Gruesome Twosome

New Beonscreen postings:

Do you have a fetish for mannequins or a fetish for vomit?

Do you have phobia of pregnant women or a phobia of feet?

Then click here (you sick fuck). 'Fetishes and Phobias' is a party theme I plan to realise.

The above TV ad renders the average, know-where-you-are-with-him/her sex addict appeal and its likely applicants, unadventurous, and well, less ridiculous by comparison.

I guess the ideal 'contributor' would be a married sex addict with heavily pregnant wife who morning sicked on her own size 11 feet and can only muster a few positions due to her condition. BTW, she most definitely *isn't* interested in 'trying out things [she'd] never usually consider doing?'

Shower tourists

What is it with roaming eyes in the shower these days? Almost weekly I have to tut or reproach someone for peering into my shower cubicle. It's not that I'm shy, far from it; it's the principle. If the cowboy door is closed and the shower is running, don't look in - simple. So what if oftentimes I enjoy languishing in the shower, head bowed, arms crossed, rocking from side to side like the proverbial Romanian orphan? I like it. To the casual intruder, the image might resemble a boy who suddenly grew boobs and is checking out what they actually do. But that’s the body-curious onlooker’s problem. Mind you, that sight is nothing if you’ve ever attended a communal shower. Extreme pub(l)ic hygiene does need to get a room.

Then there’s bog chancers. This mostly affects women. You go into the toilet, you close the cubicle door, then you find the lock doesn't work. What the hell, you hold it firmly shut, clearly shut. There are 20 other available cubicles, with doors ajar, evidently empty, yet you can *guarantee* some chief will try your door, causing head injury or momentary confusion over who is actually in the wrong. At this point I usually issue an apology, then hastily, audibly retract it: “Actually, it wasn’t my fault, it was yours”. (I perform this Apology Retraction to strangers a great deal, especially when there’s mutual fault, and the other person fails to apologise also).

Anyway, showers… Today a woman actually opened the door to my shower, stepped in, and only then deigned to introduce her purpose: “Oh, I was wondering if I’d left my key in here”. By now she’s IN my f*cking cubicle. I don’t care if you’ve left your aristocratic Grandmother’s 5 carat engagement ring in my cubicle, have some dignity. I was agog, aghast, didn’t know what to say. It’s not that I’m shy, far from it; it’s the principle. Totally unacceptable! AND she rested her hands on my towel. I struggled to find the right words. “You could have knocked” didn’t seem reasonable for a cowboy door shower cubicle. She definitely wasn’t taking a day trip to the Isle of Lesbos either, it was just sheer rudeness - a willful and self-important disregard of *my* privacy. I’ll wager it rarely happens in quite the same way in the men’s showers, as what straight man wants to chance upon another chap carefully lathering his bell end?

The Wizard's Wand

Here to follow, a barely post-pubescent Daniel Radcliffe on stage, displaying all his new manly wares in the already darkly disturbing but brilliant: 'Equus'.

Get your NSFW Blue rinser paedo porn here. 'You be Harold, I'll be Maude' etc. Patrick Marber's got nothing on this.

One of those occasions where your Gran [1] remarks: "My, my hasn't that Harry Potter grown up? He has a likeness of your Granddad when he returned from the war", then stashes the Daily Express pull-out in her 'reading' drawer.

[1] apologies to Grans.

Hooky Hooky

If all goes to plan, we’re moving to Hook Norton, and if it doesn’t, I’ll delete this post and confine myself to solitude for several days, with strong bitter. Here's how life might be, in pics:

Jonny's sick of being banished from the bedroom

Jonny, circa 2020 at the Hooky beer festival….

Jonny gets a BOGOF deal from Bolivia for the housewarming

Miles after he said to his personal trainer: “I’ll have a Daniel Craig”

Jonny heads back from the shops

That crazy Lexta, at the DIY again

5 mins walk away, Ben’s new spiritual homeland!

Sian’s new car, hahahahaha

Jonny listens as Alex tells him its the BEST beer he's ever had! (check out the comment, lol)

Lex just wouldn’t leave the poor sow alone, yikes!

Sian and her blow up doll, at this summer's beer festival, hee hee

Jonny makes plans to ‘take the edge off’

It's time to take a country lover

Miles' Beast II?? :-P

Something literary for Lex

Bensta, the chancer

The boys having a lie down

Do you think they have corporate accounts?

400m from our house is Marv’s new house:

The village council prepares for Ben's arrival ;-)

My new running track

Sian wins the jeep derby

Sian shows off her army training!

We don't live in the same village as these people

Bensta gets bitter on 'Hooky' beer

The nearest Jonny’s getting to his own church wedding

Country life did not suit Caroline well

That’s us this summer, nearest pub

Miles fails to distinguish his fetishes for meat and violence

Michelle cries wolf, AGAIN, or was it Sian, or Sam?

Disturbing in SO MANY ways...Who did this to her? So wrong

C*nts are still running the world

If this theory stands, then we should be charged whilst queuing to be charged for goods we're being overcharged for in a store etc. Why can't they scrap road tax and increase the price of fuel to directly tax the car dependent, that way not even the unlicensed can escape paying? You get cashback if the public transport for your commute isn't 'fit for purpose' and only if it's too far to cycle...

Work doodle

Just found an hilarous doodle by J-man. He seems to have been devising a new mission statement for our little business, inspired by apathy. It reads:

"Welcome to ********.com. We aim to be: unwilling, unco-operative, and thoroughly unsupportive. Don't worry if you can't get hold of us - we're probably at the gym, shopping or anywhere but here. You can chance it by calling us on **** *** *** between 11.30am-3.30pm Tues-Thurs. Alternatively, just send us an email! It's less intrusive and allows us to respond whilst catching up on the TV we've missed whilst 'in meetings'. Have a nice dayyyyy"

Estate agent f*ckery

How absolutely ridiculous. Just received a 'spray and pray' mailshot from KnighTossers Frankfurters, showcasing properties 'with the added benefit of parking' Do people spending millions of pounds on property ever think to ask the plummy-but-nauseatingly-scummy agent: "Is there a cheeky little spot outside for the Maybach?"?? Fuzzy duck.

For £25K a week, even in the capital... wouldn't you expect them to knock down an entire fecking Mews for your chopper to land? And for 26,000,000 Euro in the South of France, you'd really hope there was a place to squeeze the Bentley whilst you took an extreme dip in the 'shark pool' with your real estate agent...

'Find me a Fanny'

I'm sure Tana Ramsay is going to just *LOVE* the wording of this listing for his new show, as approved by the production company's legal team. Mind you, she has given birth to 4 kids...

Dinner for two

I arrived home late last night, having called J en route to tell him not to worry about cooking for me since he had to pop off to vote at the tediously weary AGM for our building. (Very responsible, unlike one of the directors who flunked off with that common malaise: 'Choir Practice'). Anyway, to my surprise, I found a half eaten prawn curry on a plate in an otherwise pristine kitchen. It had my name on it. Figuratively only - what it really had was a fork rested on the plate, which, if I'd examined it, was unclean and therefore 'in use'. In my defence, I had said: 'If you cook something, leave me a taste'. Since portion control isn't one of his strengths (no jokes please), I assumed this was my 'taster'. Reheat and consume. At 10pm after the meeting hosts had run out of Russian booze, he came bounding up the stairs to say 'hullo' and 'I need to finish my food as it was too hot to eat earlier...' Oooo dear. I'd be the kind of animal who sated herself before feeding her starving young.

Strange goings on

The couple living in the flat opposite are quite strange. They take a boxed delivery from 'The White Company' almost every week - how can they need that much bedding/ white stuff? J thinks that the guy has a weak sphincter, or that they perform home enemas for shits and giggles, literally. I guess we may get to the bottom of it at the block's AGM, habitually held in their flat.

The other odd occurence of recent weeks was a conversation overheard as they left their flat opposite. 'Overheard', as we often stand behind our door to wig on their increasingly bizarre interactions.

The woman is calling the lift in silence.
Man: "Oh, by the way, I picked up the Dry Cleaning - your share was £20. Shall we go to the cashpoint?"

I mean, WTF? They've been together for 10 years, and aren't married on paper only to elude CGT on their property portfolio, so it's not as though there was any need to frogmarch his partner to the cashpoint!

No, this is not my happy face...

Getting older has its pros and cons down at David Lloyd Leisure Centre:
Pros:

• I can get into the jacuzzi with Z list footballers without them thinking I'm a wannabe WAG.
• Devastatingly angular 6th Form dandies with floppy hair and rosy cheeks are falling over their gangly limbs to talk to me for kicks/ dares. (DAFOL [1] )
  

Cons:

• When I go into the luxury hairdressers, the teens are thinking: "Aww bless, her husband must have bought her a treatment voucher because he's banging the nanny", or worse (nineteen yr old nanny).
• A 12km run will require some proper stretching, else sleep will be ruined by lactic acid aches.
  

So, to effect a really decent stretch, I've discovered across a device called 'The Power Plate' which is basically a stand-on/sit on vibrating machine. Even though I don't sit on it with my eyes closed and look heaven-ward (as in the pic), you can't avoid the *I'm using a vibrator in a family leisure centre* issue. See here for suggested exercises. I hasten to point out that I don't perform any of these particular self 'massages', but people do, they REALLY do. Anyway, the Big O is clearly in the eye of the beholder at my gym as rubber necking male passers by seem convinced that you're self-pleasuring, even though you scowl back, 'there's nothing to see here... do you want a picture, pervert?'... style.

Anyway, it's a very weird and not altogether comfortable sensation; it might soothe your muscles, but it also vibrates your innards, and seems to flirt with retinal detachment and the possibility of colonic irrigation (without the warm water and fluffy slippers, obv), right there and then. Mind you, I would definitely recommend it - you soon get use to it, and the benifits are certainly worth it. To quote the Marquise de Merteuil: 'You'll find the shame is like the pain, you only feel it once.'

[1] Dreaming About F*cking Old Ladies.

VD Day - Bread & Circuses

'VD day' makes me nauseous. Firstly, it has its origins in christian martydom. Secondly, it's now a Hallmark holiday alongside those other religious relics like easter, christmas, marriage, and the preposterous notion of 'christening' an unsuspecting child. Thirdly, it's now a prescribed homogenous night out where everyone sits in restaurants, 2-by-2, exchanging platitudes and reeling from the expense of the jingoistic gift they've bought on the way home from work. A commerical triumph - just another way to keep the proles happily distracted and fuelling the economy.(M&S have all their rosé champagne and wines on special offer, presumably just because they're pink - blush). It's embarassing and usually unromantic. Sitting in a restaurant on the 14th Feb makes me feel so self-consious anyway; it's all such a cringe. Since people watching is the only interesting reason to dine out tonight, much fun can be had by dining out as a threesome, as we did last year. Especially if your 'extra' is up for some crowd teasing...

Finally, if all that wasn't ghastly, religious, and commercial enough, it now transpires that I was most probably actually conceived on this day. I was born on November 25th, just more than a week late. Go figure. My parents aren't shy about this, more's the pity. My friend (Ben) once slept [1] in a garish 70's flammable brown sleeping bag with yellow lining, with my Dad cruelly informing me the next day of it's seamy past.

Go out another night, write a hand written love note, recite a sonnet (not aloud) if you have to, but don't buy anything in red packaging.

[1] Deriving his signature voyeuristic delight from the occasion!

Saucy Skinny on Salisbury

Check out the url on this cheeky story. Ah we've all been there. Why are naturists always so unnatural looking? At least it keeps some of the strange ones off the streets/ internet/ playgrounds...

Calling all Oedipuses!

Having consulted a few friends, I'm still convinced that there are no circumstances under which suggesting this TV show to your mother could be in any way acceptable:

Are you a yummy mummy or the son of a yummy mummy?
Yummy Mummies & Sons! Win £50K on new MTV Show!
http://www.beonscreen.com/uk/user/show_details.asp?ID=2060/

You know your work discipline is in trouble when...

...you try to convince your business partner that you *need* to watch 'Richard & Judy' in case your client (a Producer on the show) asks you about it...