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The tensile strength of knicker elastic

What is it with chicks? Jeeze! According to EdZilla I don’t do enough research; especially into the female psyche. Hello? Shopping, shopping, leg-wax, facial, shopping, anti-wrinkle cream, shopping, shopping, ORGASM, shopping, rereading the best bits of Thomas Hardy and ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ with a box of chocolates and some Chardonnay, shopping, getting sexually aroused by the new John Lewis catalogue, shopping, hairdresser, dreaming of Brad Pitt, shopping, meaning to go on a diet, shopping, and meeting once a week with their mates to confirm that all men are bastards. Oh, and shopping. And putting on far too much make-up when their daughter’s boyfriend turns up. With blokes it’s ‘I shag, therefor I am.’ With chicks it’s ‘I shop, therefor I am.’ How profound is that? [Lemme at him! Ermintrude] So she hung up on me! Cow!

Versimilitude

In pursuit of the above, I suggested that Mac and I could go to Amsterdam for the week-end. I am firmly convinced that the tarts in the Red Light district still pull up their skirts to show potential clients exactly what they have on offer, as mentioned in ‘The Tiger’s Bride’ by Angela Carter; arch-feminist – which is a pity too, ’cause she was a bloody good writer. [Idiot! Ermintrude] This is a vital piece of research for the next book, and I foolishly thought that EdZilla would be impressed by my devotion to said research. Apparently I was wrong. (Again. EdZilla) Firstly, they are not ‘tarts’. They are ‘sex-workers’. Sorry? Prosies have been plying their trade for long enough to have worked out their job description, but it seems that the ‘Sisters’ just can’t leave it alone. What in heaven’s name is marriage but a contract for mutually exclusive rights to sexual access of the other party? Which often as not turns out to be a very expensive Miss-take, as in the Miss to the marriage ‘takes’ the poor bloody husband to the cleaners. And secondly, she and Mac’s wife are not so stupid as to believe the crap about ‘primary research’. And PS, penicillin does not cure everything. Ha bloody ha. When I tell the power-mad bitch that she will wound my amour propre, she assures me that what she will wound is a good deal lower down, and she’ll wound it good and proper. And a good shag would kill me anyway. Cow!

My Old Alma Mater

So Holland’s a no-no. But not, according to Mac, Edinburgh University. Eh? Last time I was there, there were herds of mattress-fodder grazing the slopes of the University Bar; busts out to here, with fanny pelmets up to their navels. Down boy! That was when I was a Dirty Wee Boy. [Whereas now you’re just a Dirty Old Man. Ermintrude] Although I seem to recall some most agreeable female lecturers; and I always likes a bit of mature… [Turned on by their incontinence pads, no doubt. Ermintrude] No! And I’ll have you lot know that I am not a ‘Neanderthal’ – he had a bump on his forehead. [Keep this rubbish up, and you’ll have a bump on your foreskin. Ermintrude] Eeek! Have you ever noticed, dear reader, how all these peace-loving chicks resort to violence so quickly; and not just about the time of the lunar xxxxxxxxx? (Removed by virtue of Section Seven of the Orgasm Police Man-ual on behaviour likely to constitute a boot in the balls.) Curses! (Geddit? ‘Curses’ ?) [No. Ermintrude]. EdZilla calls to inform me that my latent death-wish may be granted much sooner than I think. Anyway; it’s some beano-fest about publishing; and Mac thinks it will do me good to meet some human beings again. EdZilla wants to Tazer me before I meet them. All references to ‘hooters’ are forbidden. Ditto ‘crumpet’, or ‘chicks’. Ditto my entire Dick-tionary. Bah! I suppose just like all great visionaries, I’m before my time. EdZilla volunteers to help me become one of the Early Martyrs. Bitch! But that’s all miles away. Meanwhile I must apply myself to getting the great opus licked into shape. Geddit? ‘pus”, ‘licked’? [No. Again. Ermintrude] Huh! I wonder who this can be at the door this time of night?

John J McCabe. Copyright.

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