For some people, watching that little blue ink marker that starts as a negative morph into a positive symbol is the very meaning of their existence. And good for them I say; it´s a dirty, nappy filled, expensive and thankless job, but someone´s gotta do it. I´m talking about being up the duff.
Maybe you don´t believe me, but really, for some people, life is just not worth living without the sound of a screaming baby. Or five. These days there´s big bucks involved. You can sell your eggs online. It´s still illegal, but people are all over it, there´s not really any proper policing going on. Especially young women in their early to mid twenties with a few degrees and some kind of pedigree (arian preferably) in the genes. They can rake it in. Up to €12,000 a pop, apparently a 'good breeder' can drop up to 5 eggs at a time...that´s only just over 2 grand per egg and with five in the turkey baster, who knows? One could end up with twins; blond, blue eyed, MBA gened twins. Super!
Whatever, whether you think paying for donors or using the public health system for free (whilst cancer & organ donor seeking patients wait for you to curtail to your egocentric needs) is moral or not is not for me to pass comment or judgement on.
But you can see the appeal of controling the evolutionary process. Imagine how gutting it must be to be a man with two daughters. It must have been disappointing enough to see the first one come out as a girl. But to wait another 9 months before you could touch the mrs again, then another 9 for gestation...nearly two years....and then to end up with another bloody girl. Je-sus. That´s just not cricket.
Or imagine if you were the poor woman who carried three...not 1, not 2, but 3...sons! Fuck. What else would you say? Sure, if you were nice wifey, demure, accommodating...a total doormat basically...you would just smile sweetly at your testerone laden xy cromosone sperm shooting husband and congratulate him that you´re almost half way to your own in-house 7 aside rugby team.
What else could you do? Without looking like a poor sport that is. Sweet FA really. The only possible solution could be to go the Samoan fafafine route. That is, to make the youngest one a girl. Dress him like a girl from infancy, treat him like a girl, basically, turn your boy into a girl of sorts.
This isn´t a concept that works for the men who end up with a tribe of daughters, it only works for the mothers with sons. And rightly so. You would expect something after all that pain and pushing. A daugther at least. Three sons? Plus a husband (or an ongoing string of unsuitable suitors)? All that testosterone? No, no. Really, I mean no. That´s just plain unreasonable by anybody´s standards.
Anyway, my point is, if you´re up the duff thanks to mother nature and if that´s what you want, then good for you. If you´re chucking loads of money towards forcing nature to do freaky shit, then screw you, your doctors and your selfish ego for fucking with evolution.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TaX9rQr8Fc
www.youtube.com/watch?v=46R4afqRRI
Monday 17 August 2009
Sunday 9 August 2009
Is There A God?
Sometimes I think that maybe there is a god. Like when I´m walking home in the sun and there hasn´t been a cloud for weeks and suddenly, like a gift from god, there´s a great big giant cloud. It seemingly appears from nowhere to shelter me from the evil sun's rays as I zigzag my way home seeking solus and shade every 500metres in some bar.
Let it be known that I live some 3km from the centre and one can't stay out in the sun for extended periods when carrying fresh fish and other produce. Well that´s my story and I´m sticking to it. Nonetheless, such natural phenomena does make me wonder about whether or not there is an almighty one pushing a few buttons upstairs. In this example, not only have I been spared the risk of exposure to the sun's cancerous rays, but my liver and various other organs have also been spared. You do the maths, 3km/500m...6 bars...
And just to fuel the fire of my catholic rooted need to question divinity, there´s the incredible genius of nature...or god...that I´m not a boy. Somebody knew what they were doing when they decided to make me a girl. If I was a boy, or let´s say a man, I would be the worst possible type of man. Every stereotypical nightmare of a man that you can think of, all rolled into one, that would be me.
I´ll start with sex, as really, even without being a man, that´s the first thing that comes to mind.
I´ve just read Russell Brand´s My Booky Wook and I have to say, if I were a bloke, I´d make Russell Brand look like Peter Pan. His trips to Asian whorehouses and Hackney orgys, what-eva! I´d get some kind of passport and travel the brothels of the world, getting the 'ho's to autograph-time-date-place each encounter. Maybe they could issue it like a receipt so that one day if I ever wrote my own booky wooky about all my filthy experiences with the whores of the world, I could claim it all back under research in my tax return.
See what I mean, I would be a multi-faceted cunt of a man. Not just a womaniser, I would be a tight bastard, a ruthless businessman, and ideally, bloody good looking - and well aware of it - to boot. The kind of guy who turns up to the party and all the other guys think 'oh fuck, here he is, guess I should save my energy chatting up any of these birds here til he´s decided which ones he´s taking home'. Or to the bathroom/garden/car/alley/hotel suite.
I´d have some level of decorum. For example, I wouldn´t do animals or children, and I´d never cum in a bird´s mouth if she didn't want me to. Not unless I was paying for it, in which case it'd already be part of the deal, coz of course you don´t wanna be messing with those pimps.
Yeah, but as for returning phonecalls or acknowledging them in public, that´s another matter. They can be bloody pesky so the best thing to do is ignore them, they get the message sooner or later. Any signs of stalking I´d get the cops involved. I think that's probably the woman coming out in my man, as a real man might feel a bit gay doing that. But I reckon that'd be the way forward, get those bitches off your back quicksmart, none of them wanna be in the paper on stalking charges.
Orgys, swingers parties, I´d go to them too. I´d have a whole harem of fit bitches on rotate so that none of them started getting any ideas that they meant anything to me. Keep 'em guessing I say. At these gigs, I´d meet more chicks to keep my little harem turning over nicely. Like a vicious cycle that you never get tired of.
OK, so that´s the sex. What else? Shit, it´s hard to think of anything else when you´re a man. Um...business I guess. Well, basically I´d be a tight, exploitative corporate genius of some description. I doubt I´d have much compassion, I would be out for everything I could get. One foot wrong, I´d fire you without batting an eyelid. I´d do dodgy contracts, I´d employ no women of childbearing age, I´d have an accountant who knew how to diddle the books, a fuck off gas guzzling RV. And of course I´d shag the secretaries, accounts clerks, or any woman that wanted to climb the corporate ladder. Or keep her job for that matter.
Thinking about sex again, I'd be up for the occassional George Michael type of encounter, smoke a bit of crack in the Hamstead Heath dunnies and see what happens. Couldn´t see myself making a habit of it, you never know who might see you at it. More just to see how the other half live, can´t knock it til you´ve tried it I say. And threesomes, an obligation of sleeping with me more than once would involve having to bring a girlfriend or family member (twin sister ideally) along for the ride. And what a ride it would be, because as a man, I would have the perfect apendage that was capable of marathon stints without the aid of viagra.
I would do my best to treat women as equals, but I am afraid that sooner or later I would resort to seeing a pair of tits and a pair of legs with a head stuck on top. But you´d have to give me points for having a crack...oops, there I go again...you see, I´d never get it off my mind.
I would have some drinking buddies to go out on the pull with. Sometimes hunting in packs can be effective, it gives the other blokes a chance to cop off with somebody. I'd go in for the kill leaving the ladies at least one down, providing a perfect opportunity for my boys to strike up a conversation with the leftovers. I´d be a good mate like that, try and set my mates up. And always happy to share if it looked like I might pull more than one at a time, 4 way action, woo hoo!
Anyway, where was I? Trying to justify my question of god. The probability of there being some kind of god definitely has a ring to it when I think about how lucky the world is that I'm not a man. What a prick I´d be. A complete class A wanker. Speaking of which, that´d be another problem...I´d never keep my hands off it.
I´d probably be arrested for indecent exposure in a public place. God, I could end up in jail for a string of offences...the crack in the dunnies, the inappropriate touching in public, nicked in some illegal underage brothel raid...shit, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that there is a god who had bigger plans for me. Thank god I´m not a man!
Let it be known that I live some 3km from the centre and one can't stay out in the sun for extended periods when carrying fresh fish and other produce. Well that´s my story and I´m sticking to it. Nonetheless, such natural phenomena does make me wonder about whether or not there is an almighty one pushing a few buttons upstairs. In this example, not only have I been spared the risk of exposure to the sun's cancerous rays, but my liver and various other organs have also been spared. You do the maths, 3km/500m...6 bars...
And just to fuel the fire of my catholic rooted need to question divinity, there´s the incredible genius of nature...or god...that I´m not a boy. Somebody knew what they were doing when they decided to make me a girl. If I was a boy, or let´s say a man, I would be the worst possible type of man. Every stereotypical nightmare of a man that you can think of, all rolled into one, that would be me.
I´ll start with sex, as really, even without being a man, that´s the first thing that comes to mind.
I´ve just read Russell Brand´s My Booky Wook and I have to say, if I were a bloke, I´d make Russell Brand look like Peter Pan. His trips to Asian whorehouses and Hackney orgys, what-eva! I´d get some kind of passport and travel the brothels of the world, getting the 'ho's to autograph-time-date-place each encounter. Maybe they could issue it like a receipt so that one day if I ever wrote my own booky wooky about all my filthy experiences with the whores of the world, I could claim it all back under research in my tax return.
See what I mean, I would be a multi-faceted cunt of a man. Not just a womaniser, I would be a tight bastard, a ruthless businessman, and ideally, bloody good looking - and well aware of it - to boot. The kind of guy who turns up to the party and all the other guys think 'oh fuck, here he is, guess I should save my energy chatting up any of these birds here til he´s decided which ones he´s taking home'. Or to the bathroom/garden/car/alley/hotel suite.
I´d have some level of decorum. For example, I wouldn´t do animals or children, and I´d never cum in a bird´s mouth if she didn't want me to. Not unless I was paying for it, in which case it'd already be part of the deal, coz of course you don´t wanna be messing with those pimps.
Yeah, but as for returning phonecalls or acknowledging them in public, that´s another matter. They can be bloody pesky so the best thing to do is ignore them, they get the message sooner or later. Any signs of stalking I´d get the cops involved. I think that's probably the woman coming out in my man, as a real man might feel a bit gay doing that. But I reckon that'd be the way forward, get those bitches off your back quicksmart, none of them wanna be in the paper on stalking charges.
Orgys, swingers parties, I´d go to them too. I´d have a whole harem of fit bitches on rotate so that none of them started getting any ideas that they meant anything to me. Keep 'em guessing I say. At these gigs, I´d meet more chicks to keep my little harem turning over nicely. Like a vicious cycle that you never get tired of.
OK, so that´s the sex. What else? Shit, it´s hard to think of anything else when you´re a man. Um...business I guess. Well, basically I´d be a tight, exploitative corporate genius of some description. I doubt I´d have much compassion, I would be out for everything I could get. One foot wrong, I´d fire you without batting an eyelid. I´d do dodgy contracts, I´d employ no women of childbearing age, I´d have an accountant who knew how to diddle the books, a fuck off gas guzzling RV. And of course I´d shag the secretaries, accounts clerks, or any woman that wanted to climb the corporate ladder. Or keep her job for that matter.
Thinking about sex again, I'd be up for the occassional George Michael type of encounter, smoke a bit of crack in the Hamstead Heath dunnies and see what happens. Couldn´t see myself making a habit of it, you never know who might see you at it. More just to see how the other half live, can´t knock it til you´ve tried it I say. And threesomes, an obligation of sleeping with me more than once would involve having to bring a girlfriend or family member (twin sister ideally) along for the ride. And what a ride it would be, because as a man, I would have the perfect apendage that was capable of marathon stints without the aid of viagra.
I would do my best to treat women as equals, but I am afraid that sooner or later I would resort to seeing a pair of tits and a pair of legs with a head stuck on top. But you´d have to give me points for having a crack...oops, there I go again...you see, I´d never get it off my mind.
I would have some drinking buddies to go out on the pull with. Sometimes hunting in packs can be effective, it gives the other blokes a chance to cop off with somebody. I'd go in for the kill leaving the ladies at least one down, providing a perfect opportunity for my boys to strike up a conversation with the leftovers. I´d be a good mate like that, try and set my mates up. And always happy to share if it looked like I might pull more than one at a time, 4 way action, woo hoo!
Anyway, where was I? Trying to justify my question of god. The probability of there being some kind of god definitely has a ring to it when I think about how lucky the world is that I'm not a man. What a prick I´d be. A complete class A wanker. Speaking of which, that´d be another problem...I´d never keep my hands off it.
I´d probably be arrested for indecent exposure in a public place. God, I could end up in jail for a string of offences...the crack in the dunnies, the inappropriate touching in public, nicked in some illegal underage brothel raid...shit, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that there is a god who had bigger plans for me. Thank god I´m not a man!
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