oh mah god! Noooooo You don’t understand I’m going to need so much therapy what are you saying? Who’s going to pay for my therapy woman??“

This leads into everyone discussing their sexual fantasies and I’m sure once the pub staff threw us out and started to clear up 2-3 hours later, all our seats were rather moist. (ew)

Eoughan announces that his ultimate fantasy is Val throwing him down on the bed, having her wicked way with him (Val doesn’t like him at all so this makes it even better) as Geoff bangs away on the door saying “Please, please just let me in the office, Janine is right behind me!!”. Foz would be hiding under the bed taking notes while Dan moans in the next room “I can’t sleep… you guys are making so much noise…whine whine”

Hats off to Eoghan, that fantasy will be etched into my mind for all time. I’m certain his Catholic god will send him straight down to the fiery brimstone of hell for that.

Dan and Foz start telling us about how they stroke each other thighs during long, tedious course committee meetings. They’ve become lovers they say, Foz lounging on the bench in a macho, casual way while Dan gazes at him adoringly (it’s true, he really was).

This gay joke runs through our entire evening in the pub with Foz looking very smug about it (and his new toy boy acquisition). I must admit, there’s something I really enjoy about 2 straight men acting supremely gay. It’s just so naughty.

Fernanda will never again be able to think of the tutors in a wholesome, god like way ever again and neither will I.

The conversation really goes further downhill from here. Should I type any more of it I’m afraid that the keyboard and certain body parts might erupt in flames.

Leo’s self obsessivness and PR hungry whoring

Leo requested that I write about him much more (he’s an egocentric boy, Leo is).

I spent the better part of and hour last night coaching him on how to flirt. It was uphill work I tell you. The Hebleitis has really kicked in and he needs to be rescued now or we can lose all hope.

The best advice I could give him was, if in doubt always ask.
i.e – If you’re not sure if the girl reciprocates your keen interest or likes you enough to let you kiss her, instead of just leaning in, be polite enough to say,

“Hey So and so….do you mind if I kiss you?”

or

“Can I kiss you?”

or whatever, rephrase as you please.

I’m not sure how good this advice was but personally I’d rather be asked instead of any politeness in paying someone attention is mistaken as some kind of sign.

I’m a really lousy date as you can imagine. And pretty dense too. I find hint taking and hint dropping hard as heck.

Some New Sex Related Terminology

Hebleitis:

A disease caught from the elusive Heble causing the victim to develop acute fear of women, inability to flirt and general celibacy.

Pulling a Heble:

An individual being very, very close to getting laid yet pulling out for no particular reason and then regretting it later.

Owning a Heble:

Being in possession of a dildo.

Long-Distance Wheeling and Dealing

Leo called drunk last night, he only ever calls when he’s drunk. Which is when he’s at his best really, and most willing to waste his money on a long distance phone call.

First I yelled at him for telling me half of a juicy tidbit of gossip and then fucking off to bed, thus leaving me hanging. To which he giggled like an idiot and adamantly refused to end my suffering, the annoying bum.

Then he told me to stop talking to his friends, it was freaking him out.
THEN he outright forbade me to ever sleep with any of them.

“Janine” he said

“I SWEAR”

“If you EVER sleep with any-of my friends..” a significant pause…

“I’ll get out a shotgun” he slurred…..

“and shoot you in the head.” more drunken slurring here.

I was surprised.

I thought he’d end the sentence with

“I’ll get out a shot-gun and shoot HIM in the head”

This was rather cruel I thought. Why couldn’t I do a mutual acquaintance? How would I ever get laid in that case and what are friends for anyway??

And I argued so accordingly.

“Fine, fine..” Leo relented.

“But can you at least do Heble first man, I mean its HEBLE maaan”

(Perhaps he said ‘dude’ somewhere along here but who can remember?)

I responded reasonably, by saying no way in f*****g hell would I sleep with Heble EVER, followed by many appropriate ‘icks’ and ‘ewws’.

“Fine fine…”, Leo relents again.

We bargain for a bit and finally both reach a compromise. I get one of his friends if I can’t find anyone else.

….or if I’m bored.

Dear reader,
bear in mind that this is a scenario that is highly unlikely ever to come up, but its fun to discuss anyway. No?

Vegetarian Barbeque

Last night I sort-of kind-of gate crashed this poor guys house party. It was a vegetation barbecue, Fernanda being a pure carnivore was truly appalled and voiced this accordingly, in her demure, quiet way, using a megaphone.

We rudely brought with us a whole bunch of meat, chorizo and pate while the outnumbered hosts were eating veggie nachos and watermelon.

Friday morning, I went to the gulag (Beale and Inman) and was imprisoned there for about 8 hours of hell.

I swore to myself, as I slaved away,

“I wont go out today, I’ll go out on Saturday instead”,

Swore it.

Of course then temptation, in the form of Fernanda and lets just call the other girl L, called to invite me out for a drink.

A harmless drink in a pub, just one I say, I’ll have just one and then I’ll be done. (I add poetically)

Of course, I ended up going uninvited to this guy’s party. How rude I know, and this house (which was quite nice) was an absolute wreck by morning. I do not envy the cleanup crew.

Ben was sweet enough to walk me to the bus stop at about 5:30 to catch the bus. F and L were still wobbling inside and refusing to leave even though they were one more pixie stick away from completely collapsing. But one has to admire their pure stamina to keep going and going and going, much like two small, strange and occasionally very feisty Duracell bunnies.

At some point I was sitting on a plush white sofa surrounded by 2 frilly skirts and four girly legs all over mine. A nice position to be in I must admit.

Fernanda (in her charming mexican accent) says,

“You KNOW, I could NEVER play around with kissing because it might be a turn on, RIGHT.”

I mumble something incoherent in reply.

L decided it was time to frighten the girl standing nearby by snogging me and trying to snog Fernanda. (‘snog’ is such a great word isn’t it? Much like ‘twat’, it really fills up your mouth)

So the girl, dutifully freaked, ran off with a horrified look on her face.

But anyway, what I was thinking about, and what I should have said instead of mumbling, was that it didn’t matter how many girls or boys kissed me. It wouldn’t do anything for me, not just like that.

Platonic kissing by definition:
Can never really be a ‘turn on’, not because the person (girl or boy) is unattractive but because you know there is a lack of any real intention behind it.

Without intention kissing becomes only slightly more fun than a handshake.

……..well just a little bit more than slightly….