Hot Porn, Girl on Girl, XXX, Hardcore

The title is a little experiment to see how many more blog views I get with a headline like that. I will report back my findings next time. To those who have landed here by mistake: I am genuinely sorry to have wasted so much precious wank time.

But it also leads neatly into my theme for today. Yes boys and girls, today we’re talking porn. The launch of this fantastic site has people seething and spitting all over the UK as opinions are hurled like molotov cocktails over the well-worn barricades of gender, morality and political correctness. Porn, it seems, is divisive.

The usual arguments are present, appeasers vs Andrea Dworkin-esquers, the ‘not all porn watchers are bad’ line, and the ‘shouldn’t we focus on something else and stop talking about this subject because it makes me incredibly uncomfortable’ approach. In the Mad Max style post-apocalypse of the sexual revolution, it is definitely not cool to be anti-porn.

So the anti-porn men project is a breath of fresh air. It aims to be a collection of articles written by ordinary men which delves into both their personal experiences of the effects pornography has had on their own sexuality, and the cultural pervasiveness of an industry that, like rats in London, we are never more than a few metres away from.

Feminists have been disregarded, ignored and discredited if they’ve shown the slightest signs of an anti-porn stance for years. It is regularly waved as proof that the feminist movement is anti-man, because why would a woman want to deny a man sexual pleasure from the ritual humiliation of a complete stranger unless she was a total bitch, probably fat, who is jealous of pretty young girls that choose to make their living prostrating themselves subserviently before an endless supply of well-endowed men.

There are so many layers to the anti-porn argument that I don’t even know where to start. According to Naomi Wolf, we are merrily wringing out the last drops of authentic human sexuality as men and women alike turn to the pornographers to tell them what to do, how to do it, when, where and for how long. All sense of genuine spontaneity is lost as we solitarily figure out what scene we’re acting today, and as the real eroticism of sex is unrelentingly pummelled by the terrifying perfection of porn, the possibility that this generation will never know sexual connection beyond the readily available fantasy worlds of Rupert Murdoch and Hugh Hefner becomes frighteningly real.

So seeing men come out and explain why they won’t be subscribing to this seemingly unstoppable juggernaut is magnificent. Not only because it gives voice to a perspective that ‘lad’ culture has effectively suppressed for years, but also, in its attempt to introspectively interrogate personal motivations for porn use, it asks us all to open our eyes to a hyper-sexualised world that stealthily steals true eroticism and replaces it with a sanitized, synthetic sex we’d be better off without.

Tyrannical Belgians Impose Compulsory Sterilisation

The Guardian reports today that mad leaders of a country called Belgium have elected to enforce compulsory sterilisation upon its population. Of cats.

In a three step plan, the law, if passed, will first see all cats in shelters neutered, then those belonging to breeders and sellers, before finally moving on to the severing of the special bits of regular kitties belonging to normal cat owners. All bog-standard eugenics, you may think, yet special breeds are to be exempt from the plans, giving many felines of less exceptional heritage cause for concern.

So far the plans have failed to make serious waves outside Belgium, although there was a scuffle on the street corner just down the road from me at dinnertime. A quick interview with the perpetrators revealed that the clash was due to a stolen Express and Star and had nothing to do with the proposed scheme. However when asked to comment, Mrs Wright explained: “I couldn’t give a monkeys about those Belgian cats. They’re always coming over here, taking our jobs and turning our women into spinster crazy cat ladies. I hope they do chop their balls off.”

'Bob' poses menancingly next to a window as oblivious passers by go about their daily business (pic creds: Shreyans Bhansali 27/01/2007)

During its investigation into the story, Idle Thoughts was contacted by a shadowy group called The Feline Reds, who claim to be an international Marxist cat organisation dedicated to the overthrowing of all pedigree cats. ‘Bob’, their leader, told this reporter that cats everywhere are becoming concerned that the plans to prevent breeding of normal cats while protecting the reproductive organs of special breeds is effectively a declaration of war on the average working cat. “We’ve had a massive rise in membership over the past couple of weeks. Working cats are getting fed up of being treated like second-class citizens by humans who seem to think that Persians and Siamese are somehow better than the rest of us. The plans by the Belgian government only go to show that we have to stand up and say “no” to this kind of racism. We’ve tried peaceful protest but frankly we’ve had to turn militant.” When asked if reports of gangs of normal cats roaming the streets at night and attacking special breeds was the work of the group, ‘Bob’ would only respond that vigilante gangs had been formed, but the cells were secretive and dispersed and the leaders unknown to him.

‘Bob’ assured me that the Feline Reds had no intention of harming humans in their terrorist campaign against pedigree cats but figures show that several people have been hurt as the war goes on. Numerous reports are now emerging, from people having their bins overturned by angry cat gangs to poos being done on beds and settees when litter trays were clean. One woman, who did not want her identity disclosed, emailed with this statement: “My cat started acting strangely a few weeks ago. I noticed he’d started wearing this collar with a red star on it and I have no idea where he got it. When I heard about the Feline Reds it all started to make sense. They say that they won’t hurt humans, but I have lost a toe and five socks in this campaign. I spend my days locked in my bedroom, terrified to come out. My cat now owns me.”

When asked to comment on this incident ‘Bob’ was unrepentant. “When that woman put a cat in a bin everyone thought it was hilarious. Now we’re fighting back it’s not so funny.”

The Hip Hop Paradox (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Tha Bomb)

Reconciling a love of hip hop with a feminist agenda is a difficulty that often seems insurmountable. In a culture where women are consistently sexualised to such an extent that being a hole and a pair of bazoomas has become the essence of womanhood, Betty Friedan’s ‘feminine mystique’ almost sounds preferable. And when you would rather be the poster girl for chained-to-the-kitchen ‘I Love Lucy’ fifties housewifery, it makes you wonder whether we’ve moved on at all. As Courtney Love, feminist icon and harbinger of twenty-first century terror, puts it : “She said: ‘I am not a feminist’… FUCK YOU!”

But considered arguments aside, the misogyny of rap has become the interminable broken record of those that would see every black man that stands next to a microphone gunned down like Tupac on the strip. See how street I am? Yeah, Ms Brooke is not all about the lit, players. Holler.

Anywho… When MTV vids are full of half naked women dripping in jewels, gyrating and salivating over the latest hip-pop wannabe, and Ludacris wants a bitch out of his way pronto whilst he confirms who’s a ho (it’s you),  you’d be forgiven for your scepticism regarding what I’m about to put to you. I was recently asked to prove my assertion that there is some feminist hip hop. Well, there is. But there are all kinds of things in this world that we wouldn’t necessarily expect and just because it’s there doesn’t mean we should applaud it. Like Iranian nuclear weapons – self determination = good, nuclear proliferation = not good, jogging = good, David Cameron playing pace-maker with troops in Afghanistan = grotesque. Good music has to be in some way moving. Shampoo’s rendition of ‘We’re in Trouble’, for example, in some vomit inducing and not entirely convincing way could be said to be feminist (they’re not scared of trouble, they don’t’ care about Dad’s rules and regulations), it hardly fits the bill. For one, it’s not hip hop. But aside from that it doesn’t move you. Like Aretha Franklin’s rendition of ‘Respect’ moves you, and Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ has somehow, wondrously, survived repeated cold blooded homicide at every karaoke night across the country. So being feminist isn’t quite enough. Because what all music lovers want is something tuneful and lyrically beautiful – and it has to be both.

This has been addressed much more eloquently by Chris Rock, who asserts that women who like hip hop don’t care what the words say – they just like the beat and sod the underlying patriarchal network of oppression that sustains it. I have my own theories, but that will have to wait for another day. I love hip hop, but the fact is it’s all about the poetry, the lyrics, and I just can’t dance to a song that offends every political sensibility I have. No matter how great the tune.

But this is not about bemoaning the lack of awareness of most. I’m here to do something positive today. I foolishly thought that in order to be feminist a hip hop tune must be written/performed by a woman. But if we’re asking what feminist hip hop is I think we’d do better to see it as a positive portrayal of women. Yeah I know, I might be clutching at straws here. But in world of ‘bitches’, ‘hos’ and seductive Jezebels just out to get what they can (“I ain’t saying she’s a golddigger..”), then any song that presents an image of a woman who is not just out to tease and tickle her man, who has an actual inner intellectual life of her own and is ultimately independent and, and this is important, still incredibly alluring because of this – well, we should all own it and make our daughters and sisters hear it. Over and over again if necessary.

I know, I might be preaching to the converted here – this isn’t a new song, but it’s a goody. And it’s one of my favourites to have on whilst walking down the street before a night out. With this on my stereo I’m just about ready to knock out every tosser that dares to send a whistle or a ridiculously misguided attempt at a pick up my way.

So the next time anyone asks you to provide them with an example of GOOD feminist hip hop you can tell ‘em you heard it from me, innit blad.

I Went to America And All I Got Was This Lousy Revolutionary War

In anticipation of England’s first World Cup game today, Idle Thoughts has got up early to ruminate on the reasons why such extensive hostility continues to blight the relationship between the English and the Americans, and act as the Bank Ki Moon of the digital world in order to repair our floundering friendship, build huge Atlantic sized bridges and make lovely little BFF bands for everyone to wear so that we may always look down at our wrists and remember why we started being friends in the first place.

Of course, there is a long history between these peoples, one that must be acknowledged before we can forget it all and dance through the meadows together. When the pilgrims set sail from Plymouth they expected to find a promised land, somewhere infinitely different, new and exciting. Landing in Plymouth must have pissed them off no end, and thus the drama began. As the Americans struggled to survive against advancing buffalo, natives and the wrath of God, their character was moulded, everyone and everything in this strange new land seemed to be against them. Seeing an opportunity to get their own back, some of them decided that it would be laugh to chuck lots of tea in the sea. Needless to say, this didn’t go down terribly well and all hell broke loose when the King found out. In the end, the English decided it was too much hassle to carry on fighting in this far away country while France was getting all uppity much closer to home, so they let the Americans win and vowed never again to send any tea over the Atlantic to this ungrateful country.

Angry and bitter at the lack of tea, Americans began toying with language in order to provoke more reaction. First they stole several city names, but when the people of Birmingham and York proved unperturbed by the theft of their cities more devious means of angering the English were conceived. Mindful of how much the English love ‘U’s, Americans removed them from the language. Colour, favour, flavour and many more innocent words were stripped of their ‘U’s, leaving the British dumbfounded and confused. As communication became nearly impossible, the two countries simmered in their fury while the rest of the world rolled its eyes and threatened to tell the teacher. The fatal blow was struck when America began referring to football as ‘soccer’ and England vowed never to speak to her again, stropping off to make best friends with India instead.

While it may seem that all the bonds of friendship have been irreparably broken given this turbulent history, Idle Thoughts believes that there is still hope. We can expect today’s match to bring back many of these horrible memories, with the traditional American chant of:  ”Bet your tea tastes salty now!”, and the corresponding English chant “Justice for all? We prefer an inflexible class system and a pampered monarchy, thank you!”

Though this relationship may be scarred by deep veins of rancour, there are still those willing to make the behemoth effort to bring the two sides together in love and companionship. Such as these women, who forget the troubles of the past in order to skip through London together in a touching display of mutual fondness, and remind us all that despite the horrors of yesteryear – the wasted tea, the anti-U campaign and the theft of beloved cities – there is still joy in the world.

Insane Artists Involved in Plot to Kill Children

A dachshund on a walk in West Park is startled to see a cynophobe painted as a 19th century British Indian imperialist huntsman (pic creds: Captain Chickenpants 28/08/2007)

My name is Ms Brooke and I’m a cynophobe. That means I’m scared of dogs. Yes, even those small, cuddly ones whose owners insist “He won’t hurt you” while the beast stares at your throat and salivates. Assuring someone who is terrified of dogs that Rottweilers are ‘soft’ (or ‘saft’ in the Midlands) will not make them swallow their natural and reasonable terror and take an entirely irrational step by touching that freakishly huge head and putting anything precious (hands, face, legs) anywhere near this panting killer. So stop it.

Some people think it’s a bit silly to be scared of dogs, which is fair enough I suppose. I think it’s a bit silly to be scared of terrorist attacks, yet I still wouldn’t encourage anyone to sit right next to a sweating terrorist  kitted out with rucksack and suicide belt on the tube. And I certainly wouldn’t say “he won’t hurt you”, because I just can’t guarantee that. Still less would I recommend stroking his face, ensuring that you let him sniff you first, and thus through familiarity dull your natural dread of meeting a horribly violent end.

Yet dog-lovers seem to have taken their animosity toward dog-haters to a whole new level with the new craze of dog painting. While some say dog painters are insane and should probably get out a bit more, others say they are crazed freaks who are trying to thwart cynophobia forever by actually killing off all who hate dogs through canine art.

Dog painters paint their dogs – a harmless hobby you may say, and perhaps it would be if they were painting flowers and peace symbols on the bastards. But no, in an act of what can only be called terrorism, ruthless owners of dogs have been painting them into tigers. Now, I cross the road when I see a dog, willing to concede my walking space to anything that could reasonably kill me without a second thought. If I saw a tiger walking down the street, even if it was on a leash, I think my heart would give out on me right there. And this is where the problem lies. Idle Thoughts sent an emissary to the homes of several of these dog painters to find out what the hell their problem is. The results of these interviews reveal a deep anger toward people who hate dogs.

One dog painter said: “I used to be a teacher, but since retiring I’ve found it harder and harder to be in situations where I can terrify small children. Dog painting means I have a hobby and I can continue my life’s work. It really is a great thing to see an otherwise normal kid reduced to pissing their pants when I walk Rover.”

Another told us that: “I used to paint landscapes and nudes but you really don’t get the same reaction as you do with dog painting. So far I’ve killed three dog haters – two heart failures and a fatal fear-induced asthma attack.”

As the death-toll continues to rise, Idle Thoughts is concerned that the lack of reporting on this subject reflects a deep and unacknowledged public hatred of cynophobes – cynophobephobia, if you will – and an underground grassroots movement to rid the world of this breed of perfectly normal and reasonable people. The cycle of fear and suspicion will only spiral out of control if cynophobes do not burst out of their closet and stand up for their right to live in a world where dogs disguised as tigers are not free to roam the streets, spreading panic and terror wherever they go.

The first annual cynophobe pride march will be held in Wolverhampton this Saturday. No dogs allowed.

Idle Thoughts in ‘I Have No Explanation for my Absence’ Shocker

After a long year spent in deep anthropological conversation with those beings known as ‘Midlanders’, Idle Thoughts has finally resurfaced, ready once again to provide that cutting edge commentary that the world would perhaps be better off without.

Rather than regale readers with lies about what fresh hells I’ve been through since last posting, a quick round-up of what’s changed in the world since our last meeting seems in order. Look around you and there is evidence everywhere of the coming apocalypse. In a reprise of 1930s Germany a right-wing government has risen to power in the backdrop of economic collapse due to the malfunction of a dubious electoral system. Chelsea have won the league. Nothing else has happened.

Thankfully as news comes pouring into our lives Idle Thoughts will be here like a gentle Grandma to guide you through – cold, phlegmy, and rather bitter – but always there, withholding pocket money until given a kiss, inviting you to sit on her lap while she speaks of the glorious days gone by and interjecting into conversations when not invited.

Striking Posties Reveal They Are Doing It Just To Piss Us Off

The public has expressed consternation and alarm at news that a postal strike may go ahead on October 22 if a deal isn’t reached between Royal Mail bosses and the Communication Workers Union, and Idle Thoughts, in a humanitarian effort to attempt to mediate between the unwashed masses and their long suffering post men and women, has been delving into the news behind the story to bring you this exclusive.

Pat reveals: "We just think wearing curly red wigs really irritates people, so we're encouraging all postal workers to do so". (Pic creds: Iain Farrell 25/07/08)

Several members of the public emailed this blogger with anxious questions about whether they would get their next electricity bill, their Christmas cards and their parcel from Amazon, as well as what the hell the problem was and why couldn’t the posties just get on with it and do their damned job.

One woman wrote: “I work for a living, I’m not unionised and I don’t feel the need to constantly moan about my working conditions. If the bosses want me to take a pay cut I take it and if they decide to replace my job with a machine well then I’ll just join the dole queue like anyone else”. Another expressed sympathy for the postal workers: “I have a lot of sympathy for the postal workers but it’s quite clear that they are just a bunch of moaning bastards who won’t work for a living”. Several others claimed they could do a better job of delivering the mail: “Frankly, how hard can it be to deliver the mail? I send out Christmas cards to my street every year and I take them myself – it’s only a matter of putting an envelope through a letter box – hardly taxing is it?”

Such insightful objections bring to light the concerns of a public who only have the postal workers’ best interests at heart – so why is the union pushing ahead with the strike? In a frank and enlightening interview, Idle Thoughts spoke to one postman about the reasons for the industrial action. ‘Pat’, whose name has been changed to keep him anonymous, revealed that the planned walk-outs have nothing to do with the enforced modernisation, pay cuts and redundancies that are being reported by the media, but are in fact the result of a long simmering vitriol toward the public.

“We were going to accept that our pay would be slashed, our working hours extended, several job cuts enforced and our workload dramatically increased without remuneration, but then we all got together over a pint and decided that we should just strike to piss people off. After all, there’s nothing funnier than annoying the public.” Pat intimated that other service workers may have overheard the conversation and decided to follow suit. “I know there were a few bin-men in the Red Lion at the time – they were listening in on our conversation and I notice they’ve deliberately started to miss people’s bins on rubbish collection day.” When asked if he thought that bus drivers were intentionally coming along three at a time he was unsure, but added “I don’t know if there were any bus drivers there but I do know that plenty of Royal Mail workers use buses every day so I don’t suppose it would be that hard to get the idea rolling in that direction”.

The news has shocked the public but affirmed the suspicion that all service workers are indeed out to get them. It remains to be seen whether the threatened strikes will go ahead or if the posties will decide the joke has gone too far.

In his closing comments, Pat emphasised the purpose of the action: “I know there’s been lots of media attention on this issue recently but I want to make clear the reasons for the strike. The fact is we genuinely don’t mind being exploited, poorly paid mules while the company makes millions in profits from our back-breaking labour. We just really like annoying the public”.

Eriksson Joins Axis Of Evil

As an exciting round of international qualifiers for 2010 wrap up, one coach will do anything to manage a World Cup squad – including moving over to the dark side.

In the Axis of Evil dressing rooms Sven discusses what is worse: a swirly or a wedgy (pic creds: chris1002x 19/07/2009)

Sven-Goran Eriksson, currently Notts County Director of Football, is reported to be in loan talks with Axis of Evil representative North Korea after being rejected by several War on Terror goodies during his career, including England and Mexico.

The status of North Korea as an Axis of Evil member has been much debated in recent years. The country first joined in 2002 after intensive interviews and a team building weekend with other members, Iran and Iraq, which was reported by delegates to have been a “very useful weekend for Axis members – we did some outdoor activities, you know, tried to get a balloon from one end of the field to another using only our knees, that kind of thing. There were also some questionnaires. I wasn’t sure the Iranians were going to be evil enough but they were.”

In June 2008 President Bush, having noticed some discrepancies in the notes from this weekend, had them removed them from the Axis, however several evil events including some prank phonecalls and a couple of nuclear tests ensured that their place remained.

Eriksson has not publicly announced his commitment to evil but close friends insist he will fit in fine. “I’m convinced Sven has what it takes to lead North Korea to victory in the World Cup. He’s a firm believer in tripping up the referee and making it look like an accident, and although he doesn’t have any formal evil training he’s a really quick learner and I’m sure he’ll pick it up in no time.”

‘Chill Out’ Says Mayan Elder – 2012 No Big Deal

Mayan leaders have dismissed as 'ridiculous' the belief that on December 21 2012 a giant hand will thrust into the Pacific ocean and the Earth will be bowled into the Sun (pic creds - woodleywonderworks)

Millenarianists everywhere have been dismayed by a Mayan elder’s recent comments that the world is not going to end in 2012, contrary to assertions by Roland Emmerich and the History Channel.

The Telegraph reports that Apolinario Chile Pixtun is starting to get a little pissed off with constantly being asked about the prophesy, which foresees the end of the Mayan calendar and is believed to herald all kinds of scary events ranging from the shifting of the poles, the approach of Planet Nibiru, first contact with aliens and the annihilation of the universe. Pixtun claims that the idea of an apocalypse is not mentioned at all in the predictions and the date is significant merely as the beginning of a new calendar – in short nothing to worry about, just the turning of a page.

Adherents to the end of the world theory have thus far been unmoved by Pixtun’s banal suggestions. One millenarianist group member, who didn’t want to be identified, stated: “Mr Pixtun has obviously been commanded to say these things so that we don’t panic, probably by the Americans as some sort of trade deal. I watch the History Channel just like anyone else and I know that we are in some deep shit as far as 2012 goes.”

He added that signs had already been recorded that the end of the world is nigh, “We’re seeing all kinds of things that point to an apocalypse. One of the prophesies tells of an age being repeated, time being lived all over again, at the end of days. We think that this might mean the 1980s are being repeated again right now. You only need to look at the return of leg-warmers, shoulder pads and asymmetrical hair to see the signs are all around us. Add to that the renaissance of electro-pop and the remake of the movie ‘Fame’ and you can see that there are so many tell-tale signs that people are just ignoring.”

The anonymous source admitted that some of the prophesies were inaccurate, but stated that this didn’t devalue the doomsday theories. “The fact that Newcastle were relegated this year has thrown us off somewhat as that was predicted to happen in 2011. I suppose it’s possible that they’ll be promoted and relegated again, but we’ll have to see.”

Sex Tourism For The Cash Strapped

Escapism is a necessity in a society marred by the twin evils of open-windowed crack dens and lack of competitive sport in schools, and The Sun – ever mindful of its responsibilities to the beleaguered British public – today provide  just that in an eminently informative account of where in the UK one might find the largest boobies.

It’s well documented that these times of economic depression have forced all but the richest to holiday at home, exploring the rich cultural and natural diversity of the British Isles instead of wasting cash on poor exchange rates and eco-unfriendly plane trips to Europe and beyond. The Sun’s map of plenty therefore provides a helpful guide for the British holiday maker in search bountiful cleavage rather than dusty museums or sandy beaches, and it is in the dock cities of the North where the greatest treasures may be found.

An over the shoulder boulder holder without pretension (pic creds - tamebay 05/12/07)

Liverpool is the place to go if you wish to leer at the ladies, with an ‘average’ bust size of 34E, closely followed by Newcastle (34DD) and Manchester (36D). The newspaper helpfully warns its readers not to waste the train fare to Manchester – “Despite the bigger number – which is the measurement in inches around a woman’s chest and back – the letter denotes the breasts’ volume”. So don’t be fooled by internet strumpets boasting about their 40AAs lads.

It would be easy to launch into a polemical hate-filled tirade about The Sun, but perhaps unfair – after all in their pervy way they’re only trying to boost the UK economy, encouraging no end of stag parties to forgo the dubious pleasures of Amsterdam in favour of a quick leer at British women. It’s pure patriotism.

Next week: an in depth guide to the Lake District for ass men.