I bet sometimes Clark Kent wants to punch Superman. And I know this because I would happily punch Girl on the Net if she weren’t also basically me. I don’t hate her all the time, or even most of the time. But right now I hate her. And this is not the same thing as self-hate: it is richer and deeper and more intense. A purer kind of hatred, because GOTN isn’t me. She isn’t even real, so I can revel in the delicious satisfaction of hating her in the same way I can hate Voldemort.
There are very few things in life that are truly guilt-free pleasures. Throughout the history of the human race, we’ve been on the constant look-out for pleasure. And unfortunately, most of the things we find that give it to us turn out to be bad in some way. Masturbation, though, is not one of those things. It is the jewel in the pleasure crown: something which is both intensely enjoyable and actually good for you. So it’s disappointing to hear that some twats have invented ‘No Nut November’ – a masturbation version of Stoptober (for smoking) or Dry January (for booze). A month during which people are encouraged to avoid masturbation for the good of their physical and mental health.
This blog post has nothing to do with free speech. The comments on this blog are not – and will never be – an outlet for anyone to speak freely. There are lots of reasons for this, and because I am obsessed with transparency I’m going to explain my comment policy. On my blog, I’m a dictator. Other blog owners and companies that run websites are dictators too. If any website owner tells you that their site is a platform for your free speech, and that you will never be censored, they are mistaken. Here’s why.
OK gang, listen up because I’m angry. For years – YEARS – I have been recommending the Doxy to anyone and everyone with a clitoris. It’s the turbo-charged fuckstick of my wildest dreams and by my rough calculations it has delivered more orgasms in the three and a half years I’ve owned it than any living human has given me over the course of the rest of my life. Myself included. I love Doxy so much I would recklessly and gleefully abseil down the nearest tall building to unfurl a ‘FUCK YEAH DOXY’ banner that could be read from miles away. But now Doxy has launched a new toy – a compact wand called ‘Doxy Number 3’ – and I am, to put it mildly, livid.
Here are 10 things I hate about the Doxy Number 3.
My best friend is a boy. We sit together in pub gardens in the freezing cold, fishing weird white bits out of cold pints of cheap scrumpy. We laugh at each other, and ourselves. We fight over whose round it is because we always think the other is more skint than they’re letting on.
And when people find out that he’s a boy they ask some version of this: ‘so have you fucked?’