Oh I Could Just Eat You Up

Posted: April 18, 2017 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty., culture, Uncategorized, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I want to eat my wife’s legs.

It comes from a place of love, I can assure you of that, though there is also a chance some small percentage of inspiration comes from a small breakfast.

We have an agreement, you see, in which, as our hearts, lives and bank accounts have become entwined, as have our shared ownership of body parts.

Those are OUR bosoms and that is OUR foreskin, so on and so very much forth.

There are limbs and sundry which have special ownership, however, such as my ready greediness for my wife’s legs.

I’m not sure why, but as time has passed in our whirlwind of passionate going-steadiness, my mouth has passed from open mouthed awe at my wife’s physical form (along with the very decent form of being eager to involve me upon it) to closed mouthedness – with teeth bitten down and much attempted chewing upon a choice buttock.

Probably just arousal, though I feel sure there are connotations of good old cannabalistic adoration…eating the hearts of one’s enemies can only fall more pale to the good etiquette of eating that of a lover’s, whilst I am also confident it’s simple good forward thinking.

Plane crashes were an awfully ‘2016’ thing to occur, but this year might decide to replicate with me dangerously strapped in to my seat.

I can envisage plowing down, cockpit first into the scorched ground of Saharan desert, peanuts and hostesses flying every which way, before blacking out holding my wife’s hand.

Coming to, still with a hand to hold but no wife in sight, I would eventually come about to find her, and seeing this am overcome by grief and an attack of the munchies.

From then on it’s something to chew over whilst considering my future in canabalism.

Of course, this is all nonsense.

Whilst I do encounter a peculiar urge to nibble upon my wife’s legs when I stumble upon a glimpse of them, I don’t want eat my wife.

Perhaps I should simply eat a trifle more (as two trifles evidently isn’t enough…actually, please help me with my trifle habit) prior to our bath time.

This being said, I still do have a degree of autonomy of regions of my Mrs.

We’ve agreed, I get her thighs, whilst my forehead is all hers.

I want her thighs because they are too pure a specimen for her to spoil with some form of “I’m a spiritual wanderer and foot-first hippie” tattoo involving ‘swishy’ lines as if you’ve really got a David-Bowie-starry-summer-breeze on your leg…and a horsie.

Plus they’re simply a smashing pair of pegs.

And she has intentions on my forehead. Not sure why. To hang art from it at some point possibly; it is a rather large forehead and we all have a calling…even foreheads and I.

All this about eating my wife is merely how I feel regarding munching on the public, but I’m not so sure, not so sure at all, about grandmothers.

“Oh I could just eat you up” they’ll say.

And, yes, they jolly well could, but not without a fight and a retaliatory chomp.

Do you have the fortitude to beat off a granny of steadily advancing years and worryingly advancing nashers?

Whilst I’m confident of being socially comfortable with belting a granny about the nose and ears with her own handbag/Yorkshire terrier, I know all too well of chums falling to the dentures and hideously successful gumming of a starved granny who thinks they’re adorable.

Not to mention, these old women are riddled with spare teeth, meaning that they could eat you with dentures in both hands AND with the mouth.

“Ooh ain’t he lovely Doris!?”

“Oh yes Marge, but try him with gravy.”

Most unagreeable.

Personally, I’d have to view the whole encounter as a fine selection of fellow-filled grins from which to elect the most helpful to knuckle heavily before running home to my wife and urging us to eat more before babysitting any potential future grandchildren.

I truly-doodly-do write some strange things throughout my articles.

However, I’d like to remind everyone not to eat anyone and vice versa, unless you find them in a prime state for eating, just remember to wash all hands before cooking. And feet. And sundry.

And don’t forget, canibalism leads to larger larders but fewer friends…not a pleasing alliteration when realising one is a direct result of the other.

So; not chewing, but nibbling.

Sam

Why Must I Be A Twenty-Something In Love?

Posted: December 2, 2015 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

I’m not being rhetorical.

Answer me.

And don’t go going all gone clever by offering up a rhetorical answer in return.

Because that’s childish and I can promise you this…I will win in such a battle of witlessness.

I’m too slow for you.

So, pretty much I met a girl about 9 years ago when I was aged 17.

And I fell in love with her.

I fell like Newton’s apple though with less universal consequences and a worse headache.

And the bump on my head (by the way; I’m fully aware of how sickly this analogy currently is) never wavered or diminished throughout the torment and woe of heartbreak and separation, throughout numerous breakups, antagonisms and years apart.

And recently I fell again, for the girl again, and again I am beginning to realise, with horror and joy, that this is the long trip of my life and I am not likely to reach the destination.

Likely because I perpetually feel as though I have arrived.

And arrived well.

I always presumed my bump was bigger.

The difference; I can see her bump too now.

And, apparently, it’s a bump to rival mine.

And the effect of these two bumps entwined, like the utterly bizarre emotions they transmit (I’m talking about entwined headbumps for fuck sake), is that I talk like this.

Dopey I am.

Doomed with a grin and a good cause for both.

Tendency to drool.

Such is life…when as absurdly lucky as it has played out for me.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

Sam

P.S. I’m so sorry. I am also fully aware of the decent lack of logic throughout this, though still probably a little less aware than you.

I am so sorry.

How to Get Over the Girl

Posted: June 30, 2015 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Well, since it’s the 30th June and I am rapidly losing time till midnight – cutting it fine indeed in terms of my thorough discipline of writing an article at least once a month (I don’t know why I do this and neither do you so I’ll insist on laziness being permitted) – I am reaching for a topic to blow my load of verbiage upon.

And I’m going to do so with the following:

How to Get Over the Girl

Now, I know what I mean by this, and although you might not you should therefore consider yourself lucky.

Prior to beginning however I’ll make clear that this shall be a writ in reference to the love of my life; by no means my wife, and my attempts to deal with the afterwards.

My wife and I (myself about to become a divorcee at the succulent age of 25 and 10/12ths) are irrelevant to the topic in my manly hands so; forget that aspect (just an aspect).

By the way, don’t marry out of sympathy.

I am instead in reference to a girl that has thus far been the image of point in my life. The thought of her is why I do things and this is my point.

Or at least up till fairly recently in our relationship of on-again-off-again lovers and friends, for within the past year I have come to think of her as a loving part of my still young youth for which I am as of yet unable to compare and humble, but am proudly aware of my growing understanding that the girl will, perhaps, be replaced by another aspect. Maybe this one with event prettier eyes.

I’m getting ahead of myself on account of my need to say what occurs and have some words written, so I’ll return to advice rather than feelings (Eew).

So, when looking to get over the girl, do the following:

  • Bite Someone.

    Now, this may seem a little fucking crazy (just a tad) but I truly recommend it.The biting of another simply places oneself into an entire new realm of people who would wish to go about some business with you.

    Now it may be, as I’m sure you will have considered in the few short seconds since reading, an aggressive attitude that comes forth from either the limb or appendage of the person you have encountered tooth-wise.

    Good.

    Let’s see where a little aggression goes, but by no means enter the combat zone with this person, just tickle her/him with your teeth and explain why you did so…

    “Why? Because I AM NOT A WEIRDO!” is what I would go about with, audibly.

    Explain that this has never occurred to you before but the moment you saw this person you were overcome with an urge to nibble, and so did. Because you’re a natural kind of guy. Or girl.

And this part is crucial.

Much in the same way as you ask a lady for a dance or a drink or date, it depends rather very much so on who you ask.

There is of course a chance that this will fail most uproariously in a manner which shall bring about your eventual crying (By the way; don’t cry. Wail and hump. And bite) over how ridiculous you were for biting someone so as to take your mind of a girl…but it could work.

“Look. I feel bad, it’s kind of hot out here and I’m sure we all have places to be. All I can offer you is a chance of revenge and, judging by my currently placid demeanour – it looks like this will not negatively escalate – that’ll be the end of this.”

Offer them your credit card and passport, your workplace information and the most disappointed-in-you family member’s contact details; make clear you apologise entirely and with depth, but also be sure to enlighten with a proposal.

  • Bite Someone Who Looks Like They Could Handle a Biting.

    If they appear as though your teeth and their completely unrelated lives should remain as such…bite them not.If they look like they might take part in a little biting back…have at it. I hope you enjoy it.

    Be sure to yourself that I make no course for romance here; just something else.

    And something else can be one of the greatest things of all you ever needed.

    Bite.

    It’s endearing.

    Not that I’ve ever tried it of course for, although I am a biter, I am also a tickler; and that’s why I’m getting divorced.

    By the way, this new girl, with the tickling; massive victory.

    Maybe I should have bitten instead.

  • Don’t Tickle Someone. That’s My Move.

    I could drift further in some meandering montage of well deliberated thought entwined with a stream of consciousness brought about by the hour and that it is due, but I shall save more advice for recovering and succeeding from the girl at a later date.For next time on samsywoodsy.com however…” I Am THE GREATEST HUMAN TO EVER LIVE and Why”

    See you then, you clever folk you.

    And apologies for the inconsistency, but forget ye not I am the greatest human to ever live. Because that equates to leeway.

    So hand some over.

    Sam

    (P.S. I’m not even going to proofread this am I? Fuck.)

Why It Matters If Shakespeare Was Gay

Posted: November 30, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

To begin; good day to all those people out there that hoped to begin reading this to find an article spouting hateful ignorance. Apologies for my lack of consideration here- maybe I should have been a little weaker as I grew up. Maybe my parents should have been wankers to placate you.

“Wankers to placate”- welcome to samsywoodsy.com- the home of very, very really good writing.

As for why it matters if Shakespeare was gay, the answer is twofold.

Firstly, we are extremely fortunate.

Shakespeare lived in a time when homosexuality was lethal.

A ‘cure’ for the condition would have been seen appropriate if the subject were murdered so as to cleanse the rest of the population.

Had his supposed homosexuality been discovered- he would have summarily and excruciatingly murdered by the state and his neighbours, whilst his works would have been as likely to have been recalled as our contemporary equivalent of Jimmy Saville programming being aired.

If William Shakespeare was gay; he was fortunate to survive the 17th Century with as many limbs or as little pain as he did.

Though likely he would have been burned for his ‘crimes’, and his poems, plays, sonnets and even correspondence would have been just as likely to live on as if they were wrapped in a parcel atop the burning pile at his feet.

Therefore, if William Shakespeare was homosexual then we, as the ever grateful audience, must be thankful that we have what we have- it may have been maliciously lost.

The second importance of the suggestion that Shakespeare was gay is as follows.

It matters if William Shakespeare was gay, if it mattered to William Shakespeare.

This is to say: as it may have been an inspiration for what must have been an already inspired soul.

His appreciation of love, hate, brotherhood, hate, death, womanhood and manhood, not to mention unrequited love, would have been exacerbated by the fact that he was living in a time when the world accused him of evil and his nature plead him to be himself- and yet he could not.

Perhaps Shakespeare found love, and was compelled to keep it secret, or perhaps the love was for another man with whom he could not bring himself to confess of his love to. The guys wore tights all the time back then- shapely legs were on display and erections were ridiculous to attempt to hide- unless you pretended it was some kind of prop.

Shakespeare may have been an entirely different subject for us had he been heterosexual. Perhaps he would have been dull, uninterested in the world and uninspiring in prose.

That being said- I find no suggestion that he may have been homosexual, but perhaps that is a natural thing.

Why should I be able to?

Shakespeare, of men, loved to write about the bright young things.

Take Prince Hamlet. Clever, upper-class, great sense of humour but…what can I say; Norway.

Then, let us examine Lysander and Demetrius of A Midsummer Night’s Dream fame.

Demetrius. A man of formal haircut with some sort of sensible-recommended birth to his name, likely military and with starch in his shirt collar, his thin moustache, and his wallet. Altogether a starchy male. Demetrius would agree with the statement: “Sit up straight and you have a better life”. I told that to a child once. I was only partly right.

Then you have Lysander. Likely confused yet politely grinning, with a Hugh Grant ‘Flopsy’ of a hairstyle (which his mother always SO adored) and, if he is wearing something, it is probably all of it undone.

Summarising, as I tend to towards the end, if Shakespeare was gay then it matters as follows.

If it mattered to him; it matters. As an inspiration for his talent and for forging his soul into what seems as though otherworldly appreciation of love, hate, fear, brotherhood, friendship and all other grand components of all tales- in a time when homosexuality was lethal.

Secondarily, if Shakespeare was gay, then we are extremely lucky to have his work survive, for had is nature been discovered then he would not have lived to astound us via quill; his words and thoughts would not have survived the 17th century.

This is why it matter if Shakespeare was gay; because it may have made him who he was and we love the man and his work at least to the fairly moderate degree of hoping he lived long-enough to avoid execution.

A fairly reasonable level of love in my opinion.

Bravo.

Sam.

How To Get Some Of That Gay Marriage.

Posted: December 2, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I understand…that some people have a problem with another bunch of people. And that bunch of people…have a problem with that previous bunch of people.

The first bunch of people is religious people.

The second bunch of people is the gay community, as well as almost everyone else.

The problem that the first group of people have is that gay people want to get married in their religious establishment.

The problem of the second group of people is that they wish to get married in the religious establishments that they grew up in.

The solution is obvious.

Allow gay marriage.

No?

Oh I see…you have another problem.

You need to grow up.

To begin with, and I suppose…ultimately…not to do so is cruel. It’s true.

If you don’t want people to be a part of your religion, or to have it in their own concept- then don’t have a religion because that’s what people do with it.

Some Christians believe that Gay Marriage is something that allows a previously (often- still) persecuted people to enjoy both their religious emotions and their romantic emotions.

If, as a religion, you wished only for heterosexual people to marry in your church then you must, by all means and accounts, NOT be involved with children.

Regretfully, preaching works, and people will have a tendency to believe when they are told to as children (Father Christmas- don’t deny it) and then take it with them into adult life. Because of this, the homosexuality that arises inside them (which no-one told them to do or be like) is either pushed down deep beneath the skin and further into their hurting soul or these Christian couples will meet and seek to continue their sexual/romantic lifestyle in the essence of their relative religious belief.

In this case, and after the centuries that this has been going on for (referring to homosexual religious folk that suffered this internal religious conflict), the decision the church is making is insisting that people either suffer their dilemma emotionally alone within the flock, or that they live with the one that matters most to them and be in religious pain as they are cast from their place of worship.

Or…they could permit Gay Marriage.

Keep religious influence away from kids, and then those kids that are or will be gay won’t wish to grow up to marry in a religious context. To deny them this is technically to deny them a life dream that you (the church) instilled in them.

It is possible that throughout their lives they have been watching their parents, family and friends fall in love and marry…and then continue to worship as a ‘GOD’-recognised couple.

Because apparently that’s what ‘GOD’ gives a shit about.

My next point is the childishness about this.

You (you fucking big baby of a religious establishment) can change the rules.

Yes, you can.

You have been doing it for many hundreds of years.

Take, for example, the situation with the shellfish.

In case you’re thinking of the weird thing that might have happened to you that one wet morning with the shellfish- I’m referring to 11:12 (chapter and verse) of the book of Leviticus which states that: “Whatsoever hath no fins nor scales in the waters, that shall be an abomination unto you”.

Now- I know I’ve watched a vicar eating prawns before, and she looked like she was really enjoying it. Like she was really enjoying it.

No one complained that this was happening, and it’s not as though it was too late to stop her from swallowing. We could have found a way. We would have found a way.

You see, this rule wasn’t changed- it just became ignored.

And there’s another thing…the vicar was a she.

It used to be a rule that she that sought to be a vicar would have their intentions smote by the fickle church until enough normal people complained and it became painfully obvious that the sheer stubborn refusal was…childish.

You can change the rules, and you should in order to prevent further addition to your reputation for cruelty to those not part of the flock- especially those that wish to be a part of it.

Not only can you change the rules, not only should you change the rules, but you undoubtedly must stray from your habit of stubbornness and instead make course along the church’s typical path of dissent and evolution.

Dissent from the religion has been the means (and at times doom) for its many of our true saviours.

Those that dissented from the church did so by, for example, dissecting corpses. If this had not been risked by the dissenters, then medical science would be far behind what it currently is- many more people would have died from contemporarily preventable conditions and diseases- and we’d still be presuming that the heart makes blood.

Praise our saviours that persisted in the dissent of translating, printing and distributing the bible in English, the effect being (aside from the spreading of the words of Jesus) that those in supposed possession of supernatural power and privilege had their grip upon the balls of the people weakened and the minds (and therefore- power) of the people heightened.

Have you ever read from a bible in English?

And are you able to read and write?

Have you ever been medically treated and saved by the knowledge that the dissenters discovered?

Then thank the dissenters and also thank the church for if they hadn’t changed the rules then these miracles of dissent would not have produced the beautiful wonders that they have. Wonders like polio vaccines and punk rock. Wonders like literature and contraceptives (could you be any more thankful- you can read a rip-roaring thriller and then calm yourself down with a nice conception-free shag).

My advice to those that want to be remembered as the Luther of the contemporary church had best dissent with the cries of the people. This is what the church has always done- it has needed those courageous, cheeky givers-of-a-shit dissenters to allow the church to make sense. Also known as Galileo.

Christianity is a concept that has had to EVOLVE.

If it hadn’t evolved, then it wouldn’t be here still.

Via allowing the bible to be printed (and read) in English, by permitting forays into medical and astronomical science (not to mention physics), by desegregating the church and by finally allowing women to be considered as something beyond a possession and a means to more men, Christianity has become something that finally denounces those that denounce gays, and also ‘Tweets’.

For the church to be what it is now- old rules had to be forgotten and outlooks had to fade away, progression was necessary to survival, for if it hadn’t- the vital membership would have dwindled to none.

To the church I suggest you adapt now to survive, before the religion is extinct. It’s what you always have done, and if you don’t…as I said earlier. As a dodo.

Religion is based on fear and love.

The love is what we all know and celebrate- the means of progression (there is no moving forward without love for something) for the church and all things. For many it is the essence of the faith.

But there is an evil undertone to the religion which is present and obvious throughout its history and is undeniable in cases such as the Gay Marriage debate.

Fear of the alternative, fear of change, fear of being ‘made’ to alter your existence…and fear breeds fear. This is the cause for many to flood to the doors of the church as though it was the final seconds before the ark’s departure and you’ll find an animal to go two-by-two with when you’re on board. Fear and panic now. Think when you’re not afraid; which will never happen.

Be courageous and save your religion by abandoning the superstitious side of faith and instead focusing on several teachings from the second testament:

Love thy neighbour.

Turn the other cheek.

Treat others as you yourself would wish to be treated.

If to picket the funerals of dead soldiers owing to their sexuality is absurd, then to deny people happiness in their life, owing to sexuality…is that not surely obscene?

You have the right to your religion- but you don’t have a right to be cruel and that’s all the insistence against Gay Marriage amounts to- fear and cruelty.

The fear and cruelty will be abandoned and the either the church will be too, or it will evolve to be a body of love…which will care that gays marry only as much as it does that blondes marry brunettes.

The fear and cruelty will be abandoned, and as history has proven, love will intervene and that’s all we need.

Grow up.

Sam.

Women And Begetting.

Posted: November 24, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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