Tag Archives: sex

First, suck up to the pope….

Darn, here we are in February, and i’ve been slacking on the blog. Actually, i wrote some posts, but the PMT quotient was too high, they take off paint at ten paces – anyone actually reading them would have their eyeballs exploded, and that’s not what we’re about. It’s not my fault, i caught thrush from being on antibiotics, and it makes a girl cranky.

So, what’s happening? Well, the thrush seems to be clearing, and The Thing’s reached 88,000+ words, which means only about 22,000 to go. I’m trying to make sure the first part is good before i wrap up the end. Currently, i’ve done my usual trick of putting a capable person into a situation where he managed quite well. Damn! No fun unless he’s having problems.

Aside from still being sure he’s gay, that is, but i figure there’s enough young men who read fantasy sci fi who that will resonate for, so his angst over that can stay. After all, I was never going to get the Mormon Church stamp of approval that the Twilight books got. (Yeah, how bad would that be? Mormon Church can’t find anything in your books about vampires that contradict their made-up bible? Though my books aren’t about vampires. Maybe that’s the trick – bloodsucking churches like books about bloodsuckers.)

Come to think of it, maybe i should go do a Bono? No, no, not put on pastel sunglasses and then put out the same album every year for the next twenty, or go live in Ireland because artists didn’t pay ANY income tax on royalties there (and you thought all those celebs lived there cos it’s a cool place? Oh come on! The scheme ran from 1969, but was recently capped at quarter of a million Euro per year) – i mean go suck up to the pope and get him to give up some of the church’s wealth.

Wait, Bono never actually managed that, did he? He just sucked up to the old dead pope for nothing – while he was alive, obviously – but old JP – the P was for Pervert – went back into his bedroom, thinking about all the hot black chicks in Africa doing it without condoms. Risking AID’s, unwanted children, and other disease, all because some wrinkled old toad who got off on whipping himself said so.

They were doing it bare because he said condoms were the work of the devil and that good Catholics would be driven from the church if they dared to even think about them. That’s what excommunication means – and yes, using a condom is reason enough for the Church to drive you out. I’m so glad i turned renegade Catholic before i became sexually active.

The pope then forced himself not to masturbate over the hot black chicks, by getting his rocks off with a belt-thrashing. Making it up? Me? I think not – they’ve just admitted it, Pope John Paul the Bent (the one who died not long ago) used to keep a belt in his wardrobe to beat those urges out. Or off. Some people actually orgasm from pain – makes you wonder.

Still, if i could get Pope Benny to back my book, it would be good PR. He’s got a taste for Prada and couture, maybe i could put some in the book. Repressed gayness whilst fathering broods of children will be huge in the Vatican, that part will be easy. Of course, the women are all very in charge of their own lives, and i’ve made a huge mistake: contraception is easy and available to all. *sigh*

See, i’m screwed,  people in charge of their own lives who don’t kowtow to God’s representatives on Earth – Pope Benny won’t go for it. Not unless i get rid of the strong women and the contraception. And even then, i bet the moment i say all i want is one papal ring, enough to flog to pay for the printing costs, Pope Benny will probably get huffy.

After all, the church didn’t make all that money by giving it to the poor!

Writing is just fraught with problems.

He likes it!

He likes it!

(pic via http://captions.illmeyer.com/)

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

I Am The Traffic Cone on Your Highway…

I detect a sense of Christmas obsession in those who accidentally visited this blog in the last week. Now (i think) i know why My House Is Trying To Kill Me (the old post on mould/mold) is getting so much traffic – it’s people looking for gingerbread.

I hope you enjoyed the rant on the stupidity of doctors, the cruelty of real estate agents, the possibly pertinent advice on health, and the pretty gingerbread house pic. At least i cited the pic’s origin, so they wouldn’t waste their time, and meanwhile, decuisine (where pic comes from) is getting a lot of hits from me. ‘Tis the season for giving, right?

I’m the Antichrist, this jolly Christmas bollocks doesn’t come naturally.


Thought for the Day: Did you take time to muse on the exquisite cruelty of Google, that brings you interesting things to read when you really don’t have time to get distracted by a blog?


The gingerbread thing is out of control out there…

Editors are like elephants…

The Thing has stayed a rite-de-passage tale – (about growing up – literally, rites of passage – to adulthood), when i thought the main character was going to be a mature person, like me – but some brat’s moved in and taken over.

Not only that, but i realised despite over a million words set in this world, i’d never written the story of the man who made the kingdom. So i’ve gone back 2,050 years in their time.

This is the advantage to being the Antichrist, and a god in my own right, you see? I can do what i like. Well, the pesky buggers have minds of their own, but generally, i’m forcing them in the direction of the plot.

This is radical, this plot thing. I’ve only recently started writing with a plot laid out before i start, and it’s actually much easier. People have been telling me this is a good idea for years, but nobody said it was easier. I’m not sticking to it 100%, and it’s not super-detailed, so characters can still jump out and surprise me.

Just before i started The Thing in its current incarnation, I joined a hashtag group on Twitter – #amwriting – nice bunch of people and very inspiring. There are  pertinent posts for writers, and of course, you get to read other people’s work.

Tip: don’t spam the #hashtag.

Writers are generally polite, but there are some who post a link to their blog over and over (not even to a new post) with”#amwriting, #writing, #writer, #writers, #author, #authors, #novelwriting, #blogger, #blogging” so it shows up everywhere. Some of those hashtags are very quiet – so all you see is one writer, spamming over and over.

About a millimetre away from being blocked.


Some Advice for Writers

I don’t think i have an original thought in my head, so i’d like to thank the people i’ve been taught by, or whose wonderful books on writing i have read. And those whose books i read and thought, hmm, i love this, or i hate this – why?

I once had to suffer through an otherwise-excellent fantasy epic where the writer kept confusing the front of the saddle with the back.

If you don’t know the facts, or you’re assuming, check with someone who’s experienced – if you don’t know anyone, and it doesn’t show up on Google, make a polite phonecall or email to someone who does know, and ask if you can pick their brains.


Everyone has a story inside, and I believe Anyone can write, but of course, the corollary is that Anyone can write garbage. Over the last 14 years or so, since i started writing books as well as the poetry, songs, and scripts which i’ve written since i was a child – I’ve written quite a few books.

I  tried to count them, gave up, but it’s about 17, all over 100,000 words – i wasn’t happy with them. They weren’t proper stories – because i kept removing most of the conflict. (Essential bit of a story.)

I presume it was some control freakery that reflected the bad times i was living through, which i couldn’t have an effect on, so i was trying to write away real life for a while there.

It’s all experience.


I learned a lot from all my non-books. The crucial importance of using the right word at the right time, and of pacing out fight, rescue, and ESPECIALLY sex scenes.

Unless you’ve done it, try lying down on the bed, or the kitchen table, test out your character’s actions. Oops, guess what? He can’t reach her pink bits with an egg-whisk from there.

You may not have had the kind of wild sex you’re writing about, but you must convince the reader that you’ve done it. You don’t have to be explicit (and i don’t mean just about sex – explicit means “clearly developed or formulated”) but if you do decide to go into exact detail, get your freaking facts straight.


Quick quiz: which side would a right-handed man have the scabbard of his sword?

Answer: The left.

Quick tip: Want to make me stop reading your bit of swords-and-sorcery or historical novel? Fuck that one up.


A writer i picked up at the library used a word in the wrong context – so jarring i went to a dictionary – and went steadily south from there.

I’d just got used to a main male character, who was the first introduced, so i assumed he was a main man, but he was killed. i presume the writer did this because he thought his character was a cliché or that he should “kill his darlings” when he wrote and he was fond of the character, so the character had to die.

Do not do this to your readers – don’t give them a protagonist then kill them! Then the writer pretended to kill another one, but in the same style as the first, so i assumed he was also actually dead. But he wasn’t. Oh har-fucking-har. (“Kill your darlings” = cut out the bits where you’re being clever and showing off, as people don’t need to read such self-indulgent twaddle.)

The plot was one of the worst ever – it was the end of the world because of a Nasty Thing, but somehow, the Nasty Thing went away without any effort from anyone. “Arrhh, there we go, guv’ner, *sound of angels farting* it was the Hand of God wot saved us all.”

Do not do this, i will track you down and kill you, or more probably, never read anything of yours again. I won’t be reading this writer again, either. It’s the laziest, snidest,  CHEAT to your readers to suddenly say after they’ve slogged through at least 100,000 of your words…

“OMG! The Nasty Thing is gone! Whatever was wrong is fixed! Nobody knows why! But it’s terribly convenient, because obviously the author didn’t think the bloody plot through! We’re saved!”

At least try to give a plausible reason. *cries* To top off the insult to me as a reader, aside from the Nasty Thing just going away, the action in the human side of the plot was resolved by the writer’s equivalent of saying this…

“Haha, the main protagonist’s wife was working secretly with the guerillas, and saved everyone from the power-hungry evil guy who was taking advantage of the Nasty Thing messing up society – but nobody knew until the last page, especially not the reader, because the writer only put that in at the very end, (haha, suckers!) in a sad and futile attempt to force the book to make sense.”

Usually, when someone  shows you they are crap, they then stay crap – at least for the rest of that book. So the moment they’re shown crap, most people don’t bother reading it all the way.

Unless they’re freaks like me, who are very curious, and can read several thousand words a minute, compared to the average speed of about 250. I try to limit my length in posts – i don’t succeed – but i know for instance, that most people don’t  have 16 minutes to spare to read a 4,000 word post. (This isn’t that long, not any more.) No matter how fucking witty i’m being. *sigh*

If I write one that’s even 2,000 words long, and they do read it, I am blessed with the nicest, most perfect Beloved Visitors in the world! And i had better make them laugh, be pleasantly and genuinely educational, and/or entertaining in some major way.

If i cheat them with my words, they won’t come back.

Books are different, people are prepared to devote time.  So the same goes, about not cheating your readers with your words, but doubled.


The point is, (omg, she has a point!) the books that annoyed me were multi-published writers, (selling enough to say they ‘were a writer’ without people laughing at them) but they were so sloppy that i had to force myself to keep reading.

Far as i can tell, they’d had a big seller with one lucky book, and hadn’t learned their craft well enough to sustain their run, or maybe they had become lazy under the pressure of churning out the next novel.

I  can only imagine they’re surrounded with people too sycophantic to say, “Excuse me, but that really is tripe.” (Or perhaps something more constructive that gets the tripe idea over.)


I’ve found it an intensely frustrating time, building my worlds, thinking each time as i wrote a book that it was going to work this time, but it’s ultimately rewarding.

I’m writing fantasy fiction, so eventually i need to look at who publishes that genre. (I will later, let me finish The Thing first. As an unpublished writer, there’s no point otherwise.)

Find a book that’s in your genre, look up the publisher online. They will have their specifications for submission there. (There are also paper publisher directories that give a nice range of detail, most libraries have them.) Read the specifications, then read them again. A day later, look again. Then consider doing your submission.

As a former editor and slushpile reader, i’d ask you to please do this, because so many people send something the publisher will never publish – like romance novels to a publisher of science fiction. You’re wasting your time and theirs.


Oh – and before i forget. Do not argue with anyone who rejects your work. A polite rejection is not an invitation to write back and say they’re wrong and why. (This goes for people on dating sites, too, just by-the-by.)

Take your emotions out of any correspondence. You’re entitled to your opinion, to think that you’re the next big thing, however, tell me that, and I am entitled to  tell you that I think your work is a derivative piece of fluff and you copied the dialogue off a Hallmark card. I would not normally tell you this in such a hurtful way.

This is me being unrestrainedly rude, instead of constructively critical – spot the difference? Usually, I would be polite, suggest anything pertinent that came to mind with the piece, and advise that you join writers’ groups and creative writing classes, because i do believe, anyone can learn to write. (Anyone who’s prepared to work at it.)

You saying anything negative in response to a rejection is only going to make an editor remember your name, (not good if you want to send them more work).

And the funny thing? It was always the really crap people who thought they could argue me into changing my mind, or that they could explain their work so that it would be published.  You can’t explain your work. It stands alone.

An even more disturbing occurrence, in view of the completely psycho picture it painted of the writer was when i would get the same piece resubmitted a few months later, sometimes unedited, without any notice that it was a repeat submission.

Tip: If you’re resubmitting, say so.

Editors are very like elephants – they have long memories, thick leathery grey skin, huge tusks, roam the Serengeti, and are cranky. They Some of them enjoy trampling people. They work for vultures publishers who are often unpleasant people to work for.

Editors remember stories, so always say if you’re resubmitting something – and always make sure it’s been changed substantially in line with any actual criticism they gave you, otherwise you’re treating the editor like an idiot.

And exactly like elephants, editors will gore you to death if you don’t show respect. Until you sell well, in which case you become the biggest tusker in the herd, and they’ll all bring you bananas. Even the vultures publishers will be nice if they think you’ll make them money.

Elephants Editors are usually underpaid and well-educated, doing what they do because they love books – they’re not in it for the remuneration, *sound of hysterical laughter* as money in publishing is generally low. Alright, alright, it’s pitiful.

On the other hand, I think literary agents are like hyenas – everyone thinks they’re just unpleasant scavengers, but researchers have discovered that agents hyenas kill  more often than lawyers lions do. A good agent will bite off someone’s face for you make it much easier to get a vulture publisher.

Interestingly, girl agents hyenas have the biggest clitorises in the animal kingdom. Seven inches, momma.


Anyway, I’m off, back to The Thing – hope you enjoyed and possibly learned something – even if it was just about the girl hyenas.


Congratulations, you just read 2,087 words!

This post was more than halved in the editing process.
Worse than usual, my verbosity. I did keep some chunks of it for later.
Oops, and that’s now 2116 words.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

I’m a Premenstrual Feminazi from Hell

Edit: 22nd Sept 09 – for some reason this post is showing as the 9th 7th Sept, it wasn’t posted then but on the 21st. Short of deleting it and reinserting in the right place, it’s always going to be one post out of whack. It should be after Editors are like Elephants, not before. Yeah, i think my whole blog has gone blonde.



contains explicit stupidity, frank sexual discussion,
offensive attitudes to religion, &
signs of contempt for married people who cheat.

There will be clitorises. Should that be clitorii? It’s the Great Penises Versus Penii Debate all over again. (Most of that was between me and the voices-outside-my-head.) I’m not trying to get you excited, and frankly, if explicit stupidity makes you hot, you need therapy.

I’m going to generalise heaps. This is a rant. *hands out the polarised goggles and the breathing apparatus* I’ll wait until everyone is comfy. Help yourself to bikkies.

*holds up sign that says FORESKIN*

If that made you blush in real life, probably better to go away now. *Nails foreskin to wall* What? It was a trophy foreskin, you’re supposed to do that. The name fooled you, right? You thought me being the Queen of Darkness was ironic? *raises eyebrow* Only partly.

On with the show…. who wants to be  Despot for the Day? Ha, just kidding.
As if any of you get to have a turn. Me me ME.

Oops, just a moment, i need to reset something.
*turns ego down to stun*


Meanwhile, “Australia’s leading criminologist” thinks online scams are now so bad, new computer users should have to pass a computer licence, certifying their ability to surf the net safely, before being legally able use their internet connection. I suppose some education is better than none, but I don’t happen to agree with his assumption “…that education [is] secondary to better technology solutions.”

Call me crazy, or even heretical – go on, you know you want to, and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy – but I quite like the idea of educating people about net safety, or even religion.

I say do this instead of encouraging them to be stupider, and instead of expecting them to rely completely on technology or God to protect them, which Science or the Divine – whichever god you believe in – cannot do.

However, as the Antichrist, so not  a subscriber to normal ideas of Good Vs. Bad or even In-Between – i have at least some of the answers to keeping safe on the net, and for finding happiness – it’s alright, nothing religious, we’re going to achieve Nirvana-in-the-moment through sex.

Strap yourselves in. Or on. Whatever.


In the interests of safety & education –

Her Majesty Presents:

Ten Rules of Internet Survival
& Seven Sundry Hints

Rule 1: the only thing that will make your penis permanently bigger is surgery. No pumping device will do it. Drugs or herbs will have zero effect.


What do you mean you’re shocked that i’m talking about penii and clitorii – wait, no, that just sounds wrong – and i already embarrassed you with that foreskin? There’s cunnilingus, erections, and sex coming up.

I said this was going to happen. Run, while you still can. Before you turn into a Minion of Evil Beloved Visitor.

A minion is not a Bad Thing – well, some meanings are a trifle negative, –  obsequious, servile, and subordinate are never going to be an easy sell – but after that it’s “One who is highly esteemed or favored; a darling” from the French mignon meaning darling.

i was having an 80's moment

i was having an 80's moment

(Did you know, on Mozilla Firefox, you can have a browser plug-in that puts Dictionary.com’s Dictionary, Thesaurus, and Reference sections up where the Google search is? Uber cool.)

Anyway, miniondom, what is it? You only have to read the blog and cope with my wittering on Twitter. It’s not a difficult gig being a minion these days. Well, actually, it might be. I can be prolific at times. Be brave!


handy hint:# 1 Instead of falling prey to shysters who can’t enlarge your manhood, learn to use your tongue and your fingers, that’s what most women want.

Do it instead of whining to strangers online about how you can’t hold an erection or how your penis is too small. Men actually do this – why? Wait, is this another one of those things that i think everyone experiences, but it’s really just me? I’m too approachable – I know, i know.

So, regarding your penis – like salespeople everywhere, internet salespeople like to prey on your lack of self-esteem. Especially where men are concerned, they’re hoping to exploit that niggling worry that a majority have, that their women are sexually dissatisfied because the man’s penis is too small or not hard enough.

This shows a staggering lack of knowledge about most women, what makes them happy, and how they orgasm. Yes, i know some size queens, but they’re a minority.

Sadly, I’d say a majority of women are dissatisfied with their sex lives and relationships (from what they tell me, and in my own experience with men), which brings us to …


Rule 2: hours of  Mister Snorty pretending to be the Loch Ness Monster are not really what most women want.

Corollary: Being rogered to death is only fun once.

When you were twenty and could actually perhaps stay hard for hours without pills, the women you were with were probably too polite – or ignorant about what felt good – to say they’d prefer some touching instead of you just banging away like that.

Viagra may make you feel like the Wang Overlord of Zorg – and Mister Snorty like Daddy’s Little Rhino – but most women don’t reach orgasm that way. They need clitoral stimulation. (Most means 60-80% of them – while personally, enjoying intercourse.)

Consider branching out into radical concepts like not viewing every person you meet as a series of receptacles for Mister Snorty’s emissions.


Rule 3: this should probably be number 1, but you have not won the lottery.

Nor is some bank official, family member of an overthrown government, or other telling you they want your bank details because then they can send you millions of dollars. They won’t.

This is called the Nigerian Scam, but the letters now come from every country in the world.


Rule 4: You have also not been carefully selected to receive a special offer.

Unless by carefully selected they mean “you said in some form you filled out online you liked X so we’re now trying to sell you something tentatively X-related.” Usually, they mean “your email was on a list we hacked from somewhere.”


Rule 5: She doesn’t love you.

People do meet online and translate that into a real life loving relationship, or even a hot date – however women writing to men can be divided into two kinds – women looking for visas or money, and men looking to fleece you.

The gorgeous Eastern Bloc, African, or Asian girl is usually a man sending you messages, and he is looking for –

  • someone stupid enough to give their credit card numbers.
  • someone silly enough to wire money.
  • a complete fucktard who will do both.

Australian men keep getting caught by this (as do men worldwide). Some even manage to reach the coveted ultra-fucktard status – when you’re dumb enough to go to Africa to meet your ‘love’ without some serious research first.

I googled “west australian man africa internet kidnap” looking for one i’d heard of, who spent some time chained to a toilet in Africa while his kidnappers tried to screw a ransom out of his family, and discovered a Belgian and a South Australian man also suckered in the same way.

Internet romance without any real life quotient (especially before any real life quotient) can be summed up in one word – fantasy. It can also be overwhelming, because you’re free to hang your fantasy love object banner on them – and because there’s no real life to bring you down.

Real love comes from real life – real contact – before you get there, you’re just perceiving an online persona. If you’re in love with anything, you’re in love with something that doesn’t actually exist.

handy hint: #2 You do know, when the woman you pay for sex tells you what a great lover you are, she really does say that to all the boys?
Corollary: This includes those you pay for:
online bdsm (kink), real life bdsm, phonesex, or cybersex.

Watch out for people who need money for operations, desperate trips to see their dying mother, or to pay crucial bills and the like.

People like me, who want new office chairs or decent chocolate biscuits in the Bikkie Jar of Doom, you can give us all your money without a qualm.

You can trust me, I'm egotistical.

You can trust me, I'm egotistical.

Which makes a pretty neat segue into…


Rule 6: there are fakes on the net.

People do meet from the net, and do fall in love/become friends with alarming regularity. I’ve met 100’s of genuine people in real life, in the decade and a bit i’ve been on the net. (No, i didn’t shag them all. One needs chemistry.)

On ‘dating sites’, many of the ‘women’ can be men, hoping that this way they can at least get cybersex. If you were a woman, you’d be alerted by things like “i’m just shaving my clit for you, baby”, (quote from a wannabe woman in an open chat room), whereas the guy she met at a city railway station was SO surprised when a man turned up.

Handy Hint #3: the hair doesn’t grow right on the clitoris, boys.

These men pretending to be women or to be part of couples think you’re so desperate, that any sex will be alright. “Men give better oral to men, right?”


Rule 7: the net isn’t full of hot women who will meet you for sex without even seeing a picture of your face. Unless they charge by the half-hour or are infected with something you really don’t want to catch. They aren’t usually hot.

Corollary: An astonishing number of men however, are totally available right now for anything with orifices. Yes, an octopus or a hole in the wall would probably do most of them.

Handy hint #4: Practise safe sex.

Here’s something cheerful. Via the internet, I’ve met a number of  men, (I’m talking about hetero and bi ones not gay men), shagged a few of them, and chatted to 1,000’s – around the world over a decade or so. With probably only a handful of exceptions, when safe sex was discussed, they thought it was optional.

These were men on dating, kink, and  swinger sites – some were wanting one night stands, others relationships – and not just the men, the women too. In cases where sexual liaisons lasted more than one night, most people stopped using condoms after the first few times, convinced they could tell if a person had something unpleasant.

Y’all know, HIV infection doesn’t show any signs, sometimes for 20 years? Neither do many sexually-transmitted diseases. People can be carriers of herpes and various kinds of Hepatitis without knowing at all.

One man rationalised not getting checked even after he found out his wife was having an affair as – he knew the man, and was pretty sure the man was only doing his wife plus his own wife. Wasn’t as if it was someone she picked up in a bar.

People are strange. Which brings us to…


Rule 8: dating sites have amazing numbers of married people cheating.

If you suss them out, they’ll often say, while pretending to urbanity, “She knows i have a higher sex drive than she has, and doesn’t mind me looking elsewhere.”

Wow, doesn’t he sound just like Hugh Hefner? And Hef’s such a model of what women want.

Seriously, with all the men on adult dating sites claiming that they’re allowed to cheat – if this many women were so casual over who their man had sex with, we would know about it.

Handy hint #5 men will lie for sex, married men more so.
Corollary: Women lie too.

Apparently divorce is illegal now, (everywhere in the world), otherwise why would all these people be saying, “I love him/her but he/she doesn’t understand my sexual needs so i’m justified in seeking them elsewhere. No, i can’t divorce *pious glance to heaven* for the sake of the children.”

Oh, what a poor suffering victim he/she is. Have we mentioned, to beware professional victims?

Married-people-cheating tell you this claptrap because they want to be covered in case you get the wrong idea, and think that them saying, “I love you! You’re my dream, my one and only, the person i’ve waited for all my life!” means more than “Damn! You could suck a golfball through a garden hose! That’s a talent!”

I’ve been fooled by married people who claimed their relationships were over , and that they were now in love with me.  They weren’t.

They only loved their own penises.


Rule 9: your bank did not send that email.

Nor did Paypal, or any other site you’ve used your credit card in or you have a bank account with. Do not click that link in the email – it’s a fake site that wants to harvest your account passwords.

To minimise this kind of email ending up somewhere where you might click on it without thinking, like in your ISP email, use a hotmail account (or something else without your name on it) when out on the web. Which leads us onwards, and finally…


Rule 10: Not everyone on the net is a nice person.

Sad, but true. Along with the criminals (we have those outside the net too, remember?), there are some really damaged people around. Ones who’ll do damage to you if they get a chance.

In real life, you’d see they were completely insane and back away fast – here on the net, it can be harder to tell. Crazy eyes don’t always show in a text-based format. With that in mind, don’t use your real name as a handle on a dating site.

Same goes with Twitter – unless you’re purely using your account for business, you may want to set up your  Twitter, email, blog, etc, so you don’t make it too easy for people to find you. Don’t use your home email, use a hotmail or gmail (or other) account.


Handy Hint: #6: You’re the mark. The gullible person they’re hoping to trick.

The internet is just like the real world – most people in it are just ordinary people, but there are also those spammers, cheaters, rip-off merchants – and much worse. (Just Google “lured victim by internet”.)

All of them are types of sociopaths and psychopaths who don’t actually see you as a person. Don’t be a victim – be smart, be safe, and have fun. (I’ve had a lot of fun.) Google is your friend – along with sites like Snopes that debunk hoax and scam emails.


This list isn’t exhaustive, but it covers some of the usual suspects.

Handy hint: Lucky # 7: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

The reason the spammers keep spamming is because people fall for it –  people click the link. You click, they get paid. You sign up, they get paid. All those get-rich-quick schemes are aimed at one thing – getting enough people to buy in so that the person at the top gets rich – not you.


If i still haven’t convinced you to be careful online, then don’t forget, donations to the Buy Her Majesty A New Tank Fund Office Chair & Bikkie Fund can be made via my hotmail address, which is posted top right, on this site that anyone with a hotmail address can join.

The badges are my own work, made on
the wonderful Says-It generator site – links to it behind the badges.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


What does NFSFFW mean? Well, Not Safe For Work is NSFW, then we have Not Fucking Safe for Fucking Work.

I’m trying to warn you, that in this post in particular, if you’re offended by bad language, you had better run away. This post is offensive. Nice, huh? I’ve probably guaranteed everyone will read right to the end. It’s mostly pictures, it’s not like it will strain you.


There are a lot of people searching for ponies and ending up on this blog. You probably want to close this window now, before you’re inducted into the Queen of Darkness’s armies.


What am i enraged about today? Hmm… let’s see. Aside from the usual, like the government’s plans to censor the internet for all Australians, i’m not feeling super enraged. I thought instead i’d show you some pretty pictures. Ready?

Here we go!

just the thing for the church picnic

just the thing for the church picnic, & thought-provoking

Hmm… i don’t know if I want that one, people might think i’m a believer. There’s always shock value ….

i'm not sure i'm this much of an attention whore

i'm not sure i'm this much of an attention whore

In the end, i designed my own.

Finbert rides again

Finbert rides again

Root means ‘sex’ in Australian, by the way – ‘wanna root?’ = ‘wanna fuck’. Yep, i think i’ll go with the one above – that poor fish, he’s had a workout.

Finbert also appeared in this post, where he was sexually abused by Burt Lancaster. It wasn’t Burt’s fault, it was a typo – you see, that fish is a cichlid. Read the post, seriously, it makes sense there. Well, as much sense as i ever make.

I was reading back over some posts while chasing down links for this and noticed that my most popular posts remain the ones you think are sexual (aside from whichever is the newest one).

You still can’t get enough Camel Toe for the Beginner – which does have camel toe, but also has bizarre fetishes, just so nobody gets lonely.

Another hawt sexy post Toaster Sex Will Rot Your Brain is actually a very nice rant on the unfairness of being banned because i have breasts. I still love the pics i did for that one. There’s something about toaster sex.

Yeah, i know most visitors are not really admiring the size of my brain or my cute pictures. Or even my Minions’ Badges. You’re looking for porn. (Or ponies, various birds, Antichrist humor, penectomies, and sex dolls. Seriously. And people say I’m weird.)

I do have a disclaimer somewhere that points out that when i mention sex, i do put in enough jokes to make it highly interruptive if you’re trying to masturbate. And i really wasn’t serious about inserting furniture.

If you like the two tshirts at the top, and want one, click the pic to go the shops that sell them.

I think the third one rocks. I want one of those! Where’s my Number One Minion? Make it so, Number One!


In other news – there are at least 17 people visiting my blog every day! SEVENTEEN! Wow.

Seventeen people is enough for a death squad, this is so cool!

Bless you, dear little minions Beloved Visitors.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

so, how big is your virtual penis?

I dropped in on the Bloggess’s blog – i want a Jenny doll that dispenses pills and vodka, is nearly raped by giraffes (that was a couple of months ago), screams at Victor, oh, yeah, and offers William Shatner a hooker *snigger*  – there’s a merchandising opportunity for someone.

WAIT! Don’t click that link, you’ll be gone for hours, read the rest of this one, then go enjoy the Bloggess.

She mentioned Robert Scoble (aka @Scobelizer) unfollowing people on Twitter. So, through Jenny, (as i then checked) i discovered Mr Scoble had unfollowed me – i was one of the 102,000. (This is me resisting the urge to scream SPARTA and attack Mr Scoble with a short sword.) He now only follows people he knows, fellow-geeks, and (powerful) people he admires. [note, i had to change the link after Mr Scoble removed the post – that link’s on Mashable, and they also reference the post he removed.]

WAIT! Don’t click that link either, it’s not relevant. *takes the safety off the Hello Kitty Kalashnikov* Don’t make me shoot you before i give you the potted version.  Oh frick, i suppose you’re going to read it now.

It’s basically him saying omg how amazing, if you pay attention to who your followers on Twitter are, and don’t just follow back blindly, you have a better experience. Shock, horror! (Alright, so he has interesting bits on his blog you might like, i suppose you could look at it after you read The Bloggess.)

He followed TheBloggess back after a few hours. She’s both admirable and powerful (and should be getting megabucks *gives meaningful stare at those who have megabucks*), and he knows her in real life *sighs* triple whammy.

Anyway, i didn’t mind him unfollowing, it was silly of him to be following me, as we don’t talk; i’m not a geek (i am not! I haven’t programmed in a decade and i was never interested, I only did it because it was useful); i’m not famous or powerful, (yet); and anyway, i stopped following him back in about April. (I joined Twitter in mid March 09.)

We don’t actually have anything in common, aside from following @TheBloggess on Twitter. He’s a technological evangelist, I’m the Antichrist. Which probably means we do have things in common, but we haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve unfollowed people on Twitter only to discover months later that i really enjoy their tweets, and i refollow.

Interesting fact about Twitter that i learned from his blog – even with 1,000 people, you start losing tweets – that is, they don’t show up. I’ve noticed this at busy times (when the USA is online) with only 400 i’m following, and 500 followers.

Now, i don’t refollow automatically, (since the first time someone spammed me), and i block anyone who’s actually a spammer so they can’t follow me.

The ‘lost tweets’ do seem to show up later for me, but i don’t get that many @ replies in my tweetstream (check  out how many people are tweeting strange things @ someone famous – it’s scary) and most of my stream aren’t directed @ me. Still interesting that the more people, the less you’re able to actually communicate with them on Twitter.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking wow, he only just realised that being spammed on Twitter sucks. I was writing blogs on that months ago. We’re talking about a man who joined back in… ooh, was it 20 November 2006?

Evidently, when he was following 102,000 people or so, (he autofollowed everyone back), he kept getting spammed. As we’d say in Australia, “Dur, Fred.” (Means “I thought that was obvious.”)

He also got a lot of pure advertising on his main Twitter screen, (say it aint so! who knew?!) and since he unfollowed everyone, (then followed back who he actually wanted to follow – gosh, there’s a radical concept), he’s lost the advertising! And no-one is spamming his DM box!

Where’s the facepalm icon? Do you know anyone who facepalms in real life? I don’t. I am not sure I know how. WTF is a facepalm anyway? Excuse me while i consult the oracles. Oh, wait, i DO know what a facepalm is, we didn’t call it that before. (In real life, Mr Whatsit just facepalmed about something unrelated. Talk about life imitating art!)

Stop facepalming me!

Mind you, while you’re busy judging me for that blonde moment – there are 190 people commenting on this dude’s blog (though some also said their regional equivalent of  “Dur, Fred”).

Usually, not even 1 in 10 visitors comment, so the number of people reading him in a week is way more than my Beloved Visitors in total since March. *shines the Beloved Visitors and puts out the tea things* Yes, preciouses, you shall have crumpets with marmalade.

If i have ONE comment, i chuck a party! I get excited just knowing someone drops in EVERY day. Yes, you’re here looking for porn, but i don’t judge you! Actually, two people came here looking for “Malcolm Turnbull humour”and one for “bloody hello kitty” and there have been – as i predicted in previous posts – some lost ornithologists.

Porn visitors are still my main accidental market. *sighs* It’s the net, i really shouldn’t expect much more. Note the desperate, misspelled “real sex doll” hunters are out in force, but i do well from mentioning native animals – this is what Search Engine Optimisation experts don’t tell you – budgies are good for hits.

Feel i should add, i didn’t deliberately do this, it’s like the eunuchs, i was just expressing myself, said ‘penectomy’, and i’m suddenly picking up the nullification and castration market.

However, Beloved Visitor numbers are pleasing Her Majesty, as for no reason we can discern (you don’t always laugh at the bits we find hysterical), people are visiting – between 5-30 a day. We do better when we procrastinate on the book and play on Twitter, or if we can spare time to do blog posts and remember to promote them.

Mind you, many of Robert Scoble’s Beloved Visitors (or the Bloggess’s) who do comment are trying to promote their own websites, and it’s interesting watching all the schmoozing going on. But i’m left thinking, well, good thing this Scoble bloke can run a website, or he’d be screwed, cos in the real world, he’s a bigger blonde than i am. (If that hair’s natural, i think he is, literally.)

Businessweek.com pic of Robert Scoble (copyright Thomas Hawk)

Businessweek.com pic of Robert Scoble (copyright Thomas Hawk)

Mr Scoble is an authority – evidently, *consults oracles again, using “robert scoble, authority, social media”* AND he was someone famous before last year. I had forgotten that last year even existed!

Now, ‘Technical Evangelist’ sounds like something made up, right? But no, they paid him, and all because he invented computers, the web, technical evangelism, worked for  Microsoft and dared to criticise them, and was head wrangler on the 9-MSN website.

But he didn’t know spam was boring shite something you’re better off without? Well, there you go. Explains a lot about the 9-MSN website, and about Microsoft.

I’ve blogged before about most people who are held up as authorities, or say they understand social media – don’t mean to include the Scobelizer in that, btw, he deserves credit for shanking Microsoft from within, for learning about his field (Twitter really is a better experience if you manage your followers), and for being like normal people, in putting off cleaning out his Twitter Followers.

I  respect procrastination, that’s a sign you’re not Tony Robbins , or someone suckered by the ‘everyone, get rich!’ bollocks of the multi-level marketers, with the sub-text of ‘if you’re not rich, it’s your fault’. (Subtext from me: do not punch the fucking air again, or i will kill you)

You may even deserve kudos for just getting out of bed in the morning. (The Scobelizer procrastinated so long, he had to get someone to write a program to delete that many. *suitably awed*)

Hopefully, he’s learned size isn’t everything. Size isn’t even that important – as any woman will tell you, it’s how you use what you’re blessed with that matters.

Men nearly always translate this into keeping their Followers up for hours.

Women usually mean oral sex, kissing, and good touching.
Nothing to do with Twitter at all.


Feel i should mention, the above is mostly complete bullshit,
and meant as humour. Or even humor.

Follow Robert (Scobelizer) Scoble on Twitter
Follow @TheBloggess on Twitter
Follow @WilliamShatner on Twitter

Follow the war against William Shatner by TheBloggess’s followers,
(even crazier than she is, and yes, i’m proud to be one),
after he blocked her on Twitter, on her blog link at the very top of the page
or at the Twitter trend #UnblockTheBloggess

His side of it? He has a side? I think he just thought she was nuts.

[note: eventually, he unblocked her and the army could go home, or at least stop tweeting]

Follow me on Twitter @stinginthetail

The rules are simple.
Laugh at my jokes, or die.

I’m actually very nice, seriously – my tweets are unlocked, you’ll see most of them are happy inoffensive poems about dwarves and fairies having race wars.

But don’t mention marketing opportunities or ways to whiten my Followers’ teeth, because i will block you before you can say “Make $$$ – ask me how!”

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

It’s Fucktard Time at The OK Corral

Have been watching Mr Whatsit get flamed – for what massive crime? (i hear you ask, in a neat literary device thingie.) Was it for abusing someone? No, for daring to mention his dislike of plagiarism, a subject i’ve covered before, (after one of my posts was copied word for word and put up on another blog site as all someone else’s work).

Despite saying he’s against plagiarism, he’s been accused so far of being in favour of censorship, against free speech, and – my personal favourite – of being a communistic Nazi. Wow, i thought, they must be saying that because he’s my consort.

I shouted, “Tell them you’re an anarchist monarchist!” and threw him an assault rifle. We don’t take prisoners in the Kingdom of Darkness. Who wants pet fucktards? You only have to muck out their stables. And feed them pony nuts. Wait, that’s Shetlands.

Fucktards aren’t half as much fun.

most blogs, you get gratuitious pictures of breasts (click image to visit the happy place of worldofhorses)

most blogs, you get gratuitous pictures of breasts - this is a gratuitous Shetland pony. I like ponies. It's my blog. I can have ponies. Do not get between me and my pony. My pony will take you down. Srsly.

I would much rather have a Shetland than a fucktard, and i used to help look after two of the little bastards. Shetlands, that is, not fucktards. I’ve been pony-crazed since rather young, so much so that my parents hired a pony for my sixth birthday.

I thought he was for a present, not for the day. Life pretty much went downhill from there, and this kind of pony-related trauma is why i need to invade Queensland. Ha, thought i’d forgotten?

No way, am merely biding my time, (slightly delayed due to elements temporarily beyond my control, like ‘the world’) then zip, the Queen of Darkness will be across the northern border quicker than you can say, “Would you like pineapple with that?” If not pineapple, it’s banana.

And they don’t ask, it’s just there – ubiquitous pineapple and banana. I was amazed when I moved to Queensland, and grapefruit disappeared from “breakfast juice” to be replaced with pineapple and banana. Strange people, Queenslanders, but for all that, i like them. Generally, they’re very down to earth.

Trapped here in New South Wales, I hesitate to criticise, in case the locals burn me at the stake. Am always wondering if i should play dumb at the supermarket in case someone detects a brain in a woman – or realises i don’t have a badly ageing tattoo somewhere and that i actually read for pleasure – and starts screaming, “She’s a witch, she’s a witch! Burn her!”

Wait, just saying that is pretty critical, right? I will spread the load – it actually reminds me heaps of Western Australia, my home state.

But wait…. before i lose it completely about my beloved homeland, someone deciding anti-plagiarism is a sign of censorship made me realise what’s going on. See, they’re not even in Australia! Yep, we’re in the middle of worldwide fucktard season. Ah, of course, that explains everything.

The bad news? It’s been going on since the dawn of time. For some reason, they won’t let me shoot fucktards, so i have to be content with laughing at them.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

Take it like a man, son…

Rosellas (a small local parrot) look like God (or the lumpen-angel in charge of small birds for Australasia) thought budgies weren’t bright enough, so daubed their heads and chest with red, then decided the rest of the spectrum of their feathers had to be ramped up – bring on the electric yellow and acid green, oh yeah, baby!

How many shades of blue can i use? And let’s put a white spot near their eyes, to make them really stand out. I’ve got some red left over, it can go under the tail. Oh yes!

The black speckles on their backs, let’s make them out of a kind of black velour, that makes them look like they’re part-velvet painting. What was God on when he invented the Eastern Rosella? Whatever it was, it made something pretty.

Eastern Rosella  - Wikipedia Commons Image

Eastern Rosella - Wikipedia Commons Image

The reference is a joke – God, contrary to the edicts of the morally-corrupt minority, has a sense of humour, and i’m sure will not mind – seriously, please don’t pray for me any more, or i’ll have used up my prayers when i really need one.

Talking to God does not imply the owner of this blog completely believes in God, Satan, Heaven, Hell, etc etc, blah blah…. except in States where such a lottery is illegal. It’s just not as funny if i say “What was evolution thinking about?”

Especially because some ornithologist  – who happens to be passing this blog post, probably accidentally, looking for rosellas. The weird ornithologist says they evolved like that mostly for sexual reasons. And we’re back there again.

It’s mating season outside the window.  I feel like a parrot pervert, watching parrots make out. They’re so cute, and loving. And colourful. Rosellas are a minority, most of them are lorikeets, which are like a rainbow exploded.


from OzJulian at Flickr

Down on the lake’s beach, a kind of Australian robin, with a speckled red breast, skim around insect-catching over the shallows . If you get close, like robins in the northern hemisphere, they come to see what you’re up to, hovering like honeyeaters at head-height.

Serene and so pretty, and the wankers who decided to run round the lakes several times on their hovercraft over the weekend were not welcome. I bet they think they’re so freaking green.

They were leaving a decent bow wave, only a metre or two from the shore, (that’s shore erosion right there), and were charging through shallows, in an area that’s a haven for birds and fish, usually never entered by boats (unless they run aground, in which case it’s great to watch.

We’re not being mean, just watching – anyone in serious trouble, we’d help, but the deepest part in front is only waist deep, they can walk to shore. It’s also full of diving birds, there for the fish that get trapped in the pools as the tide goes out.

Apparently hovercraft are driven only by complete wankers don’t have to obey normal regs, like keeping to the watercraft channels or speed limits, and they have petrol engines making enough noise to wake the freaking dead.

Though Mr Whatsit only grunted, because he had his earplugs in, it being the weekend, and round here they like to celebrate the weekend with Powertool Party Saturday, which nearly always ends up going into Mower Mardi Gras Sunday.

Once again, the longing for a decent sniper rifle overwhelms me. Put Kalashnikov in as a search word at the top of the page, and you’ll see how many times i was also longing for just a weapon, damn it! I curse Australia’s nambypamby gun laws, that mean i can’t just shoot people going past because they annoy me.

They wouldn’t do this to me in Texas! The Queen of Darkness would be allowed her Kalashnikov in a choice of colours. Of course, in the USA you need weapons to protect yourself from everyone else who also has weapons. I don’t actually want to be where everyone else has weapons,  I’m just looking for a clean kill, and am too lazy to learn to use a bow.


Anyway, aside from that, this is my first ever “Poor Bastard of the Week Award.”  Logan Campbell, a New Zealand martial artist, who’s an Olympian in Taekwondo, has turned to prostitution to support his career, saying he’s tired of his parents supporting him – it cost them over 100k to send him to the last Olympics.

He competed in Beijing, did very well, (lost against the guy who won bronze, and was in top 16) and is preparing for London in 2011. He’s started a gentlemen’s escort service – legal in NZ – and you’d think well, that’s enough, isn’t it? Nobody goes into prostitution without thinking about it hard. But no.

“Taekwondo New Zealand (TNZ) was unenthusiastic about the move, saying it would be taken into account when considering him for international selection.

“Selection takes into account not just performance but also the athlete’s ability to serve as an example to the youth of the country,” TNZ funding manager John Scholfield told the newspaper.” Quote from Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

Read it and weep. There he is, trying to be a man, starting a legal business and he’s now being judged as not fit to be around children. They say ‘an example’ but we all know what Mr Scholfield means. It’s well-known that all sex workers are dangerous paedophiles, usually armed with axes  and bags of sweets, so this is a good thing.

(I couldn’t find a pic of a prostitute with an axe, but i looked for one.)

Wait, the voices outside-my-head say that this is not true! Apparently, most sex workers do it just as a freaking job! Phew! They aren’t actually sexually abusive to children! OMG.

Someone should tell Taekwondo New Zealand – who were happy to hang this guy out to dry and let him find his own funding – that not relying on his parents to pay for his life choices is actually a fine example for young people.

I’m not sure who’s in control of this post – it’s not me, i’m too drugged and overloaded with hormones to know which way is up. I’ve had two periods in just under three weeks. I thought i was both stressed and sick, (getting over the never-ending gastric flu and waiting until we can move house), but now i realise i’ve been also struggling under a hormone overload.

Lovely. And you wonder why i want a gun? Pfft. Of course it would be safe. I’m very safety-conscious. Besides, i wouldn’t be shooting at anyone, just suggesting targets, Mr Whatsit’s already a crack shot, makes sense to use him. Maybe we won’t have to kill them. If we wing a few, the others will try harder.

In the absence of guns, i’ll have to blow a giant raspberry across the Tasman to NZ, to John Scholfield and the rest of the nice people at Taekwondo New Zealand. I was going to make poor Logan Campbell some kind of prize, but fuck it, he’s making more than i am – 150k savings a year? Nice one, son. Even if it is only NZ dollars.

So, he’s making a good living, but he’s probably destroyed his chance of selection on the team, despite being able to be fitter, more prepared, less stressed, and more able to capitalise on his Olympic experience in Beijing. And they won’t pick him because he’s a man-whore. So, everyone together,  “You poor bastard!”

Interesting thought: a woman in same boat would also be denied a place on a team unless from somewhere very enlightened like maybe Denmark. It’s  not just New Zealand which gives mixed messages to its citizens. Legal but frowned upon.

Glad i don’t have kids to explain the hypocrisy to, because as an adult, all i can think of is well, don’t ever think that if you work in the sex industry you’re going to be able to tell most people what you do, and not be judged as less for it.

It’s not fair, or right, but it’s sure how it is.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

sex and drugs and rock and roll…

… are very good indeed. At least, so the song says. Having overindulged in all of them, i can vouch for that. Though over-indulgence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hedonism is a nice place to visit (not for me, i’m not big on public displays of nudity or swingers’ resorts, but others enjoy it very much).

When it comes down to it, it’s in Jamaica, and that’s just not convenient for the modern dictator monarch intrepid novelist on the go. Not as an Antichrist headquarters. Though it’s tempting just to try the grass. i used to smoke with Jamaicans in London, we like similar states of zoom.

Are you one of those people, who when asked, so what do you do for a living, have a one or two word answer that’s completely true and not contentious?

I envy people like that. I mean those who are a thing. Like accountant, doctor, [insert vocation here]. Because being a writer is like when you say you’re ‘an artist’.

Once people find out you make plasticine toys then show them to your friends on Twitter, they tend to think ‘artist‘ eh? Well, we don’t know about art, or claymation, but we know what we like, and plasticine models of animals won’t get you anywhere.

For those new to the strange labyrinth we call my mind, this post is probably brought to you by the voices-outside-my-head (basic rule of thumb, those we listen to, because they never tell us to hurt anyone… the voices-inside-my-head can be ignored with impunity) who think it’s funny when i tell people that I’m the Antichrist.

I’m not really the Antichrist, but then (as we’ve discussed) the Antichrist would say that. It’s like “when did you stop beating your wife?” I find the career question hard to answer without someone saying “She’s a witch, she’s a witch! Burn her!”

So, i’m sort-of a writer, of the new-and-improved giant space opera-fantasy epic of Doom! And currently trapped inside a mould-ridden house (also of Doom), but soon now, i will find a way out. This ‘way‘ so far involves saving madly and thus far, acquiring some boxes. They’re very nice boxes.

Sturdy, and made of cardboard. A plentiful number. We also have tape, packing paper, and one box assembled, so just as soon as someone gets the urge, we can start packing.

We can’t afford to move any of it for maybe a month, (at least) so there’s not a lot of time-pressure. Time is meaningless – lunchtime doubly so. Was that a Douglas Adams quote? It sounds as if it should be.

Aha – he said it’s an illusion. Nope. Well, yes. And it’s meaningless. And fleeting. Time is also like a piece of string. No, seriously. Pay attention – i will be asking questions later. See, anywhen is actually right here, right now. Well, maybe just a step to the right. Cool huh?

I’m probably not going to ask questions, because i’d have to provide links, explain then discuss string theory, posit parallel universes, and read more than i really wanted to when starting this.

It was supposed to be an airy rambling about life. I’ve already had to find links to Hedonism II, Wallace & Gromit, and now Douglas Adams has started posthumously grandstanding in it.

He wrote one of the funniest books ever Life, The Universe, & Everything – which is a fab book, if you haven’t read it. It was made into two movies, neither of which are actually as good as the book. It’s the kind you can’t read on the train, because you laugh out loud too much. “42!”

Here’s something scary for those who remember reading it  close to its publication date. It was published 31 years ago. Feck. Age is so huge. Sort of like space. Either it’s not enough or it’s too much, for most of us.

I cope like everyone else, i’m about thirty inside my head (i was much more sensible by the time i hit thirty), and on the outside, i’m 48. I look in the mirror and wonder who the baggy bint with the silver streaks in her hair is.

I suppose i’m your average Supreme Being. Yeah, delusional is exactly what i was going to say. On your knees, children of the blog… yes, of course you can have cushions. Ahem, you at the back, i wasn’t serious. For heaven’s sake, use a comfy chair.

We’ve discussed this before – worship of me involves reading the blog (laughing, thinking, and even commenting, when i let you get a word in), and adding me on Twitter.

The whole thing, about overindulging a bit, partying hard, (no, i have no idea where i’m going with this, i presume there’ s a point somewhere, or even somewhen), is that you get a bit older, and it’s cool.

I have experience. I have done things. At least, other people are impressed, which is funny, because at the time, it was just life. I thought everyone was doing it. Imagine my surprise when i discovered there were heaps of people who’ve never even tried a Flaming Sambucca. Back in the early 80’s, this was, before they started putting them out before you drank them. I did fine. Nobody was more astonished than me when i didn’t set fire to myself.

I saw someone use Bundaberg Rum to create a Flaming Bundy. I think maybe rum’s more flammable? Especially if you pour it over yourself when you toss the drink back, because you’re drunk . Whoof! It was very spectacular to watch.

He was fine, the alcohol burned off fast, and his facial hair was so greasy it didn’t catch, but i took it as a signal that the night was over. It was 2am, my mate had stopped fancying him, and we’d only followed him to his London bedsit because he said he had booze. I was ready to go home when i discovered it was Bundy.

Among things you really need to do before you leave your 30’s – like read the Tree Lobsters Webcomic – I was astonished to find women who never even had an orgasm until they were over 40. How can you go through life without exploring a bit? Gawd.

Over 40, you’re going to hurt yourself trying to do all that teen stuff. Only teens can do it, you know, that burning the candle at both ends, without payback of massive proportions. And they get payback, they just don’t let it stop them.

I forget, some people are still thinking that down there is some freaky place you mustn’t touch, or like nitroglycerine, it might go off. “OMG, look out, she’s gonna blow! Everyone, run!” *sounds of screams and running feet*

Sadly, people being stupid isn’t enough reason to kill them. It’s a good reason to encourage them to neuter themselves accidentally with a sandwich maker. Death or sudden emasculation. You have to make it look like an accident.

Like when you’re parking the tank, and oops, you dropped a track on the neighbours. And maybe their kids. “I’m sorry, officer, i didn’t see them there.” He’ll say, “Queen of Darkness, eh? What’s with the tank?” Men are complete suckers for tanks. Maybe i’ll let him take it for a spin.

I won’t say “OMG, it’s the filth!” Or anything referring to da Babylon. I’ll impress him with my knowledge of weapons of war (total dilettante, but glib, that’s me – and i have a nice smile). I’ll tell him that the tank is to invade Queensland.

And he’ll say, “Flatten a cane toad for me”, or something equally derogatory about Queenslanders. I’ll be cool, because there’s all this stupid interstate rivalry going on with these little postage stamp places over here on the east coast, but i’m not from these parts.

Western Australia is a over a million square miles (2,532,400 km2) – eat that, piddly lil eastern states places. (Texas would fit 5+ times in WA.) Besides, i’m following the actual New South Wales police on Twitter, so safe from arrest. They don’t want to offend me, because i might unfollow them on Twitter.

Yes, cunning of me. And the next time they announce they’re seeking a mysterious Queen of Darkness who’s allegedly been playing war games with a tank at the Budgewoi shops, and ran over some women and children on a crosswalk, where they really shouldn’t have been, i’ll have advance warning.

If i’m home by then, and can see what’s happening on Twitter, of course, as i don’t have a mobile tweeting ability. The worst part about Twitter? I find myself wanting to tweet things when i’m out. *sighs*

I even think, wow, maybe if all those Mac users are having so much fun, i’ll have to get one. I will tweet from cafes like everyone else does. And i will take photos of my food, even if it looks like dog turds on a plate. (Most food doesn’t, most food is jealousy-provoking good stuff.)

Then i remember i don’t like Macs, so screw that. Oops – i nearly joined a cult there. See how easy it is? Beware of religion, and pass the bong.

I have PMS, a cold, and a massive allergic reaction. I feel like crap.

But the drugs are working quite well.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

is everyone nude?

Top Searches
“facebook ate my baby”,  bdsm penectomy drawing,
sting in the tail soap,  man humps a camel,  a horse humping a man


These are top searches people used to find my blog – god, you people are sick, lol. Except for Mr/Ms Clean there, looking for soap – i hope you weren’t too traumatised. And i suppose ‘facebook ate my baby‘ is okay. When I look at the most active posts, sex and violence win every time, and a little necrophilia or bestiality doesn’t hurt. Well, it doesn’t hurt one’s hits.

I spent the morning on Twitter and commenting on blogs. Well, i didn’t actually post all comments. The one that said “you’re stupid, they’re stupid, and you all deserve to die” didn’t get posted. Neither did the one that said “oh ffs, you’re being a hysterical fear-monger” or the one that said, “oh what a pair of wet sad fucktards!”.

I’m not that desperate for hits that i’ll encourage bare-knuckle fighting in the comments.

Some people do – and for some it works, for others it becomes a distraction. Serious flame wars do detract, usually. Sometimes, they’re great, as on Hello Kitty Hell, where Hello Kitty has one fan. Her name is Darlene, and laughing at her responses is part of a visit to the site.

Never read the comments on the LolCats site, or you will end up in a place worse than Hello Kitty Hell. You will never have sex again, that’s one thing for sure, and you will start making your cat wear clothes.

Some sites seem to end up with a bunch of people snarking at each other in the comments – others end up with people showponying, trying to act cute and funny, to pull people to their own blogs. It’s true, if you can say something good in the Comments, it will bring people to your blog. However, if it bombs, you look like a fucktard.

Me, i’m just happy to get comments, though i get annoyed when they don’t say anything except “i wrote a blog post on one tiny aspect of something you mentioned in passing in this post… and here’s the link”. Oh *drips sarcasm*, did you wonder why that one was deleted?

I am moderately annoyed today. Hormonal, hmm?

Well, yes, *stabs you in the head* i am a bit, now you mention it.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com