The following is a series of questions that have been raised over the years in relation to all things sexual. A new low for the blog.

What else was I supposed to do?
This was the question asked while a friend regaled the story of the time he accidentally locked himself in a cupboard for an entire day, so to pass the time he wanked. What else was I supposed to do?

Would ya?
This is the hypothetical question my boss would ask at the Bottle Shop/Off License/Liquor store in which I worked during my teens. He lived for woman. Worshipped them. His name was Shifty. The question related to the girl in the store at that moment, and whether I would be willing to engage in acts of a sexual nature with her if the situation arose. Would ya? Me being the gentlemen I am would obviously always say ‘I’d prefer not to answer that Shifty, our customers are not sex objects’.

Don’t you hate it when you see a girl so hot it ruins your day?
I have one particular friend who has his day ruined quite often. He’s not getting any love from the ladies, so when he sees a hot girl he gets no joy from it. He just grimaces and looks away. It’s all too much.

Can you relieve yourself when Mr Johnson is staring straight back at you?
I think that’s the best way of phrasing this one, use your imagination. The answer was yes, with great difficulty.

What’s the point in that?
That’s what I ask when I see a gaunt, frail super model. If there are no fun wobbly bits then there’s little point in it I say.

It’s kinda like a disease, isn’t it?
This was the question posed on man’s eternal desire for woman, it’s a disease. There’s no cure, just treatment. Some men get themselves into a lot of trouble battling the disease (John Terry, Tiger Woods, Bill Clinton, most footballers etc), others learn how to have their cake and eat it too (David Beckam).

Let’s not kid ourselves in thinking men are the sole possessors of the disease, woman have it too. Sometimes I think they have it worse. But woman have to conceal their disease and keep it a secret, while men just say ‘I live for woman. I have a disease. I’m comfortable with that’.

If you have anymore questions please don’t hesitate to get in touch.

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Was that Deja vu? It’s a glitch, quick… let’s get outta here!

There are few things worse than when you’re enjoying a beer, look around, and see you have somehow been swept into The Matrix. The pub has suddenly become swarmed with savvy, smooth, ultra sharp, shiny men in black suits. All with that smug, cocky, I earn so much money my shit don’t stink smirk. But if you’re a cocky corporate type, what happens when it dawns on you that the attire you’re forced to wear to work each day, is the same you wear to a funeral. You wear exactly the same thing every single day, look around, and see everyone else is wearing exactly the same thing. So you buy one of those multi-coloured striped scarves to express your individuality. You excitedly walk into your shiny glass facade the next day, look around, and see everyone else has bought the same scarf. You look to the heavens in frustration, and see a camera staring back at you. So you look to the other heavens, and see a tv screen on repeat, reminding you where you work and the companies objectives for the hour, day, week, month, year, decade, century. So you look to your wallet, and the picture of your wife and kids for relief, then remember you don’t even like them, that’s why you avoid seeing them at all costs. You only signed up to them because that’s what everyone else was doing and made you appear more successful. And the ring suited your suit. So you look to the little thing on level 2 that you’re shagging, but she’s not looking back at you anymore. She’s moved on to the cyborg who just got a raise…

Epic finale to come.

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