Wednesday, April 30, 2003

Will somebody please explain to the women of this world (because none of them ever believe me) that men prefer the opposite gender to have some physical substance. We're not talking Ann Widdicombe here, of course...nobody in their right mind would want that much substance hurling itself onto their manacled and soon to be flattened form from the bedstead in the small hours...just your average, size fourteen to sixteen, bouncing woman with all her curves and bulges and dips in the right sorts of places.
Only male fashion designers like women to resemble seaweed coated barge poles. And that's because they're gay. I mean, seriously...six foot, titless, hipless, stone faced Well...only if you have a penchant for teenage boys! And as I much as I realise that women enjoy a good challenge in the romantic stakes, bedding a rampant homosexual will only result in the production of a strap on dildo to be fastened around your waist, and forced rear entry.
No...real men like something they can get hold of, bury their noses into and then blow raspberries against. It keeps us happy for hours. The joyful snort of soft rasping noises and the humorous, cartoon-like wobble of energetic lips against flesh! Who could possibly ask for more?
You can't do that sort of thing if you keep getting horrible, sticky-out ribs poked in your eyes, or...depending on your preference...a bony coccyx stuck up your nose.
The women of this world, please, do us men and yourselves a great big sensibly, stop worrying about Kate Moss because she looks like a fucking bodkin, and be bouncy and free!

Uncle Brian, recognising that pears are better than string beans any day of the week!