Spit is Cheaper..

Direct from our ‘What the fuck for?’ file comes the new KY Yours + Mine concept, yet another product from a company that is taking the piss out of its consumers by flogging off two of the same thing under the guise that a) they’re both uniquely different, but b) when put together they make a magical third substance.

Lynx tried the same thing a year or so ago when they tried to tell us that by combining the leftover fly spray and oven cleaner they had lying around, you made a mystical musk that would have all the girls in the general vicinity dropping their daks for you. Needless to say that concept left us suitably unimpressed too.

The blurb for this new lube says it all really:

“Whether you have a flame that needs rekindling or you´re looking to take your relationship to the next level, we´ve got the perfect adventure for you both.

It´s simple. You apply the product to each other. The blue goes on him for an invigorating sensation. The purple goes on her for a thrilling sensation. And when combined, there´s an amazing reaction.”

Now if you’re anything like me then you too have just rendered the chair you’re sitting in unusable for half an hour after reading that, or at least till the wet patch dries.

I am no relationship expert but I reckon if you have a ‘flame that needs rekindling’ then whipping out a tube of KY on her one night is probably not the best start. Your missus, she of the frigid fanny, is going to see that as a sign that you want to take her up the chuff and I doubt very much whether or not she’s going to share KYs view that that is ‘the perfect adventure for you both’.

And what is taking your relationship to the next level anyway? Is that an euphemism for anal? And as for making sensations I am pretty sure that anytime I’ve lathered something wet on my willie I’ve had an invigorating time, so tell us something we don’t know.

The one thing that is clear with Yours + Mine is that it is a product for heterosexual couples only. Gays need not bother buying this because you just haven’t got the bits between you to fully utilise the epic encounter slathering on this lube will bring you, so you will have to stick with saliva. Heaven knows what will happen if two lezzers apply the blue tubed lube to themselves, perhaps they’ll grow a penis?

The KY website is quite the amusing exercise in just how much rubbish a company will come up with in order to sell you what you could otherwise get for free from any of those partially used lotions you have on your dresser or in the bathroom.

My personal fave was taking the ‘KY Intense’ tour just so I could see what effect a drop of the stuff has on sexy things like a CD player, picture of the Eiffel tower, or a pair of bunny slippers. Rather disappointingly there isn’t a fanny in sight.

KY really is having a laugh with Yours + Mine and pretty much their entire range. Lube is lube, no matter what you call it or how fancy you make the tube. There are only two practical uses for KY and that is 1) taking it up the chuff and 2) giving it as a Secret Santa gift which is extremely funny, especially if you take a moment to squeeze half of it out, rough up the tube a little and stick a few pubes under the lid before wrapping it...

Now that will create an amazing reaction, every time.

Of course it has to look like it will slip easily up the bum too doesn't it?

Definition: Photo Bomb

A photo 'bomb' is a photo taken that contains someone, or something, unexpected which usually rules out the subsequent use of the image for the actual purpose which it was planned.

However the ‘bomb’ doesn’t always ruin the photo for good though and in the majority of cases the unplanned appearance usually makes the picture far more interesting than it ever was. Case in point, my son, the boy genius, who recently bombed my wife’s pics of the old tent we planned to list on Trade Me.

Luckily we spotted him before they were posted. Can you?

The Best Part of a Holiday...

The ClubDes Management made our annual pilgrimage north to warmer climates this week and despite the reprise from the daily grind it provided, it’s always good to be back, or as Junior so eloquently put it “The best part of a holiday is coming home”.

We took a bit of a sabbatical away from technology this break, choosing not to take out laptops with us. We didn’t go completely cold turkey though, keeping our cell phones and iPods on us at all times, a choice which I became quite stoked with the morning I figured out how to surf the web on my mobile. Now I really can have streaming porn with me at all times.

Fortunately we were offline by choice and not because we’re Telescum customers relying on the XT network for anything, because it seems that little gem has finally gone tits up.

Which comes as no surprise to me, because not wanting to blow my own horn or nothing – I’m a lower rib (or two) removal away before I can fulfil that lifelong dream – but I did foresee it happening some time ago.

Not that it was hard to pick because there is a certain amount of inevitability about a company that fleeces such an obscene amount of money off its gullible customer base that sooner or later, they will fuck it up. A point only highlighted all the more when they recently rebranded with a ‘logo’ which my four year old niece could have drawn. And they paid how much for it?

If you’re not an XT user then you should still be alarmed; this is the company vying to be given the contract that will allow them to be the purveyor of New Zealand’s ultra fast broadband infrastructure...

I did once nip into an Internet cafe briefly (whilst away) to check a few things though and yet again I found myself seeking the answer to the unanswered question I always have in such a place; just what would they do if you cranked up a porn site? Would they kick you out or merely ask that you turned the volume down?

In the end I never tested the theory because I’m not that desperate for either porn or the need to know, but I can’t help but think that subliminally I always choose a seat with my back to the door for just the day I do.

You will be pleased to know, I am sure, that the world of many trying to look like mutton dressed as lamb in our ‘hot spots’, like Taupo, has not diminished. The place is full of Miley Cyrus wannabes checking themselves in each and every glass shop fronts and like minded young boys pretending they know just what they’d do if they were ever to see a woman – other than they’re Mum – naked.

Hastings, one of my old haunts, was no different, only scarier. The men there favour a haircut that is half mullet half minge and for some reason has to be part bleached, especially if you’re naturally dark haired. The girls, perhaps in retaliation to the insult that the aforementioned hairdo seems to make on their tastes, seem to have taken to wearing black business suit socks with everything, including short skirts and jandals. Nice.

Then there were the four or five gang prospects who took a liking to the mother-in-laws Mercedes that we were driving.

Much like the Internet cafe I was faced with a moral dilemma; keep my eye on the parked Merc whilst Junior had his hair cut whilst at the same time trying to pretend I wasn’t staring at the bastards scoping it out, or merely take them for the law abiding citizens I am sure they are and do nothing? Needless to say we moved it out of sight as soon as we were finished.

Yep, the best part of a holiday is indeed the getting home.

I Love You, Man

I don’t know about you lot, especially the ladies, but this much fussed over photo of Corporal Willie Apiata just gets my dick hard and not in a gay way, because I am straight.

I love this picture. So much so that it’s going straight into my big book of ‘Men That Make Me Feel Like a Little Girl’.

Maybe it’s the Vietnam vet in me but seeing soldiers looking right hard just gets me all moist with good memories. The government might be pissed because this picture got published but you can bet Willie himself will be quietly stoked, if ever there was a Facebook profile pic you always wanted to have amongst all the OE photos you’ve taken then this is it.

And as for making his mission all the more dangerous I ask you, is the kind of guy you would want to mess with having seen this photo? Fuck. No.

There is so much happening in this pic that it may be a little too much for the untrained eye, like yours, to see it all. Luckily I can pick it like a broken nose. Take for instance the open door on the APC behind Willie and his wingman which just screams “we might be in Afghanistan but we aren’t locking our ride for any of you fuckers. If you want to come and try and steal it then be our guest...”

I would try it on, but only so as to have my arse handed to me by Willie, but not in a gay way because I am straight.

Willie is also not wearing a helmet which just says to Osama and his lady boys “I know you poofs have snipers everywhere but I reckon you couldn’t hit the side of a barn so do your best. But just know that when you miss, I’m pointing my peace maker in your direction and pulling the trigger until it goes click, muthafucka”.

Even if a rag head did get a round on target I reckon the beard would stop it. Now I’ve seen a lot of action, having served three tours in Nam and I know when a man in the line of fire grows a beard like that then shit has gone feral. That look says to me that Willie and his men are sleeping with all three eyes open and the safeties off.

His mate might have the sharkies on but not our Willie. This also says to ‘Stan “It might be as bright as fifty bastards in this godforsaken country of yours but I like to look long and hard into the eyes of the men I skin alive with my bayonet.”

I also like the way he’s holding his rifle, halfway between ‘bad ass’ and ‘bad ass mofo’. If I was gay, which I’m not, I would definitely sleep with Corporal Apiata. Like if had to sleep with a man or the kidnappers would kill my whole family then I’d pick Willie.

I love you, man.

Another Google Moment...

No means yes, even on Google.

I Know Where All The Hot Women Are Hiding...

Once upon a time, in a galaxy not so long ago, if a single fella wanted to pick up loose women in a public place without appearing seedy he headed down to the local New World on ‘singles night', grabbed a bunch of banana’s and placed them upside down in his trolley.

Or so said an article I read in the newspaper around that time, possibly written by somebody who watched one too many Sex in the City episodes, who really knows. Nobody quiet knew what night ‘singles night’ was, but from that point on every man with a penis was down at the supermarket circulating the place with all manner of phallic shaped fruit and veg pointing upwards out of their trolleys.

Naturally most of the women who had just nipped down for some tampons and a pack of Tim Tams freaked right out after being checked out, leered at and propositioned by men with what appeared to be a telegraph cucumber down their pants. Suddenly even the most mundane of tasks was now akin to being the only girl present at a sausage fest, so the girls abandoned the supermarkets in droves leaving all the horny men to wonder just where they all went.

Well I’ve just found out where: the Garden Centre.

I like garden centres because they remind me of the Vietnam bush and whenever I’m feeling nostalgic I like to don the khakis and head down to Palmers. At first the staff there were quite concerned with my making camp amongst the perennials and jumping out at Asian shoppers, but we have now reached a compromise; I promise to conduct only recon missions whilst amongst the foliage and they don’t douse me in that freaky naughty Agent Orange like bug spray they used to subdue me the first time.

They are a lot of myths about the Vietnam bush. Thanks to Hollywood the general perception is that the place was full of walking tracks and only knee high shrubs. Not so. To fully understand how thick the shit was you would first have to imagine the bushiest minge you’ve been, or are with. Now imagine the room you’re sitting in right now full, from ceiling to floor, with that retro bush and you’re on the right track....

On my last visit to Palmers I thought I was hallucinating, that maybe I hadn’t rinsed out my fatigues after the defoliant dousing incident, because the place was wall to wall totty.

Luckily I had the blublockers on because I was able to eyeball most, if not all of them without the missus noticing. I find the best way to do this is to stand looking and discussing at something in the foreground whilst in a position that allows you to actually perv at the lovely pair of bulbs in the background. Classic move that.

Afterwards I gave it some thought it dawned on me just why young, attractive women are flocking to garden centres in droves - it’s their maternal instinct kicking in. All chicks have one; it’s only the way they channel it that differs. For the majority its kids, for some it’s pets and for others it’s gardening, hence the turnout in Palmers, which suddenly seems appropriately named, doesn’t it?

So forget about prowling the supermarket aisles for loose women fellas, tuck one of those upturned bananas down your tweeds and get down to your local garden centre because it’s getting hot and moist down there, just like a room full of thick pubes.

Check out her seedlings....humina, humina.

I Need A High Five

Why is it, do you think, that some sports, like beach volleyball and doubles tennis, require the participants to be in constant high five throwing distance? They seem to spend more time ticking each others palms then they do playing the damn game.

Now with beach volleyball I can understand, because if I was female and spending half the game staring at the hungry bum of Anna Scarlett clad in the briefest of briefs, I’d want to slap some skin as often as I could too. Not so much, mind you, if I was a fella (which I am) partnered with another fella. Then the only sausages I’d want to see touching in that particular scenario would be those on the post match BBQ...

Even when they fuck it up, they’re still throwing high fives. It’s like some psychological ritual they have to go through at the end of each point, a bit of touchy touchy, just to let you know I’m still here and I dig you in your boy briefs.

Doubles tennis is much the same. Usually it’s high fives but if a point has been ferociously contested across several shots then the adrenalin kicks in and the pair who has won the point is fisting each other in celebration. Which is brilliant when it’s female or mixed doubles but again, not so enjoyable when it’s a sausage fest.

Recently I watched some ten pin bowlers (or is that ballers?) down at the local lanes with some interest. I had taken my son and some of his mates down for something to do on a rainy day and our visit just happened to coincide with a week day league session. I was fascinated to watch just how ever competitor would ritualistically high five everybody in their foursome after each bowl, even the opposition!

From what I could gather the way the league worked you signed up, probably with some other mates who likewise didn’t get out much and you played with a different partner every time. Just quietly, by the look of some of them I think they possibly went home with a different partner every time too. It was that kind of crowd. In one lane I watched two pairs who were clearly hoping not to draw the other's car keys out of the bowl (given that they would sit miles from each other when polishing their balls), but yet still the obligatory high fives flowed as often as the pins fell.

I think it’s an inferiority complex thing. Most people play doubles in one sport or another because on they’re not very good at on their own. This is not always the case in tennis mind you where top players will often play together to a) win even more trophies, the loads of cash that comes with it and the adoration of those that love them and b) to look shit hot whilst doing it*.

But those few exceptions aside, most double ups are usually Joe Average partnered with Average Joe i.e. the famous American / Asian mixed pair of the same name. These sportsmen and women probably would have been quite successful in their own right if it not for one poignant detail of their childhood; they were Mommas boys and girls and were given hugs after every practice, game and competition, regardless of the result. Now, in the world of professional sport, they still long for that soothing touch and thus, needlessly high five or bum pat their partner even in moments when just such a gesture is not called for.

Well, either that or they fancy their partner. Bloody homo's.

*Such was the case of Anna Kournikova pairing up with Martina Hingis during the late Nineties and early Naughties. Kournikova was the most masturbated over athlete of her time but yet, quite shit at tennis. Hingis was excellent at tennis and although not hard on the eye, was often mistaken for a lezzer, so for both girls it was a win-win situation.

Not to mention for boys the world over, who spent that entire period wanking over the thought of the two making out in the showers after each match and doing unmentionable things with their tennis balls and rackets.

Or was that just me?

Moving on from the high five is the one handed bra release....yes please!

James Cameron's Legacy - Postscript

My ten year old son went and saw Avatar with the mother-in-law today, his take on the film: Averagetar.

"How was it son?"

"Okay, not the four stars everyone raves on about it being."

"Oh no? Why not"

"Well the first half hour is okay then it's like 4 hours of talking about the same thing. Boring"

"What about the 3D?"

"It's okay, I could have drawn better though."

"Really?"

"Yep and I would have drawn a lot less boobs too."

Straight from the mouth of babes.

James Cameron's Legacy

The most common question around the traps these days is, somewhat surprisingly, not “Do you fancy a bum?” but rather “Seen Avatar yet?”

Personally, I’d prefer the first.

I haven’t been to see Avatar and I won’t lie to you, I don’t plan to anytime soon. I’m not saying that I’d prefer to stare at the wall and hold my breath for two hours instead, but the thing just doesn’t interest me, even if it is full of big blue alien boobs (and kinky stuff like that usually does interest me. Enormously so).

For a start, when I first heard of it I thought ‘Avatar’ was a movie adaption of the rather cool cartoon my son sometimes watches. It isn’t (although there is a movie of that coming out) and I’m still a little pissed that I got all excited needlessly.

Secondly, the plot doesn’t interest me. From what I’ve seen of it the bulk of the money spent on the flick wasn’t on an original script. Visually it’s spectacular, so I’m told, but I’ve seen 3-D before, hell I’ve even seen 4-D (Shrek 4 @ MovieWorld, Australia) so again, nothing new there.

Which is typical James Cameron really. Sure, Terminator was blow-your-socks off visually stunning for its time, but Titanic was gayer than the volleyball scene in Top Gun and instead played the epic love story card, which is rather ironic don’t you think, given that Cameron has had five wives?

All of which makes Avatar seem to me to be a bit like the hottest girl in the room, who is also the dumbest. She’s great to look at, but there’s to be strictly no talking when you’re giving her a sneaky finger out the back and just like her, Avatar may be the first good looking 3 D film but it won’t be the last.

Avatar has had its knockers though (and I’m not just talking about blue nungas again), the Vatican hates it but then that might be due to the lack of partially clothed pubescent boys in it. The usual group who whack on about such things have proclaimed it racist, like rice and the anti-smoking lobby think that the character played by Sigourney Weaver sucking on fags the whole time, sucks.

Maybe she should have sucked on a Fishermans Friend instead?

3 D, like widescreen format, high definition and BluRay before it, is the next big thing in movies, or so we’re told. The porn industry, already the frontrunner in my book for so many things on film, like midgets, is the first to pick up on the success of Avatar and is planning to crank out streaming 3 D porn quicker than you get your pants down and the moisturiser out.

The very thought of which I love, because the increase in porn watching injuries is going to sky rocket when it goes 3 D! The reported incidents of accidental injury through one handing surfing go largely unreported these days; no one wants to admit that their chair toppled whilst it was delicately balanced on two legs as they furiously masturbated with alternate hands while trying to control the scroll function of the RedTube clip with their feet.

But those instances of self harm will go through the roof when millions of young men around the world panic, mid wank, when it looks like a big black cock is about to whack them across the forehead, or that they’re about to be drenched in a climactic facial. Not to mention the number of eye related injuries that will occur as 3 D glasses are hurriedly whipped from the head when Mum walks in on them unexpectedly.

And that, James Cameron, will be Avatar’s legacy. You wanker.

Blue boobs, as seen in Avatar.

Birth of a Mastabatorium

Last year my wife and I did what every decent couple does when the conversation eventually dries up – we started renovating. Or at least she did. I came home one day to find a glory hole (I wish) in the wall between the kitchen and the lounge and so it had began, whether I liked it or not.

I didn’t of course but then I’m a lazy bugger and my philosophy on such things is why do it yourself when there’s a good chance you can hire a bunch of Asians to do it for you?

After all, I didn’t do three consecutive tours of Vietnam for nothing and my blood, sweat and urine consumption (usually my own) should count for something! That something is meaningful employment of Asian work gangs I reckon.

But we’ve been doing it ourselves and those that tell you that renovating will bring you closer together as a couple are fucking liars. Right from the get go you’ll be arguing about grandiose plans, colour schemes and just who is going to do what. Then there’s the little game you’ll both start playing called ‘I’ll do my share whilst you’re relaxing after a hard day’s work, so as to lay down a massive guilt trip on your lazy ass”.

Last week Mrs ClubDes kicked it up a notch by suggesting we gut the spare room and do it up as a games room, a haven for us boys to play all manner of electronic gaming consoles and shit. Straight away my guard was up because I’m usually not allowed to play the likes of the Playstation at all in any case, so there had to be a catch somewhere. But, to my wife’s credit, there wasn’t.

So it has been rollers and sandpaper from dusk till dawn and like a couple of gay design boys we have been at; painting, pulling carpet and hanging new blinds. The hanging shelf for the said gaming consoles and TV has been mounted and finally I will have a wall, other than the toilet, to hang my most awesome Matrix posters up on. Fuck yeah.

The finished result is right lush and I’m happy to admit that when all the dust settles on such things you can’t help but have a sense of pride in such things. The missus is coining the finished article the ‘entertainment studio’, which sounds like a bloody posh brothel if you ask me.

Besides, you and I both know that just such a room is befitting of just one title and thus, I decree the ClubDes Mastabatorium open for business.

Bring your PS2 controllers fellas and best pair of boxers to lounge around in; I’m putting on the biscuits for afterwards.

I give it three weeks max, before this happens...

Silly Bitch of the Week

Now if there’s one thing we love here at ClubDes it’s an active sheila and in fact many of our Girls of the Week have been sports women.

But we would be the first to admit that to get to the top of the sporting chain you have to be a special kind of character and it can be a fine line between being a highly focused athlete and a bona fide nut bar, as optimised by Australian athlete Jana Pittman / Rawlinson, our first ever official Silly Bitch of the Week.

Jana can be Googled under the two names because she married her coach of two years in 2006. They had a son together not long afterwards and stayed together for three years before separating and divorcing in 2009, at which point she reverted back to her maiden name. She had some other geezer coach her for a short while too before deciding that she wanted her ex back and they are now this year, officially to remarry, but only after the couple finalise their divorce to annul their first marriage.

But that’s just drama number one.

Pittman is a controversial character in Oz on account of a running feud she had with fellow competitor Tamsyn Lewis during 2006. Both are 400 & 800 metre runners and in the trials for 2006 Commonwealth Games Pittman declared ‘she had no competition’ after winning her heat. Understandably that pissed Lewis right off and she promptly thrashed Pittman in the final, as did several other runners leaving the silly bitch to finish dead set last.

The hissy fits continued later that year in the Commonwealth Games proper where both girls ran together in the 400 metres relay team amid all the name calling and cat fighting between the two. Aussie finished second to England but were later handed the gold after England were disqualified for a baton change violation. Tamsyn Lewis had pointed out to the judges the violation and it was that which had led to the disqualification.

Now Pittman, the silly bitch, was planning to move to England after the Games on account of all the negative publicity she was getting in Aussie after the trials, so naturally she was torn between winning gold and kissing the English arse of the athletes she would no doubt train with when she got there. She later wrote a letter of apology to the English team and offered her gold medal to them. Jana blamed the disqualification of England solely on Lewis, forgetting that she had helped lead the protest over the baton change. Mr Rawlinson, it should probably be noted, is English too.

Once the news broke that pretty much set the scene for the next few years where not surprisingly, she wasn’t high on the Christmas card list of many Australian sports fans and that alone would be enough to have had her win this new award of ours, Silly Bitch of the Week.

But wait, there’s more.

She was in the news again this week after word got out that she had just had her breast implants removed, because she found they inhibited her running in the lead up to the 2012 Olympic Games. Another fine career choice it would seem, to have had them in the first place, especially afetr she had accused Lewis of being more interested in a career as a ‘bikini babe’ after having appeared in an FHM spread.

But lovers of skinny, athletic chicks with big nungas should not despair; she has said that she would consider having her breasts augmented again once her athletic career was over.

Maybe then she can just get on with being a silly bitch.

Jana, possibly post augmentation but we can't really tell either way.

Hamiltron - City of the Future?

Some people say that Hamiltron, City of the Future, gets a bad wrap; that it's not really a town of petrol heads, piss heads and rednecks.

But I beg to differ and every person featured in this TV3 News clip is all the proof you'll need to see why....

Good times in the banjo state.

Another List...

Ten plus one things that aren’t really as cool as you’d like to think they are:

1. Pictures of your heavily pregnant wife’s belly
2. Pictures of your kids
3. Pictures of your pets
4. Pictures of your overseas holiday
5. Letting your pre-teen daughter dress provocatively
6. Doing the fingers in a photo
7. Your DVD collection
8. Your favourite band
9. Your dress sense
10. Your car
11. You

Of course nobody will tell you this; it’s only something you’ll work out over time.

Best of luck with that.

My cat, Adolf, is quite cool.

Six Degrees of New Zealand

New Zealand is a relatively small place. Not like an orange small, but in terms of land mass we’re a pubescent boy amongst the big countries of the world.

Despite our size we have a lot going for us and do a lot of cool things that get us noticed on the world stage. We do some pretty fucken idiotic things too but on the whole, we’re known more for positive reasons and having small man syndrome is not one of them.

So it really gets on my tits when the media outlets in this country feel they have to create a New Zealand link to already newsworthy stories so as to increase the appeal, like we’re all a bunch of idiots or something. We may be miles away from everyone else but I take it personally when it’s implied we’re backwards because of it.

Some stories do have a definitive New Zealand link i.e. they involve a Kiwi, but it gets a bit ridiculous when we start referencing the fact that someone once holidayed here or accidentally pointed to us on a globe thinking that we were Australia. What the fuck does that have to do with the price of fish and does it make the story any the more interesting? No. No it does not.

It’s almost as if every news story that comes in on the wires is given the Six Degrees of New Zealand treatment. That must be what all those clowns in the newsroom behind the presenters spend all their time doing: “Right, here we have a story about some geezer who’s just gunned down 12 kids in a McDonald's over in Finland. What’s the link? Oh I’ve got it; we have McDonald's in New Zealand! And kids! And geezers!”

But let’s not solely blame the news organisations for this thinly veiled narcissism. The latest series of World Vision ads are laying it on nice and thick too with the spokesperson, Petra Bagust, exclaiming that their work in whatever rice paddy field she’s standing in is really a NZ problem and we need to take ownership of it. Excuse me?

I’m all for helping to end poverty in third world countries too but the emotional blackmail is not going to work on me, not when it’s pushed by a woman who made her name by being the oldest virgin on telly. Oh and to complete the look she’s taken her daughter with her on tour and introduced her to the world of being a B Grade celebrity in this country, like she had a choice.

Maybe I’m a cynical prick but I can’t wait for the day the news breaks that the younger Bagust accidentally-on-purpose lets slip that, just like Mum, she shagged her boyfriend in the toilets on the plane too. We love that shit in New Zealand. Maybe she’ll hook up with Millie Holmes too and they can share war stories on just how interesting life can be when you’re the daughter of a B grader.

Now that would be an easy one degree of New Zealand news story wouldn’t it?

Another Successful Facebook Story...

My sister and I caught up at our Grandfather's funeral the other week. It was such an emotional time everyone that there who could, promptly went home and added all the other family members as friends on Facebook.

Those that couldn't went back to the rest home and had their incontinence pads changed.

Now my sister and I are not so close that we have long warm showers together, but I would have expected to be higher up the 'look up on FB' list than number 114! After all blood is thicker than water as they say...

Not that I'm bitter about it but I did take the liberty of sending some very candid Polaroids of myself to all her attractive friends (male and female).

That'll learn her.