Panda Porn

I spent some time thinking about this one – I'm making a come back and I want it to be more 'Take That' than 'All Saints' (I bet most of you didn't even know All Saints tried a come back. They did. Rock Steady. It's awful.) This is what I have landed upon. It's potentially my least dignified blog yet...

I have found a video online of a panda fucking Little Red Riding Hood.

Now, I'm putting this disclaimer up: if you are a family member, for the love of God and all that is Holy, do not reading any further. Just don't. If you do read any further (and it is perverse if you do), then don't tell me. I don't care if you get drunk at Christmas and are just dying to talk about it, what I am about to divulge is not an appropriate subject to broach over turkey and stuffing...or ever. If you really are that curious about where this is going, just keep it to yourself. Forever.

So, I found this video. Don't ask me what I typed into the search bar to find it, that's between me and my therapist. What is important is the game of chicken that I played with my brain in the seconds after my eyes glazed over it:

BRAIN: Mate...I bet you can't get off on that.

ME: What? Why the fuck would I even try to you sick bastard!

BRAIN: Firstly, if you don't, you're always going to wonder 'What if...'.

ME: There are some things that even I won't do.

BRAIN: Maybe, but this isn't one of them.

ME: How do you know?

BRAIN: You are currently in the middle of lighting candles, locking the door and putting an Enya CD on.

ME: Shit. What's the second reason?

BRAIN: I am the boss of you and you are my bitch. Now GO!

Yes, I clicked the link. No, I am not proud of myself. It wasn't even the usual sort of shame that comes with this sort of extra curricular activity (you know, when you look at the screen, then at your hand, then back at the screen and wonder what the hell went wrong in your life to make Japanese tentacle porn a viable option?) it was more of a 'Oh God...what have I done?! What sort of monster am I?!' Like I had genuinely inflicted damage on someone. Remember that thing that went about a few years ago “Every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten. Think of the kittens.” well it felt as though I had seen the hand of God come down and muder-kill a kitten in front of it's helpless cat-mum then point at me and tell me it was all my fault just as a solitary diamond tear ran down his cheek.

This feeling soon passed though, at which point I gained enough outside perspective to ask; “Who the hell made this? For what purpose?” and after what must have been minutes of speculation, the very best I could come up with was that a hardcore 'Save The Panda' hippie has become so consumed with his frustration that pandas refuse to fuck each other, that the only way for him to exorcise his demons concerning this was to actually film a big, hulking man panda absolutely devastate the personification of innocence itself, sweet little Red Riding Hood. If you have a better theory, please post it in the comments, because I need to have my faith in humanity restored somehow.

The lesson to take from this ream of debauchery? FUCK PANDAS. I don't care if you want to take that literally or metaphorically, but one way or the other, FUCK PANDAS. They are pointless, stupid animals who get far too much money and attention when all they want is to die out. Let the pandas fade away with the little dignity they have left. And no matter what you find yourself having to delete from your browsing history, there is always someone who has to delete worse :)

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The Pursuit Of Sexyness

Oh hey! Sorry I didn't see you there. It's been so long I nearly forgot what you looked like...still as ugly and juvenile as ever I see. I am of course talking about the long leave of absence I have taken from writing my blog, but I'm back with a vengeance so prepare your anus, pansies.

A lot has happened since I last graced the internet – I moved to a lovely new home (again), I've had a minor promotion at work, I passed college and I saw The Avengers - but that's all boring and the mere mention of it is purely a way for me to high five myself using the English language. This is a passive aggressive release and shall be used as such.

I recently pulled a 35 year old at a family wedding because she was the only single available female that I can (now) safely say that I was not related to. After I was finished taking a long hard look at my life the morning after, it got me thinking; what is the very worst thing I have ever done in the pursuit of sex?

Was it telling a woman that I was an Optician and could totally get her a huge discount on laser eye surgery before ordering another drink for her? Was it 'randomly' talking about how I kind-of-sort-of find C-sections sexy within earshot of a woman whom I knew had had one? Thankfully all of my 'sexual predator' stories are at best shenanigan-like in their awfulness and at worst an embarrassment to myself, but I genuinely think that the very worst thing that I have ever done to sleep with a woman is go down on her and then give her a 'well...you pretty much owe me now' look as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

How insidious is that? I am 100% sure that we are all foul of it, men and women, but when you get right down and think about it, you have just bartered for sex. That makes you a god-damned whore and you should feel the appropriate levels of filthy because of it. Now please don't read this as 'Ryan only ever gives to get' because that is not the case (I am a gentle yet powerful lover who nurtures as he rocks worlds.......in my head). What has happened however is that poking you in the side with my erection for 20 straight minutes didn't work and I've had to revert to plan B before blue-ball comes hurtling towards my testees with the force of a thousand punches.

I'm not here to say stop, I'm not even here to suggest preventative measures, what I am here to do is to ask that the next time you judge someone for what they do in bed, think to yourself what awful things you yourself have done.

“I will allow you to go paintballing with your friends, but only if you put on my lace panties and assume the position.”
“I don't care that you're on your period, we'll put a towel down”
“I point blank refuse to put that in there you gross fuck. Unless you promise to do it to me first.”

We are all messed up sexually to a degree, we've all done awful things with people we either trust or are just too drunk to give a shit about and we will continue to do this until our hips refuse to let us do anything but missionary. So for the love of sexy-jesus can we please stop judging me for pulling a 35 year old by telling her that I have a C-section fetish and that I would get her a discount on laser eye surgery. Thank you.

Don't forget to 'Join This Site' at the side if you want to be instantly informed of the next time I feel ashamed of something :)

Schizophrenic Terminator

When I boil it right down to basics, I have very few things to actually do. Turn up to work, coast through college, try and walk by the three bars that tempt me with their sweet, sweet beer on the way to the gym that I feel obliged to attend, and at least kid myself on that one day I will quit smoking. That's about it.

I write this blog from the comfort of my own home as my classmates sit through a lecture that I'm sure will be marginally less entertaining than watching Paris Hilton act while dressed. I am fresh off having a schizophrenic debate with myself about whether or not to phone in sick for work tonight because not only would that mean no work but also no gym, and the thing that helped me win the argument with my brain is that if I go to work I can have smoke. This, everyone, is how you fail at life.

I befriended a girl recently who has four jobs and studies how to perform brain surgery whilst sciencing the shit out of rockets...or something like that. I have a friend who works full time, volunteers and plays bass in a band. Where the fuck do you people find the motivation? Seriously, tell me. I need to know...now. Coffee doesn't work because I just end up excitedly flicking through Okay! magazine whilst on the toilet, I don't have the money (yet) for a cocaine habit and trying to self motivate myself is laughably embarrassing:
    "Ryan...Ryan...why don't you, like, maybe do something?"
"Because fuck you brain, that's why. When I want your advice I'll ask for it, now put me back to sleep and start off from where that jelly-wrestling dream left-off or so help me God I will drink your cells into an early grave."

If I had even slightly more motivation I could focus on writing a thrilling novel that no publisher would touch instead of this, arguably low-brow, blog. I don't need Terminator-esque determination, just enough so that when I wake up in the morning my first thought isn't that I already need this day to end.

If anyone knows how to achieve this with minimal effort, please tell me, because right now it's like my relationship with Emma Watson - impossible.

Keep on truckin' :)