Category Archives: Ranty ones

If online dating sites asked useful questions
I always hated the common dating site question: ‘what are your favourite books/films/bands etc?’ It struck me as a bizarre way to help encourage compatibility. Sure, if you’re going to be with someone for a long time you don’t want them to be constantly swapping out your punk rock tunes for dance anthems, but it’s more than possible for people with differing tastes to want to jump each other’s bones. Is there anything more useful I’d have asked?

What are real men and how can I spot one in the wild?
Let me tell you something about real men: real men cry. They weep giant, fist-sized tears of misery. They collect them in a bucket, which they’ll later use to drown an angry bear.
Pay attention: it’s important. Because just as we’re told that ‘real women’ have curves, so we’re also spun lines about which men count as ‘real’.
Study the signs, remember them. Then burn your laptop lest this fall into enemy hands.

Two things: feminism, censorship and condom personality tests
Here goes: a round-up of some things you need to read. Which I’m switching to Friday because, hey, who wants to do work on Friday when you could instead be reading about feminism, censorship and condoms?

“The best blow job” will haunt me forever
A few weeks back, I gave the best blow job I’ve ever given. Apparently. I don’t like writing that down so starkly – it’s far easier to talk about how mediocre I am in bed, or how incompetent I am with certain sex toys.
But I’m writing it because the sentence itself will spin round in my head forever. I don’t want anyone to tell me that anything was ‘the best blow job ever’, because I’m primed to root through any compliment until I eventually find a negative. And so this week I’m tortured by this one simple fact:
None of my other blow jobs were as good as that one.

Two things: sex chat and satanic wanking
You know that wanking can make you go blind, but did you also know that it opens a hell-portal in your bedroom so that tiny demons can slip into bed beside you and poke you with burning forks? Well, read on for the shocking news, as well as a fab blog post about sex chat with your doctor (not that kind of sex chat – that’s £3 per minute). Here are two things I thought you’d like to see this week…