Sex Ed; Condoms, Cucumbers & Lesbians

I know we’re all trying to save the environment and shit by car pooling, but seeing two dudes sharing a motorbike just makes me uncomfortable. Reach around anyone?

Sex Ed at school made everybody uncomfortable. I was reminded of this recently when Junior announced his class was going through puberty. The lesson, not the body changing experience, although in some cases of kids with advanced development - and I have seen them with my own eyes - I suspect it’s both.

Even the act of teaching it has changed. Why just the other day his class had to come up with as many swear words as they know for male and female genitalia. Now that’s my kind of lesson.

They even have homework; both Junior and my niece – the football prodigy – have to do an assignment on puberty and the changes it brings. Back in the day they never set us homework for sex ed because we had our own; masturbation and we all got an ‘A’.

Which reminds me of the time Maxi got caught wanking by his Nana. The poor old thing had a stroke. Maxi was surprised to find she had such a soft hand...

Things have definitely changed since our day. Our sex ed consisted of a couple of lesbian P.E teachers showing us cutaways of the various bits on an A3 bit of paper and that was it. Quite why it had to be the lesbian teachers that took the co-ed class I never did quite understand; it just made us fellas laugh the whole time and the girls awkward as Ms Man spoke with some intensity about the vagina.

The diagrams, although incredibly accurate, were quite useless. The penis for example, was drawn at such an angle it made us boys wonder if that something was not quite right with our equipment.

Now I don’t make a habit of checking out cock or nothing, but I’ve never ever seen one with quite the same bent arm action going on as those 1950s diagrams would have you believe.

As for the female reproductive system, well, it could have been a map of the solar system for all we knew. None of the heavily embellished sexual stories from our older brothers or friends mentioned anything about it looking like the Klingon Bird of Prey, for chrissakes.

I realise now of course that such horrendous diagrams were most likely to have been drawn by a celibate monk so as to scare young minds off ever contemplating trying to get past the undies. Oh how he must have dreamed of the day that lesbian P.E teachers unleashed them on a frightened student faculty...

A few years later and, conveniently after we had all left college, Sex Ed suddenly became hands on.

Young girls were given condoms to pull on over all matter of root vegetable, usually cucumbers which just ruined it for fucken everybody. From that point on sexually awakened girls expected to find a cucumber each and every time, whilst boys spent their nights weeping uncontrollably with the impending inadequacy that moment would bring.

My dear friend and daughter I never had, Sam, a college girl, tells me that sex ed at her age is still very much hands on but thankfully there’s not a cucumber in sight. Hers is a single sex school which at least makes the whole process easier; at least there aren’t half a class room of boys feeling inadequate because their penis doesn’t resemble a tap. Or a cucumber.

Still, I guess I can be thankful that schools make an attempt at least because let’s be honest, no teen in their right mind is going to ask Mum and Dad about it so that leaves only avenue, porn and as I’ve mentioned several times before, that particular medium has a lot to answer for in mis-educating young male minds.

On second thoughts, maybe a couple of lesbians and a cucumber aren’t so bad after all.

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?

Coloured Tampons? WTF?!

Sometimes I look at my two cats and wish that they were big enough for me to mount and ride them, like He-Man did his. Just imagine getting around the place astride a giant cat. That'd be awesome.

Speaking of giant pussies, do you remember sitting and giggling through your first Sex Ed class back in intermediate or college? It all went so well until the moment they whipped out the visual aides and every guy sat there absolutely terrified from the moment the huge floating vagina appeared on the teachers flip chart board. Geez it was like something out of Star Trek wasn’t it? And if that wasn’t scary enough it was soon followed by a giant flaccid dickie which was so big it left most of us boys feeling deeply inadequate for several years after having seen it.

I thought of this the other day when I saw an ad for coloured tampons. WTF Ladies? Coloured tampons seem to me to be a tad unnecessary; I mean they're all going to come out the same colour aren't they, so what’s the point? Do you really want to be shoving something dyed bright orange up the ol’ sprinkler, because last time I heard coloured food dye was great for causing hyper activity in kids but shit all else and yet, here you are with a whole box of coloured goodness in your hand?!

Its all part of a disturbing trend I’ve noticed that is the making traditionally what was always unnoticeable – women’s sanitary items - highly ‘in your face can’t bloody ignore it’ noticeable. I wonder if its women who come up with these marketing ideas for other women or is it fellas? Is it some bizarre reverse psychology thing where chicks are trying to be liberated by giving other girlies the option of coloured over just plain white, or is it just guys having a laugh?

Like the three stack able boxes of the damn things on the window sill in our carzie. And just in case you haven’t noticed them, some genius has decided they look best when all brightly coloured in ‘funky retro patterns’. Now lets get one thing straight right now; the only time tampons come close to being mentioned in the same sentence as the word ‘funk’ is when somebody wants to refer to the smell an old used one that just won’t flush is making. And I’ve seen a lot of those.

Right up till the day I went flatting I had never really seen a tampon. I'm sure my sister must have had them but she was very discreet, unlike my first few female flatmates who seemed to take great delight in leaving theirs un-flushed most of the time. I did the same with my cables admittedly, so maybe it was their way of saying ‘thanks for that’.

See I lived a fairly sheltered life growing up and the only naked women I saw for a long time was my mother - she of the retro beaver - and my sister who, like all sisters do, started bathing alone from about the age of ten. I did wonder why for many a year until the memorable day she attempted the streak past my bedroom at bath time only to trip outside my door. That was the day I discovered, much to her embarrassment and to my surprise, that my little sister was little no more. She was my mothers daughter too, of that there could be no doubt, for she too had a huge minge-on. But I try not to think about it.

We had a couple of Martina Navratilova’s take us for Sex Ed too. Real vintage lezzos. Both were married but they were as camp as a row of tents and everyone knew it. Early on in the piece all the girls were taken away to a separate room for a 40 minute period whilst we were left to discuss the fertility merits of boxers vs. tightey whiteys with Ms Man. When the girls finally came back into the room there was a definite mood change in the air and whatever was said whilst they’re gone none of us fellas ever did find out, but we never scored so much as a sneaky feel off any the girls for a good six weeks.

Still, it could have been worse I suppose. I could’ve gone to an all boys school like DG Macca where they only got to see the one flip board diagram in their Sex Ed class and it wasnt the giant set of beef curtains either....

Angry Old Men, Alsatians & Pink Triangles

The Ten tenors are coming to town I notice. First question then; Why the fark is there ten of them?

Admittedly my working knowledge of opera is akin to that of my working knowledge of vaginal thrush – I’d rather not know - but ten fat buggers all singing the same song sounds a lot like a ‘choir’ to me. Three or four fat buggers singing the same song I can somewhat understand, but ten reads a little too much like ‘ten reasons to hike the price up’ as far as I’m concerned.

Anyhoo, my lungs have this week decided to revert back to the capacity of a 90 year old man and I was due to be back in Chateau Capital Coast Health today and not writing this. My specialist was all ready to admit me after our latest consultation until he was told by the Bed Manager that there was a "Code Red" in the hospital at that time. Given that the Westpac helicopter was landing on the roof fortuitously at that moment I half expected to see the Vietcong making their way up the hallway right then and there but no - apparently a "Code Red" in the hospital means 'we have no beds free’ – and not Charlie has broken through the wire.

So I was sent home with a fistful of oral antibiotics and strict instructions to rest until someone karks it or leaves when I can then have their bed. I'd prefer it was the latter really but when you’ve suffered the ignominy of being rejected by a taxpayer funded public hospital – a bigger social burn than being dumped on Facebook – I guess you take what you get. I reckon the local homeless shelter would have had a bed free last night, so what does that say about our health care system aye?

But I’m not too fussed really, I prefer a few days on the couch at home with a big bag of Twisties than I do a few days in a hospital room doing the same. It’s the whole white linen thing really because Twistie prints seldom come out in the wash when on white linen. Incidentally I only ever buy Twisties for the articles. Funny, my wife reckons that I should refrain from writing about wanking all the time because it makes me out to sound like I’m a wanker. Which it would really wouldn’t it? I did suggest that to alleviate this perception I could write about her wanking me off but the response I got was lukewarm to say the least.

I had already decided that seeing as my body was playing old again I would too. This visit – once the hospital hits Code Amber and Charlie has been forced back to the tree line – will be my ‘angry’ visit. I’ve done the ‘happy’ and the ‘philosophical’ visit so the next step in the process is the ‘angry’ visit. I plan to answer every question with an annoyed answer of “whatever". I’m planning to blame everything, including the fact that I’ve soiled myself again, despite being perfectly capable of making my way to the toilet, on the Japs and the young people of today. I plan to cross the road at inappropriate places at inappropriate times. I plan to have the volume setting on my TV always at its loudest despite appearing to be asleep. I also intend making salacious comments to anything in a skirt - but then I already do that anyway.

Interesting isn’t it that you can do antibiotics orally and intravenously but not anally? Just goes to show that even the medical community doesn’t think you should be whacking anything up there, except maybe a suppository which is used to make you poop. Nuff said I reckon.

Speaking of bum fun, I had to laugh when seeing the one of the local lesbian councillors on TV last night complaining about the named and shamed taggers who have to wear pink vests when cleaning up their artwork. She reckoned that because ‘pink’ is commonly associated with being ‘gay’ then it’s like gays having to wear pink triangles back in Nazi Germany. News to me because I thought pink was a Tom Cruise colour and that he invented it?

Now you know that anytime someone starts comparing something back to the Holocaust that they do so because they don’t actually have a case to argue and they’re looking for the sympathy vote. Not that I’m gay bashing the councillor, but I know several lesbians whom I’m pretty sure would have not made the same link as her and I’m pretty sure that even now the comparison has been made, probably still don’t give a shit.

Now German Shepherds had it really tough after the war. People even called them Alsatians so as not to even refer to them as being German! Heaven forbid any post war Alsatian that followed its instinct and sniffed the crutch of some unsuspecting passer by without being portrayed as some testicle hungry, foaming at the mouth, devils dog named Kahn or Gunga, being held back by some 6 foot four foaming at the mouth Aryan psychopath named Kahn or Gunga. Thankfully that all changed in the sixties and seventies when ‘The Littlest Hobo’ TV shows were on air and everybody forgot why they were angry with German Shepherds in the first place.

Any way, make the taggers clean their crap up whilst in the nude I reckon. Their handiwork always looks as unattractive as I imagine a pale, semi-naked homie clad only in a pink vest would look like.

The youth of today huh?! They’re as bad as those bloody Japs!