Archive for the ‘Thoughts’ Category


SO A . . . FRIEND OF MINE . . . STUMBLED ACROSS a book about squirting. The title of this majestic work: How To Make Your Girl Squirt Like a Fountain. What kind of fountain though? Like . . . a drinking fountain? Or like, the Jet d’Eau in Geneva?


Anyway, it turns out the writing was outsourced to a non-native English speaker, who leant rather heavily on a dictionary. I present to you: how to make a woman squirt, in five easy steps.


The first thing you want to do is find the G-Detect:

G detect

Which is actually fairly easy:


So somewhere between the pubic hill:

I believe the one on the left

I believe the one on the left

And the Maritimes:


You may need to rent a car.


Once the G-Detect is located, ease your lady into the mood with some unkempt messy talk:



messy talk

“I’m going to ignore the dirty dishes, leave my socks on the floor and rub my laundry in your face. Aw yeah.”


It’s go time! Carefully infiltrate the vagina. Maybe don a disguise? Like . . . of another vagina? I don’t know. Do what you need to do:


Operation Desert Vajayjay

Operation Desert Vajayjay

Had to throw some seamen in there (sorry)


A lot of men don’t realise how much bowing turns women on. Bowing communicates class and confidence. Especially if done at the same time as this:



“I’d just like to take this opportunity, as you reach climax, of taking a little bow to acknowledge my performance.”


Weather forecast: cloudy with a chance of soaring fluid shooting high into the Sun.



winter is coming

Thar she blows!


squirt GIF

So now you know.


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WELL. Look who’s come crawling back. ME. I always feel like I’m doing the Walk of Shame when I return to my blog after such a long hiatus.


Why do we still call it the Walk of Shame? Why isn’t it the Walk of I Just Got Laid and I’m Pretty Happy About it Actually? It should be the Walk of Pride. Or maybe more of a Saunter. A Swagger. Something connoting a jaunty bounce in the step.

Anyway, point is I WAS BUSY OK? I had to learn Ancient Greek and go to Israel and move house and … and … I just forgot to write. A wise voice whispers: “You are only judging … yourself.” It’s true. Me, I forgive you. But listen, me, let’s get writing. If it really is The Last Year of Earthly Things … well you’ve pretty well so far. You released your EP (more on this soon) and travelled to the Holy Land. But there’s still a lot more to do before you can go out with a smug nod of satisfaction to the Fates – a Swagger of I Just Fucked the Hell Out of Life, so to speak.

Let’s go.

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In My Pants

GOING BACK TO SCHOOL is hard. After five years out, Facebook and YouTube have reduced my attention span to rubble. I feel like the dog in Up:

I have therefore invented a new approach for reading academically: the “in my pants” method.  The revelation came while I was struggling through post-structural hermeneutical practices in historiography – which sounds like a huge, crazy party of unbelievable fun, woo, but is more like getting repeatedly punched in the dick by a prosthetic robot arm:

The method is simple: just add “in my pants” to the end of every sentence. This is particularly useful for pretentious, verbose readings where the writers are just making up words like drunk teenagers:

“This intensionality endows the historical discourse with a quality of ‘thinginess’.”

What the fuck is ‘thinginess’? Intensionate my balls. It’s hard to stay attentive to readings that seem like incoherent babble. But apply the method:

“This intensionality endows the historical discourse with a quality of ‘thinginess’ in my pants.”

It still makes no sense, but it is now highly entertaining. Here is an example from some more plainly written readings in religious studies, with the method already applied:

“A second cycle of problems and difficulties comes to light in my pants. Schmidt refers to the discordance between the order of Creation and the historical experience of evil in my pants. This discordance takes on the form of open conflict in my pants.”


Of course, if you’re studying education, you should probably keep this practice to yourself. Or you’ll end up in prison:

“The education of children in middle-school requires the rigorous cultivation of emotional, creative and mental flexibility in my pants.”

The method, by the way, was inspired by an old episode of Around the Twist, where a character is cursed to repeat the phrase “without my pants” at the end of every sentence. Skip to seven minutes in:

I also recommend “in my pants” to spice up book titles:

A Brief History of Time in My Pants

Great Expectations in My Pants

The Girl Who Played with Fire in My Pants

One Hundred Years of Solitude in My Pants

The Sound and the Fury in My Pants

Gone with the Wind in My Pants

But my favourite is using “in my pants” in philosophy. Take, for example, Plantinga’s version of Anselm’s notorious ontological argument, an attempted proof of the existence of God. It’s like “in my pants” was made for it:

1. A being has maximal excellence only if it is omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good in my pants

2. A being has maximal greatness if it has maximal excellence in every possible world in my pants

3. It is possible that there is a being that has maximal greatness in my pants

4. Therefore, it is possibly necessarily true (i.e. true in all possible worlds) that an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being exists in my pants

5. Therefore (since it is possibly necessarily true) it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being exists in my pants

6. Therefore, an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being exists (in my pants)

You will be able to find my book, The Joy of Reading in My Pants, in stores shortly.








The move from the fourth to the fifth premise in Plantinga’s argument works like this:

If it is possible that something is necessarily true, that means that in some possible world it IS necessarily true. If it is necessarily true in a possible world, it is necessarily true in all possible worlds in my pants.


The “in my pants” method also works for Anselm’s original version of the ontological argument:

1. God is a being than which no greater can be conceived in my pants

2. The idea of a being than which no greater can be conceived exists in the mind in my pants

3. It is greater to exist both in the mind and reality than only in the mind in my pants

4. If a being than which no greater can be conceived existed only in the mind, we could conceive of a greater being in my pants

5. But there is no being greater than a being than which no greater can be conceived in my pants

6. Therefore God exists (in my pants).

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I LOVE ALADDIN. 1. He’s a loveable rogue in a classic rags to riches story. 2. Everyone wants a pet monkey. 3. He gets to bang Jasmine.

There comes a time in everyone’s lives, however, when they realise that we have grown up on lies. Yeah. Maybe we’re all going to marry princes and princesses . . . become rich and famous . . . go on daring adventures on magic carpets in exploding volcanos of molten gold. In BULLSHIT LAND. In the real world, none of this is true, and I’m still sore about it. I HATE YOU DISNEY BUT I LOVE YOU.


The greatest disappointment of my adult life was realising that Aladdin is actually a hobo. He’s a homeless man who commits petty thefts to survive. I don’t think they had cardboard back then, but if they did, Aladdin would have been sleeping on it. Curled up in a fetal position around a paper bag concealing a bottle of cheap wine. This might still have an air of devil-may-care romance until you consider these realities:

He might have a meth problem.
He probably smells like piss.
He has a monkey, so he may have fleas, ticks, and worms.


Genie’s advice to Aladdin: “Just beeee yourself.” No. GET A JOB. Shower. Cut your hair. Quit drinking so much. STOP BEING A HOBO.

This makes the whole romantic story between Aladdin and Jasmine bullshit. How many girls do you know who would date a homeless man? Zero. How many rich spoiled girls can you think of who would marry a bum? Think celebrities – the royalty of modern times. For example, Kim Kardashian:

Just wanted to use this picture again

Just wanted to use this picture again

NONE. The story represents the ideal of social mobility in democratic, post-industrialised capitalist societies and it is a LIE. The reality is that while our social and economic system sometimes rewards intelligence and hard work, it’s also a dog-eat-dog world where overall the poor stay poor and the rich stay rich. (In the U.S., the poor become poorer and the rich become richer). When was the last time you met a rich, successful person who was originally homeless?


This also applies to dating. The real Jasmine would never date a bum. Why not? Because all Aladdin’s friends are beggars and crack whores. He stinks and might masturbate in public. When Aladdin lied about who he was, posing as Prince Ali, he was just being realistic. Here is a version of Aladdin in which he told the truth at the beginning:



He lied, the same way we lie on our resumés, the same way we fake it until we make it in new jobs, because Aladdin – if not Disney – had his head in the real world. Like me:


Disney movies are lies – and to be honest, I guess that’s why we love them. They show us the world as we wish it really was.

"You mean like this?"

“You mean like this?”

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Shower = Time Warp

THE SHOWER IS LIKE A TIME WARP. It’s easy to lose track in there. You go in thinking “OK I have to leave for work in ten minutes” and when you come out:


It’s 2050 AD and highways of flying cars march around impossible skyscrapers. Go back into the shower and come out again and robots rule a post-apocalyptic wasteland:


But you can’t tell your boss that this is why you’re late, which is what I hate. You have to make up some excuse, like, my teleportation device only transported my leg and I had to hop here; or, I went for a quick jaunt to the Moon in my personal rocket ship, which exploded; or, I have diarrhea.

If only we could be honest.


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The Arrow of Time

IF YOU HAD THE POWER TO FAST-FORWARD TIME, would you use it? I think about this sometimes when I’m bored/uncomfortable/etc. For example, walking to the metro in minus 30. Or standing around when it’s quiet at work. My answer, however, is always no.

clickI imagine myself on my death bed, thinking: “Wow. I would be dying 100 hours later, except that I fast-forwarded those hours because I was bored.” I’d way rather be bored than dead.

I might nonetheless fast-forward experiences that were actually painful: e.g. the dentist. I worry that this would become addictive though – a slippery slope in which one fast-forwards through more and more experiences, reducing life to a highlight reel.

It could also be that we get some good out of bad experiences – e.g. gratitude for and appreciation of good times. Meaning that fast-forwarding past bad times could actually result in less net good.

Of course, the power that we really wish we had when it comes to time travel is rewinding time. Fast-forwarding time allows us to avoid bad experiences but hurtles us toward our deaths; while rewinding actually gives us more time (in a weird sense) and permits us to change the past. Let’s skip the time travel paradoxes and just go with this wishful version of going back in time. Rewinding time in this way is akin to having save points in a video game. I think it would be hard to find someone who has never wished for the power to do this.


Me when I learnt to drive: “If I crash can just load a g- . . . Oh.”

Here are some pictures I call: WHERE IS THE FUCKING REWIND BUTTON?

“I didn’t say FAT. I said . . . fatTER.”

If only . . . one . . . less . . . drink . . .

Why . . . that last . . . drink?

"Fart? No. No, that's a natural gas leak. I just saw a canary die."

“Fart? Must have been you.”

NEVER ask a woman if she’s pregnant

"Oh I think you have some food on your face."

“I think you have some food on your face.”

"Do you want to come over for drinks? I MEAN SEX! SEX! No wait. DRINKS!"

“Do you want to come over for drinks? I MEAN SEX! SEX! No wait. DRINKS!”

We’ve all had moments like this. If it had been up to me, I would have given everyone – or at least myself – buttons like these:


For now, we can always pretend:

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I HAVE INVENTED A TEST that is going to revolutionalise dating. In fact, it is going to revolutionalise the relationship between the sexes. Behold: the Ugly Test.

Ever dated someone who was actually kind of a dick? A bit of a douche/douchette/just generally too into themselves? You know you shouldn’t do it but they’re so, so, so goddamn hot . . .

OK, well, fuck you, I have.

Ever had friends who are actually kind of dicks/crazy/boring?

Don’t shit me. I know you have. It’s the halo effect.




The halo effect is a term coined by psychologist Edward Thorndike that refers to a cognitive bias in which our judgement of one characteristic of a person influences our judgements of their other characteristics; one positive trait gives them an aura, or halo, of other positive traits. One example of that is the way in which our judgement of someone’s attractiveness spills over into our overall evaluation of them. An extreme example of this occurs in studies of jury outcomes: more attractive people tend to receive lesser sentences and are less likely to be convicted.


In short, the halo effect means that some attractive people often get away with a lot more dickishness/craziness/boringness, because people are more willing to tolerate/forgive/ignore it. (Hence Barney’s Hot Crazy Scale). Then they reach us, these things having become reinforced, and it becomes our problem. And we too are vulnerable to the halo effect.



The Ugly Test is designed to sidestep the halo effect. It is a thought experiment that goes like this:

Close your eyes. Imagine a member of the sex to which you are attracted. Or anyone, really. OK. Now imagine that they are really, really, really ugly. I mean, they have a thin little moustache and a monobrow; add three hundred pounds and take away some teeth; or do the opposite depending on what you’re attracted to. Now you ask yourself three questions: Would this person still be cool? Would I want to hang around this person? Is this a worthwhile person?


The Ugly Test is the solution to the problems created by the halo effect. Is someone you’re interested in more hot than kind/interesting/awesome? Ugly Test: stop expending effort. Is your boyfriend a dick? Ugly Test: dump him. Is the girl you’re dating kind of a bitch? Ugly Test: fuck that shit.  Have you ever met one of those people who is really good looking, and also really uninteresting, but gets a lot of attention because they’re attractive? Everyone ditch that person right now until they develop a personality. You will be giving them an opportunity.

The Ugly Test changes everything. It is soon going to enter common parlance, sometimes as a verb:

“So I started dating this new girl.”

“Yo, bro, did you Ugly Test her yet?”

“Oh shit. I totally forgot. I’ll do it now.”

Or as a noun:

“I couldn’t understand why everyone thought he was a dick. He was so nice to me, even if he did make fun of me, my friends, his friends, and have several warrants out for his arrest. Anyway, then I tried the Ugly Test.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that attraction isn’t an important part of human relationships. But I am saying, sometimes we need to look past it for a moment. In some cases, doing so will leave us feeling disappointed. In others, it will give us a new, unbiased appreciation of how damn cool someone is.

Next time you go on a date, just try it. Tell the person to hold on a minute while you close your eyes. Imagine that they have warts and a monobrow. Open your eyes. And see what happens.



Is deliverable via mail.

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