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Those wacky Germans…

Those wacky Germans…

Imagine you’re a German web development guru, who’s discovered this whole brand new phenomenon called Social Bookmarking. And you want to bring it to the German Hoff-loving masses. What would you call such a social bookmarking site? Would you ride on the Web 2.0 bandwagon?

Nope. Welcome to mister-wong.com. Complete with comic graphics of Chinese blokes looking like Einstein searching the web, just for you. Even better, when you dip into the German side of the site, the invitation to register says “Wong the web”. Now why didn’t I think of registering that?

Anyone got any ideas why this might be? I’d better reserve mr-patel.com just in case…

Tourism officials, eh?

Tourism officials, eh?

On our travels across the length and breadth of the British Isles this summer, I have noticed one or two strange things.

To whit:

1. As part of the official tourist map of Weston-super-Mare, there is a prominent advert for a funeral directors. You know, just in case you were planning to die there.

2. The Bram Stoker Dracula Experience will take visitors on a “frightful journey” through Castle Dracula. Handy, therefore, that it also has baby changing facilities – just in case you’d choose to take your delicate newly-born children on a frightful journey…

A Victorian spaceship crashes into London!

A Victorian spaceship crashes into London!

And what do people do? Pose for pics with the bloody thing! 😉

Thanks to Skarlett for spotting that – full story here

Two nations seperated by a common light bulb

Two nations seperated by a common light bulb

Over here in the antiquated sometimes-backward UK, we have a simple system for lighting up a room. In the middle of a room lies a lightbulb fitting, to which you fit your lightbulb. Connected to said fitting is a switch by the door – so that when you go in the room in the dark, you can flick the switch, and lo, there is light. Simple. Easy. It works.

It was obviously engineered to ensure you could walk into a room with light. So why do all the American apartments I’ve walked into seem to flout this basic piece of design common-sense? I can’t count how many times I’ve walked into a room in an American apartment, thoughtlessly flicked the switch on the door, and instead the tv / video / stereo / computer has flicked off, leaving a rather angry person in the room just when I’m trying to ingratiate myself on the people who have offered to show me their house.

Instead, there’s usually only one light source. Some tiny tiny lamp to the side of the room. And tiny tiny windows, so you can’t take advantage of the huge sunlight opportunities by being in a vast open space.

The only conclusion I can come to is that American eyes are just incredibly sensitive to light. Nothing else explains the sometimes pathological determination to minimize the amount of light in a room. Either that or it’s a huge design flaw that has escaped the attention of the best minds in America over the last 50-100 years.

Scary thought: do a search for lightbulbs UK in Google, and see how many small adverts for light bulbs pop up. It’s almost enough to make you think you need to start a blog on lightbulbs to get all that Google Ads traffic…

Circumcision in San Francisco…

Circumcision in San Francisco…

Geofftech’s surprise at the high number of circumcised men in the United States reminded me of this little anecdote.

On one of my holidays in the USA, I stayed at the cheapest hostel in San Francisco (somewhere down the Mission district) and got to know a few of the temporary residents. One of whom was a soft-spoken blonde American dude who was constantly touting around a guitar.

It was a bit of a surprise to me to find that he wasn’t in fact a Californian, but some other quiet part of the US. He was on his travels and had “settled” in San Francisco for want of something better to do, aside from composing songs and lusting after a German girl at the hostel.

So it came to pass we (quasi-Californian dude, German girl and a bunch of others) were in the kitchen, supping on a beer, when somehow the conversation turned to circumcision.

This sparked off a huge rant from the hitherto reasonably-quiet guitar person about how circumcision was evil, how it had been forced on him by his parents from birth, and how it was a savage denial of his “sexual rights”.

Not only that, he’d composed two songs about it. One of the worst things in life is being subjected to songs written by a complete stranger done acapella, with no beats or any recognisable hook, and yet being asked to appreciate it as you would the latest chart-topper. And after he performed his two songs about circumcision unasked, he looked at his surrounding audience (who were mostly international travellers) for a reaction. Most of them looked on blankly. Especially the German girl.

I think she left the next morning without offering her love to the guitarist. Wonder if that led to another savage song about the denial of sexual rights…

"Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians"

"Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians"

I’m sure that phrase has been around since, like, forever, man. Certainly I’ve seen T-shirts with that phrase on various London dodgy stalls for at least five years.

But it turns out that not everyone knows it. Strange Cousin Susan has only just discovered it, and is using it with great gusto in her workplace. Which is in California – a place, I’d have thought, which would have discovered it a long time ago.

The only source I can find for said quote is from Jerry Springer: The Opera but it must have come from someone else before then. Surely? Any ideas?

Aside from anything else, why lesbians? Wouldn’t the phrase work just as well if it was “Dip me in chocolate and throw me to the chocolate nymphomaniacs”? I’m not particularly aware of any chocolate fetish amongst lesbians – at least, no more so than your average woman…

"Sweet anal sex with virgins"

"Sweet anal sex with virgins"

This particular piece of spam in my email caught my eye and I just had to deconstruct it.

If, for instance, you really do have a virgin who wants to have sex with you (and you’re the kind of person who’s always unfathomably craved having sex with a virgin), you’re not going to have anal sex first, are you? Virgins are a lot harder to find than people you can have anal sex with, especially round here.

Imagine if your first introduction to sex was anal sex. Wouldn’t that hurt somewhat, and perhaps put you off the whole business?

Aside from anything else, if one applies an adjective to anal sex, the one that comes to mind is not sweet…

More sexual fetishes

More sexual fetishes

In the third decade of my life, I had foolishly thought I’d heard of most sexual tweaks/fetishes that were there. After all, I’ve been on the net for 12 years – and my first job involved reviewing erotic books for a living. Reading about a sci-fi erotica novel that features a phallus which changes your genitals and the liquid you fill into them (be it semen or vodka) at the flick of a dropdown rather opens your eyelids at the age of 21.

Plus there was this time I was on a date (shock! gasp!), and to while away a dull moment in the conversation, I asked her what the weirdest thing she’d done was. The usual response is sex on the beach or cinema or something similar.

Not this woman. She said she’d been a former heroin addict, and to make ends meet she’d become a coprophiliac prostitute/escort – essentially pooping into mens’ mouths (or tables) for money. Shame I never saw her again, really.

After that, I thought, what else can you do with poop in a sexual fetish fashion? Nothing, I thought. Then I stumbled across this post (after discovering that on a certain search engine, I’m in the top 20 entries for fisting for some reason). And now, yet again, I’m left marvelling that there’s still stuff to learn – and wondering how one realises that injecting poop into the skin induces a sexual thrill. If it does.

Lunchtime in Wrexham…

Lunchtime in Wrexham…

I was in Wrexham (the largest town in North East Wales) yesterday for work reasons, and stumbled across this:

Lunchtime in Wrexham

Even horses need to get money out at lunchtime. Fish’n’chips (the lunchtime staple in Wrexham, it would seem) don’t come cheap, you know.

Wrexham did seem quite scary. I drove into it at midnight on Bank Holiday Monday – and there were a lot of stocky bald-headed men shuffling outside pizza joints stuffing their face with chips. Don’t these guys have work to go to?

Phu yuck!

Phu yuck!

Get this – they’ve arrested a maths graduate student in Princeton, New Jersey for essentially pouring semen and urine into East-Asian women’s drinks and cutting off locks of their hair. It’s even been suggested that he’d squirt various liquids at them while on the bus.

Which then leads into a huge discussion on the whole fetishization of East Asian women on MetaFilter. I’ve lived with two flatmates who preferred (one of them exclusively) the East Asian brand of women – and I’d almost have to tie them down when my sisters came over. My flatmates, that is.

Extra points if you spot the oriental connection to the title of this post…

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