Sugar, Sugar, You’re My Daddy

Oh jeez I’ve craving for my issue.

My very own issue.

My dependency on sugar has escalated to the point where it being moulded into a typical food format; such as a chocolate bar or a cupcake; really is too indirect for me.

I’m close to putting it straight in the eye; I promise.

Honey is something I spend my time doing.

And, guys, I don’t even use cutlery.

And, guys, I avoid involving bread.

And, fellas, I can’t stop eating honey.

Aaaaaahhhhhhh fuck it.

There’s a woman in the staffroom having a womanly issue. She’s teary and hot; the sort of occasion where women gather around and I am despised because by being in the same workplace I’m too proximate. With my manly genitals in tow.

I’m feeling like I’ve done something.

Overtones of “Bloody men” are emanating from them all.

A crowd’s gathering; the government says to avoid these by women just keep it right up.

It’s not my fault you’re menstruating; if you didn’t want that you should’ve gotten yourself pregnant.

Chocolate is going to be applied here. Liberally. I can tell.

And that’s my fault; don’t’cha know?

It’s honestly as if women don’t know that men can tell when a woman’s chemical imbalance is so volatile that we feel urged to wear a helmet and keep our knees together.

Lay your egg at home.

I’d would genuinely take the economically devastating consequences of an egg-laying woman staying at home and returning only with an empty vagina.

Of course I’m being facetious; I’m not really that sexist.

I’m just being funny; like only men can be because women aren’t.

Joking, gals.

I’m not so sure about many of these arguments regarding gender equality.

Obviously men are bigger and women are better at giving birth; but every point after that I feel falls by the wayside.

Sexism could have a place in society; but we’ve all got too much to be getting on with, especially each other (hey – give peace a chance; siblings).

Sexism only has one place in two arenas and they are physical sports and humour.

The chances are that Mary didn’t match up to Joseph when it came to lifting the lumber, but she didn’t even need him when it came to bursting forth a Messiah.

Not that any of this is true, by the general idea carries over.

For, yeigh, there shall be-eth cases in which a Mary can lift more lumber than some spindly-Joe, and they’ll be a Joseph out there, someday, who is so supreme at multi-tasking; he can raise for you the most charming of Messiahs and even carve up a really rather fancy cross to nail him to in a thirty three years time.

Actually; that’s…Yeigh, some dayeth, the word shall come forth, and that word shall verily be “Semen”.

I truly dislike the insinuation that mothers are the cradle of life.

Only my wife is privy to the mysterious contents of my ball sack and she shalleth voucheth that, YEIGH, that semen is surely mighty.

Just try, darling, just try to have a baby without the involvement of a man, and his goods, and his very goods.

You, sister, can give birth, but I can paint the walls with what I’ve got to give – now thats miraculous.

The physical side of sexism is altogether an accepted state of affairs.

Women, the best of them, can be just as tactically sound as a man in military conditions. But when it comes to a punch-up; Mother-Mary’s getting knocked the fuck out.

Take myself.

I could walk into a UFC ring to engage in combat with a mediocre trained female fighter and she would, within a minute, have me pleading for her to get her knee out of my mouth (or perhaps to leave it in there; but those are my issues and not for discussing right now).

Take that same UFC fighter and give her an absolute, fledgling, greenie, newby trained fighter to get punchy with and he will take her face away with him.

The same premise carries over to other sports.

World-Football. I’ve seen those female footballers play and I’ve been highly impressed; in particularly by their set-pieces and ball skills.

Put a top-flight female football team against a lower-league men’s division and those talented young ladies are going to need the rest of their careers’ off to get over the bruising.

And to think I started this Write about my sugar intake. Remember my issue?

That’s something female sports stars can look forward to as long as chaps like myself are sucking that sugar down, gradually becoming a meatball that can be undone by a sudden need to stand up quickly.

That’s a thought, oh my yes it is!

So, female footballers have altered their game to become less physical and more tactic-based.

Even blind folk play football, and their game is altered to cope with this and use their skills best.

Why not a fat-chap league?

A game in which pace is a matter of the fastest waddler.

Shooting can remain the same, set-pieces the same too, along with passing and skills.

It just means that goalies stand a better chance owing to sheer mass and the defensive wall for free kicks is going to have to have one hell of a curve ball put around it to make it past.

The downside would have to be that these people are supposed to be role models. And role models shouldn’t be named as such because they continue to roll down-pitch owing to a particularly influential tackle.

Ball-shaped men are not applicable; it would seem.

I’ve got a radical new diet to hopefully ensure this sport never sees the light of day.

It involves more water than previously and far less of eating fistfuls of honey raw from the jar (as was my former method of getting by in the evenings).

But I’ve run out of time; so I’ll tell you on the next Write.

See you tomorrow,

Sam

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What to Do With a Problem Like “Ghostbusters”

I was one of those chaps born in 1989, there are a few of us, and being one of those chaps I was perhaps too young to appreciate Ghostbuster when it came out in 1984.

Years later, when I was essentially an adult, I watched it again and found it to be…not that great.

The humour was a little meagre for my tastes, and the nerd/slacker focus was a tad uninspiring too. However, I found the creativity of the film, in ripping open the subject matter of nerds/slackers meet ghosts/history/NYC/paying the rent was tremendous; and this is the essence of the original Ghostbusters that the remake should have harnessed, rather than a mere brand name.

The film has received nastiness, nastiness inspired by revenge.

People are angry, but why so angry? Crappy films and crappier re-makes have been made and re-made before.

What’s the issue here?

Here’s the issue here.

Hurting Those Who Gave the Original Film the Prestige Sony’s Cashing in On

If you fuck with a cult film, you’re going to hurt people on an individual level if you don’t have the best intentions.

For a cult film to become so, like Ghostbusters, it requires that audience member to put a degree of themselves into their passion for it, in the same way anyone comes to love any project of theirs. So when someone (Sony) takes it and twists it, not for the better, you’re taking and warping a degree of that individual and in many cases it is their childhood or loner-hood.

Films can go from neglected to beloved by the power of the many individuals who come to love it and espouse its qualities and worth; best example being “The Big Lebowski” (my favourite).

The women and men currently in their 30s, those for whom “Ghostbusters” holds nostalgic and personal value, are smarting from not only the poor quality of the film but more so because now Sony has done it to them.

Want to know why they’re pissed off? Google “Ghostbusters” – see what comes up.

The Gender Issue

It wasn’t an issue.

It was an issue for one group only.

Sony.

The audience didn’t care that it starred women, only the studio did. You can’t take a beloved film and have 1 new addition, otherwise it is simply cashing in on the former’s reputation.

“Ghostbusters…This Time With Women!” didn’t need to be made. The studio’s highlighting that this time it’s got women as stars is not a selling point – it shouldn’t matter if it is men or women starring; gender of the cast should not be a selling point.

Doing this only goes to offend the nostalgia fans, the feminist movement and the audience at large because it’s meagre and a pointless transformation.

Gender should not be a selling point and the studio have insisted to the contrary.

By all means, make a film starring solely women, but don’t try to make that the reason we should go and see it. That’s shoddy marketing and an insult to us all.

The best intentions for a film like this should be that you wish to go by the old mantra: similar but different.

You’ll want to modernise the film in terms of what will gain 21st century audience attention span along with 21C humour, whilst also keeping the essence of the original.

In this case study, Sony did not have the best intentions and sought only to cash in on the brand name’s prestige and inject minimal creative additions: gender (ir)relevance and crappy 21C fad humour.

Awkwardness is not funny, as the abysmal yet sadly typical trailer demonstrates.

Just look at the work of the great comic Sasha Baron Cohen, who’s “Borat” and “Bruno” exemplified tremendously that awkwardness is an eventuality – not an objective – of comedy. If it doesn’t come from a funny premise, it is merely awkward and that’s not worth anyone’s time. Cohen’s characters always came from a humorous premise and this is why the films were funny, whilst their hallmarks of awkwardness were an eventuality – not the objective and not the selling point.

The Victims

Something to be born in mind here are those involved who are not to blame for Sony’s actions.

A good cast of actors, each with a promising future and dedication to their craft have been hoodwinked into believing this is going to be a quality product and have likely given this project their all, as have all those many names in the final credits of the production.

You can only do what you can do with a shitty script, poor direction and production, especially with an awful overseer in Sony.

They don’t deserve hate.

Given better projects, they’ll likely shine and we should wish them all well.

They will have learnt this bitter lesson.

Sony will probably do this again, as will other studios.

What to Do Now

Well, if you liked the original Ghostbusters, watch it again, laugh and remember, alone or with buddies.

The original film, or rather the “Good Ghostbusters” hasn’t gone anywhere.

It’s still there in all its 1984 glory.

So be sure your kids see that one first, and perhaps see what you can do to get the “Good Ghostbusters” higher in the Google rankings.

Go see the next Melissa McCarthy film, the next Paul Feig picture and even the next Sony release.

The might be good, might be horrendous, might be great. You’ll never know unless you go see it and give it a chance. If it’s rubbish; go home and watch the “Good Ghostbusters” again.

Let it fade into obscurity, just as this film shall, and relax.

Everything’s ok.

Jeez, I don’t like either of them anyway.

Sam


Women And Begetting.

Women are women. You might have noticed.

What aspects of these creatures are we all to consider as items of biological personality worth considering?

Things to be enjoyed and things to be remembered- in case they turn and gang up on you. These things follow. They are numerical, so I hope you enjoy that.

1. There is nothing quite like holding, or being held, by a woman. You can set yourself right into that zone of physical emotion that takes over when it comes simply to a pair of thin but unrelenting arms being around you. This can be accomplished by hugging a bloke as well- but as we know, when it comes to physical contact, and especially when it comes to women, females are far more preferable in terms of being appropriately lumpy. Men are inappropriately lumpy- the opinion of many.

Then we have the flavour of females. The sheer smack of hormones from one of those ‘whiffable’ beauties can send you overboard and inside out- both of which are admirable traits in a man thoroughly using a woman he should.

In this same vein we have the flavour of either pair of lips. The upper’s are focused around the sensation of touch (touching all over what you have been brave enough to ask them to) and the appearance. Making a woman do that smiling thing with those upper lips of hers- it makes you imitate with a compulsion that denies you your supposed intelligence and reminds only of the duo facts: that you are barely beyond a childish ape, and you are making this woman.

As for the lower lips- we all know about them. If you don’t- I can only recommend it.

I want to give those lower lips a medal, you would too. And the smell…is tremendous. There is nothing like the flavour of fanny to be promised to you for the end of the day. Penetration is the ultimate reward for a hard day’s work. Get into it and it’s hard to stop thrusting. The flavour is undoubtedly meaty, but there’s not much that can be done about that. If anything- it’s of benefit to the nostrils, the meat being sweet and the presence of that smell so close to your nostrils only suggests that the proximity to your own genitals is favourable.

That feeling…dear sweet heavens above…that feeling. It has been widely noted that the feel of a woman is the inspiration that makes us (being the men of mankind) do anything. You can even name it- anything you can name is something we’re prepared to do.

I like to refer to it as: ‘The Reason’.

It feels like you’re back to the place you’ve been trying to get to since you opened your eyes, and it feels like that in your penis. And it feels like that in your hair. It feels like that in your teeth and your hips. In your finger-tips and your heart and lungs and toes. It feels like…as I’ve said…’The Reason’.

I recommend it.

2. I was once standing directly between two women that were defending their children from one another.

It was stunning- I have never been so impressed. You could see the hormones steaming off of them in the cold air of the day. I felt like I was…just a male, caught in between.

You see, one of the children has slapped the offspring of the other woman on the play equipment at a local park. The mother of she-who-was-slapped made a point of approaching the child so as to scare the shit out of him to ensure this wouldn’t happen again, at which point the mother of the ‘slappee’ intercepted and then the literal finger-pointing began. And the screeching.

Being male, whatever that might mean, I made my way over to intercept, and failed the fuck out of it. I arrived as the screeching was impressive enough to make me go all meek. Both were very ready to kill and die as their instincts kicked in and the power of mildly-loud speech fled too. I think they would’ve been ready to eat each other as well. It seemed natural.

So, to avoid a fight by the mothers in front of their children, I simply stood between them and encouraged them to laugh at the hilarity of the situation. Neither conceded until I was eventually firm (and sweet-Jesus was I firm) and sent one off in the other direction.

As I turned back to the remaining mother, I realised she was pointing at me. With her finger. Screaming. I also realised that my knees were touching.

There is nothing like being told off by a woman. Particularly a mother. Because they know that they can wither you down to the raisin that you are whilst you cower in respect of their grapey-self. What comes next is their reasons for why they’re good at this. They have to be.

3. Women are a people living in constant fear, or at least acknowledgement of, of being ‘socially defeated’ by a male.

You see, men are bigger and stronger than their female counterparts. Their hands are larger, with a denser skeleton, a superb (comparatively) reaction time and a two instincts that are far more intimidating than we men care to consider.

The first instinct of men is to not get beaten down. Therefore, we are somewhat naturally able to beat the good-grief out of most things. We know how to hurt, and we will keep trying until we know how to.

The second instinct is to occupy women. To take them, have them, grip them tightly…to own them in quantity.

These two instinct are frightening. The first instinct scares us all, man fears man, woman fears man. The second instinct is one that men accept as an aspect of their nature, whilst for women- it makes them walk home in the dark quickly, a slight presence of fear being forever there.

Imagine, fellas, that half the species out there was bigger than you, with an obvious instinct to defeat and kill whatever is defeat-able and kill-able. And that you were one of those things that was defeat-able and kill-able, you will really, really appreciate just how rape-able you are. The guys out there that might have had no choice in who or what touched them might understand this.

Women are a people frightened. This needs to be remembered. Particularly when it comes to high-heels.

4. Heels are the female phallus, simply beneath the sole (it’s wordplay. You should know that).

As we know woman are a people tormented, not by the fact that they are small and weak, but rather more because they are smaller and weaker than their counter-parts: mankind.

Second-fiddle is a literal place to be throughout the history of womankind. The physical reasons for this have been discussed, so now we encounter the means for women to deal with this problem.

Largely, this means high-heels. Those extra few inches make a massive difference when you are required to look a man in the eye. We don’t discuss it, but we all know that the few inches difference between two opponents means something. Even when it doesn’t come down to blows, the sociological meaning of those inches is that (if you are taller): “I am the superior- I am the larger”, whereas if you’re…petit: “You are the larger, I am petit. Congrats on your success”.

So, those meaningful inches enable women in boardrooms and staffrooms and in all places of business to look a man in the eye and therefore- be equal. At least in terms of confrontation occurring in the fancy form of conversation.

Not entirely equal (and therefore, I suppose, not technically…equal) but it makes an enormous difference.

I have worked with women my entire life and if you have too then you might not have realised that nigh-on every single woman you encounter is in fact an inch or two shorter than you have happily presumed. Their height is a lie, and you fell for it. You mug.

You had no idea that the average woman is probably actually a great deal smaller than you. She has altered her appearance to change your perception of her, and more importantly, her perception of herself.

Women have crafted this tool for themselves to promote their capabilities in the dialect of eye-contact. By making themselves the same height as men, or at least slightly less short, they have been making themselves a presence physically considered in a different format than previously.

Previously they were considered as legs, bosoms, backsides and lovely long hair.

Now they are considered as something that might tower over you when pissed off- something that is unpleasant to collide with, not just out of manners, but out of the sheer mass being unfavourable to meet at speed.

Height-via-heels makes you think about that. Hair does not. Hair makes you think about one of the things covered in ‘Point 1’…something to grip.

5. Big Hair is just tremendous to have tumbling down a woman’s back, poofed up around her head and neck and tickling the light fixtures of whatever room they’re in. Big Hair. I want to get me some. So do you.

For me, Big Hair is an interesting subject as it is a cross between the high-heeled phallus effect that women use to become physically imposing and the simple suggestion of something so sexy that most men have no option but to achieve erection and have it stay with them for several days. Big Hair- visual viagra.

Women are then, following the sheer sexual power that such body parts and persona have on a man, able to walk away. And so these men, although they might be ‘with-boner’; they are very, very lonely. With a boner.

Making a man lonely with an erection is the greatest power that a woman can have. It is this power than makes a man go to work in the hope that the sensation might leave him and that the pleasure of ‘Point 1’ might arrive- all over him.

This is power far beyond what a fist can do.

This is the power of the species- controlling how we make more of them.

6. Babies seem to have quite a bit of pull in this world.

They seem to have their own power that overcomes all that a man and a woman can offer. Indeed- it is what makes a man and a woman offer all that they can.

But if you fuck with a guy’s car, his collection of albums or his mother- you can be sure that you’ve crossed a line.

You don’t really have this with women. The only example that women have of this, aside from if you try to tackle their man-friend, is if you try to take/eat their children.

Now this obviously this tracks back to ‘Point 2’ but I want to address something else in link with it.

Women…want…children. In the same way that men feel that perpetual need to go about the means of procreation, women feel the need to have a baby. And when they’ve had that baby- they will smell it and be happy.

You, being merely male, are forgotten about- you were only the means, now you are creep that is never going to be good enough for her children, because nothing is going to be good enough for her children. This is a good mother.

As a man, you are like everything else that seemed lusty at the time of sex, and afterwards seems kind of gross. A discarded condom, puddles of semen gone awry in its aim, and little curly hairs. You rank amongst these now and- no- it isn’t fair. That’s possibly why you have that need to move on and go about sexing the women you encounter.

What is my point?

7. The point of this all is that as a man- you are doomed to females and doomed to lack of females.

They are the entire purpose of you being here. Just as there would be no children without parents- there would be no men without women- and indeed vice-versa.

As I said before, women are women and that is fine. There really is little we can do about that and really there is not much that we should do about that.

All you have to remember is that their smell is hypnotising, their gravitas is undeniable, their fury is unmatchable even by the sun, their maternal instinct is final, they are smaller than you think and they are frightened, they might have big hair for you to look forward to, and they feel…just like a woman.

I hate them because I love them so much- fairly much the definition and a great way to end this article.

What all these aspects beget is one of those feelings that seems eternal from this side of the clock. It is some kind of love and some kind of nature molten together into this female character and body which gives us a reason to be here, rather than an excuse.

Women, begetting and what women beget- it’s a heck of a thing to stand and enjoy.

Sam