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Friday funny video: "Everybody should date an Asian man"

Friday funny video: "Everybody should date an Asian man"

One of those comedy funny songs by Asian-American comedienne Jenny Kwok, who wins kudos points because:

  • her YouTube channel is called “A Certain Jen Ne Sais Kwok”, winning the award for most hilarious use of a Chinese surname. After, that is, my soon-to-be-released TV channel BBC Wong…
  • her song “Everybody should date an Asian man” contains the immortal lyric: “Everybody should date an Asian man … at least f**k one, please please f**k one”

Dating 2.0

Dating 2.0

dating 2.0 style

Happy Horny Werewolf Day

Happy Horny Werewolf Day

Since I’m suffering with headaches and no sleep (thanks to man-flu, before you ask), I can’t seem to concentrate on anything for more than 5 nanoseconds today. Which isn’t much of an improvement on my usual concentration span of 10 nanoseconds, but there ya go. So instead of reading up on project management software, here are the random moments in my brain:

– Thanks to the recent post about Top Gear’s adventures in America, I am now ranked second on Google when you search for “man love rules ok”. Fortunately, this has not led to an influx of people begging for man/boy love on my blog, as what happened in this blog’s previous incarnation.

– If you’re recovering from yesterday’s Valentine love fest, then bear in mind that in Ancient Rome, today would be Lupercalia day, a Pagan festival involving blood, werewolves and sex.

“Many of the (men) … run up and down through the city naked, for sport and laughter striking those they meet with shaggy thongs. And many women of rank also purposely get in their way … present their hands to be struck, believing that the pregnant will thus be helped in delivery” — The Parallel Lives by Plutarch

. So how we’ve mutated from striking each other with shaggy thongs to zombified-men wandering around Tescos or Asda looking for the right red-coloured flower, card and chocolate box, heaven knows. (I was prepared this year, before you ask!) All hail power of Hallmark. (with thanks to Warren Ellis, as if he needs my thanking!)

– Weren’t the Brits fantastically dull last night? The music was crap, all the rock’n’roll had been sucked out of the occasion by corporate managerial swines and Take That did their wearysome ballad Patience instead of the crowd-stomping quite-jolly Beatles/ELO-ripping Shine. The only highlight was the first five minutes with the Scissor Sisters recreating their black-puppetry video onstage. Russell Brand just kept going on and on making verbose random introductions that seemed to make no sense of all and totally ignored the audience who in turn ignored him. If you’ve made it to the end of this paragraph, then you can fill in the punchline.

Reasons to love Britain #657

Reasons to love Britain #657

A spurned wife stabs another woman for having an affair with her husband. So far, so relatively mundane. But if it was in America, the court case would be full of screaming women.

This court case is in Cambridge, UK. The husband is 58. The wife is 61. The “other woman” (the one who was stabbed) is a 44-year-old Cambridge student. And hadn’t seen the husband for three years, according to her defence. To whit, this delicious quote:

“It is very annoying to be stabbed by someone for having sex with their husband, but it is doubly annoying to be stabbed for not having sex with their husband.”

I somehow doubt you’d get that kind of quote in a similar court case in Harvard or New York…

The tale of a New York engagement…

The tale of a New York engagement…

It’s amazing how the same story can be described by some people as romantic, and by others as cliched. So with that warning in mind, as New York freezes in the snow (lucky New Yorkers! how I love snow!), let me tell you a tale that may warm the bosoms of your heart. Or send you heaving into the nearest bar.

It’s October 2005 in New York. It’s a special day for Miss R, so I’m pulling out all the stops. I’ve even changed my underpants.

Do men really want James Blunt as a Valentines Day present?

Do men really want James Blunt as a Valentines Day present?

Scouring the Internet, I noticed that as part of their Valentines Day promotion, play247.com are suggesting that for the man in your life, you buy him the James Blunt CD/DVD for Valentines Day.

This strikes me as the most insane idea for a present since I was once given three Red Dwarf calendars in one year simultaneously, simply because it’s a man singing songs about love. Especially because it’s a man singing in a high-falsetto voice about love.

Heterosexual men would, by and large, much rather hear women singing songs about love, especially on such a romantic occasion. Maybe some K.T. Tunstall or Joss Stone if that’s your vibe. But you don’t want to hear men singing at the tops of their voices about love. There’s a reason why most fans of Westlife and Take That are male.

Of course this gets into the thorny issue of what you do buy men for Valentines Day. Got any ideas?

My failure with beautiful women #1

My failure with beautiful women #1

I’m at a small but elite party where the great and good have gathered.

There is a beautiful woman. A bit skinny but tall, elegant and by God, she has a smile that could sink a thousand ships. And hearts probably too. The fact she’s wearing a costume that sparks off visions of my very own Leela (and skimpier to boot) in my head can’t be bad either.

So, there I am. She’s smiling at me. My heartbeat goes up slightly.

Then she comes over. To me. I can’t believe it. My heartbeat is getting erratic at this point.

She says: “Oh there you are! I was looking for you earlier!”

And she gives another killer smile and looks in my eye. My heart is probably nudging my rib cage to see whether a jump out of my chest is possible, while as nonchantly as I can, I squeak “oh really?”

She says: “Oh yes. Come and sit down.”

and somehow, my heart takes time out from testing the strength of the rib cage to help move my legs over to the comfy sofa.

She sits, turns to me, gives me another mega-ton killer-watt smile with the beautiful bright big eyes, and says to me…

It's too damn hot…

It's too damn hot…

We don’t get to say this very often in the UK – although it’s starting to happen with alarming regularity – but it’s just too damn hot. Which means my hormones are going a tad bonkers, principally because:

– the fans are on. Which means any woman stepping into the office suddenly brings with her a gust of gorgeously moist cold air, and her hair billowing in the breeze like a Mariah Carey video

– she’s also usually wearing a tanktop and a skirt, like Beyonce Knowles.

Why is it though, when it is hot, women have a multitude of options for wearing clothing that leave just enough to the imagination, but also manage to keep them cool, collected and sweat-free? Men, on the other hand, have one of two options:

– T-shirt and shorts. Except the T-shirt will stick to your back, and the shorts will expose your knobbly knees, pale white skin and hairless legs

– Tanktop and shorts. Except you look like a redneck wifebeater. Or even worse.

– Just shorts. Which has all the problems with shorts, and the added problem of showing off your hairy armpits, flabby chest and will also probably get you booted out of the office.

The cycle home will mostly be spent trying not to ogle women joggers on the riverbank lest I cycle into the river – although that would at least refresh my sweat-soaked skin – before I go to every supermarket in Cardiff in a futile attempt to find some ice cream.

And to think I’m going to Egypt in just over two weeks. Where it’s twice as hot. Literally.

Weird weddings and relationships

Weird weddings and relationships

twentysomething has details on what, by the sounds of it, is a fairly weird gathering for a wedding involving multiple fluid sexualities that have changed over the years. But I think I have a tale via a San Francisco friend that can top that. 😉

I have probably bored many people by telling of this slightly short guy I met in San Francisco, who turned out to have been born a woman, realised she was a lesbian, took her girlfriend to the senior prom, then at some point decided to become a man and threw himself into the transsexual community in San Francisco. Then when I met him, he was dating a male millionaire. So, lesbian to gay man. With me so far?

Subsequently, apparently he met a woman, they fell in love, they got married, she’s now pregnant with his kid. Although I was a tad unaware that female-to-male persons could father children. Would love to meet that couple someday.

Aren’t human relationships fascinating? Isn’t modern medical technology astounding? Hope they’re happy together – the sex life must be interesting, to say the least!

Cesspool of human desperation

Cesspool of human desperation

Here I am, spending my time hanging out with the great and witty surlychick, and watching from the sidelines as men amble up to her, chat her up, before she spins them out and launches the devastating final blow that ought to have them whimpering out of the bar. Except it doesn’t – they just keep going. Oh and ignoring me in the process except for when they have to look like cool guys who can hang with guys. I hate cockboxing.

The first bloke was someone who SurlyChick had met once before, but didn’t like. He was with someone else celebrating their birthday – so they were both chatting her up for a while, while I’m slurping on my beer and occasionally being drawn into the conversation.

I’ve never been a fan of watching men chatting up women – mainly because it’s grossly embarassing or dull, depending on which side of the battle you’re on. Still, in my UN observer role in this culture war, it was interesting just how ineptly it was done. (Because I’m fan-tastic at chatting women up, patently).

Somehow, the men said they were going to celebrate the birthday by going to amateur night at a strip club, and invited us along. And for some reason lost in time to the fumes of alcohol, we thought we’d go along.

So we did, and it was fairly dull as strip clubs tend to be. Every lady was peroxide-blonde with some terrible acne, small breasts and a cute ass. But just when we were about to leave, a small group of theatrical people we’d spotted in the previous bar turned up. So we chatted to them – and in the middle of the latter group was the alpha male. The kind of man with a roguish Han-Solo charm that had the four women he was around hanging on the whim of his every word and movement.

And of course, SurlyChick was helpless in the beam of his charisma. Except unfortunately he kept telling her about his wonderful girlfriend, then snogging her. While the other women looked on with daggers in their eyes. And the two earlier blokes, who also fancied Surly, looked on with equal-but-forlorn daggers.

Later fleeting images include one of the women – a Grace lookalike – sitting on his lap watching strippers, then kissing one of the strippers. And the other ladies – who turned out to know one of the strippers since they’d all gone to Girl Scouts together – sticking dollar bills in the G-string and getting a writhing ass in return.

Incidentally, I’d chatted to the stripper/dancer earlier on – wearing glasses and wearing quasi-civillian clothing – and it turned out she was saving up to be an X-Ray technician. I’m not quite sure why someone would choose looking at X-Rays all day as a fantastic vocation. She was also comparing stretch marks with one of the theatrical group, and discussing colours. Stretch marks have colours?

Anyway, more chatting happened, more snogging between Surly and Alpha Male, and I even somehow got a telephone number from a very drunk member of one of the theatrical group who loved my British accent, man. (Although she didn’t seem to recall the next morning!).

Alas, what with SurlyChick’s policy on not sleeping with committed men, we went home, and then Googled/IMDB’d the actor Alpha Male, expecting to find that he was a hot-and-up-and-coming star with charisma oozing out of every pore of his sinewy body.

But no. It turns out that Ford Austin is an actor/writer/director/producer of sci-fi/comedy/porn short movies. It’s a tad disconcerting, depressing and chastening to realise that someone with all that charisma, who probably has moistening their gussets everywhere, is not even on the F-list of Hollywood or American acting. While the rest of us are behind him, hoping to pick up the left-overs.

SurlyChick’s version of events may differ somewhat. 😉