That age old question....

Why can't women put the loo lid down? They are always on at men to put the seat down and I do (and have done for about the last ten years).

Every. Time.

But when I put it down after use, I put down the seat and the lid. That way one doesn't stare into an open bog every time one walks into the smallest room.

The inconvenience becomes equal. We both have to "lift to pee". We both have to return it to the "down" position. What is difficult about that?

Men get it in the neck for leaving the seat up but criticise a woman for the same sin and one is "stupid" or "nitpicking" or "a pedant".

Why?

Is this of earth shattering importance? Well apparently, yes, if a bloke falls foul of the rule...

Enjoy....

Inspired neologisms...

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing of one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are this year's winners:

1. Cashtration (n.):
   The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
2. Ignoranus (n):
   A person who's both stupid and an Assh*le.
3. Intaxication (n.):
   Euphoria at getting a taxrefund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
4. Reintarnation (n.):
   Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
5. Bozone (n.):
   The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
6. Foreploy (n.):
   Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
7. Giraffiti (n.):
   Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
8. Sarchasm (n.):
   The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
9. Inoculatte (n.):
   To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
10. Hipatitis (n.):
    Terminal coolness.
11. Osteopornosis (n.):
    A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
12. Karmageddon (n.):
    It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
13. Decafalon (n.):
    The grueling event ofgetting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
14. Glibido (n.):
    All talk and no action.
15. Dopeler effect (phr.):
    The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
16. Arachnoleptic fit, (phr.):
    The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
17. Beelzebug, (n.):
    Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
18. Caterpallor, (n.):
    The color you turn afterfinding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Enjoy...

Slow on the uptake...

It's apparently International De-Lurking Week (well I think technically it's National DLW but I find national boundaries too restrictive in this era of globalisation...) and I've only just realised.

So, delurk (all three of you) and show yourselves. As an added incentive, I will donate real money to charity - £1 per visitor who shows themselves by the end of this weekend. The worthy cause is the Asian Earthquake Appeal. Hell, since it's only the three of you, I'll probably make it more.

Just let me know your name or alias and approximately where in the world you live. Why you bother frequenting this page with its introspective drivel would also intrigue me but since that might expose you to ridicule, you can leave that out.

So, do your bit for "Charideee" and de-lurk.

Enjoy...

Eat lead, shitbag...

This post is way off piste (though I'm not sure there is a particular piste for this blog...) but I hope you find it better than inserting hot coals up your nostrils...

Waiter Rant's recent post on pooper scooping, or rather gratuitous lack thereof, prompted me to relate a story in the comments. Buried as it is in the vast numbers of comments (it's a high traffic site), I thought I'd relate it here...

I come from a family of restauranteurs and my uncles are far from conventional. This story relates to one of them. He ran a trendy a cafe in a seaside town. Cappuccino and paninis when such things were exotic.

Anyway, one summer, every morning a stray mutt took to walking by, cocking its leg and pissing up against the door of the cafe. Every day my uncle would curse, mix up some bleach and hot water and clean it off.

He tried chasing it off but that only seemed to make the thing more determined to stake its claim on a daily basis.

Now, my uncle had an air gun. Not a poxy child’s toy but a powerful killing thing. He claimed it was to shoot the sea gulls that plagued the rooftops, though I suspect that he also wanted to go armed into the cellar - you never knew when you might find a rat (we didn’t have a rat problem but then again we had an armed pest control operative…). In quiet moments, he’d open the back door of the cafe and practice shooting targets (the chipped plates and cups that could no longer be used) from the comfort of his chair behind the bar. I think you can see where this is going…

So, the inevitable lightbulb goes on in his head. "I’ll teach that dog a lesson." Not harm it, you understand. Just give it a smack up its arse, so it’ll never forget. You wouldn't want to take a leak in a public place if you found that you couldn't sit down comfortably for a couple of days afterwards.

So he waits. Armed.

Sure enough the mongrel arrives early the next morning for its "morning constitutional" and cocks its leg.

My uncle takes aim...
Right up the chocolate starfish...
He squeezes the trigger...

But then has a change of mind. He might hit the poor thing’s balls. As a man, that is too cruel to contemplate. Or do some real damage. He moves his aim - a glancing blow to the haunch will have the desired effect - a bee sting.

He squeezes the trigger but that hesitation - and sudden compassion - was his (and the dog’s) downfall. In the same instant, the leg goes down, the head turns and SMACK.

Head shot.
Dead dog.
On the fucking steps of the cafe...

SHIIIIIIT!

A moment of panic and my uncle is up and out of the cafe like greased lightning. A glance up and down the road confirms that it is empty. He drags the dog out into the road and arranges it quickly to look like roadkill. He rushes nervously back into the cafe for a ciggie and a cup of coffee to calm the nerves.

The first few vehicles pick their way around the corpse. Then comes the bin lorry. The dustbin men jump down to clear away the dead dog. "Here John," says the first one. "This dog has been shot!" My uncle’s heart starts to race…

"Shot? In Eastbourne? Don’t be so fucking stupid," says number two and hefts the evidence into the crusher…

Enjoy...

A plea...

Could the annual herd of fat divs with two week New Year resolutions who storm into the health club please remember the following?:

1. Bring a towel to wipe the sweat and gunk off the equipment after you use it;
2. Do not slam the weight machine when letting the weights down, as we will need to carry on using it when you re-establish your relationship with Pizza Hut next week;
3. Wear some pants under your shorts. The blob with a pair of ox-bull balls in full view on the leg curl machine nearly made me hurl over the treadmill in disgust;
4. Try and refrain from making those grunting and wheezing noises until my iPod gets fixed;
5. Understand you'll get much better weight loss result if you don't drink 2 bottles of Lucozade. Try 2 litres of water instead;
6. Don't munch power bars either - those are not biceps they are fat rolls and you aren't going to improve matters by eating more calories. Losing weight is more about not putting as much in as it taking more out.

Apart from that you're all doing just fine and the rant is now over.

(Thanks to Assisant K for making me aware of you all...)

Enjoy...

New Year Resolutions (redux)...

This time last year, I set out my New Year resolutions for 2005. This exposed me to potential ridicule. So, for those of you hoping to have a good laugh at my expense, how did I do?

1. Stay faithful to my wife
   Tick. Job done. But not as easy as I'd have liked... My wife seems to be happy with a couple of shags a month. Usually mid-cycle. Fuck, that isn't enough. One a week and I am like a caged lion... But weeks without? She always has a valid reason ("too tired", "got to get up early", etc.) and I have been partly to blame (cold, back problem, travelling, etc.). But this was not the easiest thing to keep to - particularly when having dinner in Paris with one of our secretaries who was there on a city break when I was there on business. Mmm, much flirting, a bit of touching and, had it not been for a sudden moment of clarity on my part, a proposition would have followed.
   
2. Avoid escorts
   I still occasionally cruise the escort agency websites but I have let my membership to Captain 69 (the escort review site) lapse. Other than chance encounters (that did not involve an exchange of bodily fluids), I have not seen an escort in 2005. Tick.
   
3. Spend more time with my kids
   Well, a bit. Not in the way I'd like... Bah!
   
4. Earn enough to retire
   Cross. My worst year for a while in compensation terms. Still a seven figure amount but my deals just didn't come together.
   
5. Keep a clean driving licence
   Tick. Don't know how - saw 150mph on a UK motorway...
   
6. Get fit again
   Yeah but no but yeah. I ended the year fitter than I started it but also heavier...
   
7. Have fun
   Tick. Lots of fun things were done. :-)
   
8. Blog more
   Failed. To be pedantically exact, 2.29 posts per week versus 2.39p/w in 2004. In my defense, the last few months of 2004 were momentous for my marriage. It is difficult to replicate that over a longer period.
   
9. Actually do something sensible with my money
   Tick. I made a chunk of money investing in 2005. That Japan rally was soooo good...
   
10. Hold the world to ransom with my giant "laser" ## mwhah, hah, hah ##
    Damn. Maybe next year... Actually my point was that the absence of free trade and the overuse of agricultural subsidies are killing the world's poor. The politicians have done nothing in this area and the empty (though very worthy) posturing of a few pop stars have not really moved the situation forward.

So what are my resolutions for this year? Well, being a fundamentally lazy bastard, I thought that I might try some stuff that I can deal with easily:

1. Masturbate more - god, that'll be tough...
2. Procrastinate more - why do today...
3. Drink - excess is good...
4. Watch more TV - I've been missing some good stuff...
5. Gain weight - about 5kg should do it...
6. Assume full responsibility for my actions - except the ones that are someone else's fault..
7. I will not suffer in silence - not while I can still moan, whimper, and complain...
8. I will gladly share my experience and advice - there are no sweeter words than "I told you so!"...
9. At the weekends, I will not sit in my living room all day in my underwear - I will move my computer into the bedroom...
10. Before I criticise a man, I will walk a mile in his shoes - that way, if he gets angry, he's a mile away and barefoot... (Ah, the old ones are always the best...)

Enjoy...

And a Happy fucking New Year to you too...

Well, my new year got off to a bang, in a few senses of the word...

Following our busy Christmas, Mrs. S and I decided that we would see in the New Year quietly.

It was all going to be so good.

Some shooting.
Some fine wine.
Some dirty sex.

What could be better?
What could go wrong?

Bang One
I took the eldest two out to a family shoot. This was meant to work on a number of levels. Firstly, I’d have a bit of “quality time” with my son, who is never happier than when trying to shoot stuff (should I be worried?). Secondly, I’d prise my teenage daughter out of the house into *horror* the fresh air. Thirdly, by getting them to tramp around the countryside, they’d hopefully be tired enough to go to bed early (I think you know where this is heading…). Finally, I’d get to have some fun blasting lead in the vague direction of some pheasant and partridge.
It inevitably didn’t turn out the way it should. The daughter got pissed off at one of our dogs pulling at the lead and let him go, ruining a key drive. Everyone pissed off at us and daughter goes to sulk in the Range Rover. Son points his gun at someone in jest (a massive deal breaker of an error) and is banished to said car, where he and daughter proceed to fight. The only danger I pose to the local wildlife is that they die laughing at my ineptitude with a gun.
Bugger.

Bang Two
We had politely declined each of the New Year’s Eve party invitations. This was going to be about the family. A sumptuous feast with great wine. And a little quality time for Mr and Mrs...
The 1976 vintage Bollinger was chilling nicely in the fridge. The caviar was being spread onto blinis. I reach into the fridge for some smoked salmon and accidentally pull the bottle out. Hands full, I merely succeed in slowing its progress to the stone flags, where it explodes in a shower of glass, bubbles, and expensive wine.
Shit.

Bang Three
Ahh… The kids had been put to bed (kicking and screaming in the case of the eldest) well before midnight. Good food resting comfortably in our bellies, the wine we’d drunk was loosening things up nicely (non-vintage champagne does the trick almost as well...). The bedroom was warm and candle lit (yes, I am an old smoothie). Ravel’s Bolero is queued up on the CD player (corny, I know, but sometimes it pays to stick with the classics...). My wife was wearing a rather attractive piece of lingerie that I’d bought her for Christmas.
At last…
We kiss and cuddle, we stroke and suck, we bump and grind.
Fuck, this is good. At last something is going right. Until…

Bang Four
On the stroke of bloody midnight, the fireworks go off. There I am, sliding balls-deep into my wife from behind, having the time of my life and some fucker is trying to put me off. “Whoosh… BANG,” they go. Our country house is away from the centre of the village but my neighbour has set up a display a couple of fields away, seemingly aimed at my house. “Happy New Year, Honey.” I say, trying to keep my concentration. “Mmm, mmm, mmm!” my wife answers. Then the dogs start barking. The little one hates fireworks and the big one will bark if the little one sets him off. “Bang, BANG.” “Woof, WOOF.” Pump, pump. “Bang, BANG.” “Woof, WOOF.” Pump, pump.
Arse.
Now I’m worried that the children come down and find me humping away with mummy like a pair of demented baboons and be scarred for life.
“Shall I go and calm the dogs?” I ask.
“Noooo! Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh” is the answer.
“What about the kids?” I fret.
“D-d-don't s-s-stop! Oh, oh, oh. J-j-just h-h-hurry up-p-p. Ngggh.” was the reply.
Right, so I have:

• a wife who wants to be pounded to orgasm;
• the artillery to the left of me;
• wild animals to the right; and
• the psychological welfare of my children depending on me coming in the next 30 seconds.

Given my problems, this is not a good combination…
Fuck, fuck, fuckity FUCK.

My uncle once said that there is nothing so over-rated as a bad fuck (and nothing so under-rated as a good shit). He would have laughed long and hard at the events of that night.

So my New Year was a disaster. Hope yours was better.

Mine improved beyond all measure the next night, when the dirty sex was rather more successful. Mmmm.

Enjoy…