101 Methods for Mouse Masturbation

stuart-little-2-1Scientists have made a brilliant discovery that may help overweight people lose weight by converting sugar into heat rather than storing it as fat. To quote New Scientist magazine “Bruce Spiegelman at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston [has] shown that foreskin cells from mice can be changed into brown fat cells. When injected… the cells burned sugar that would otherwise have been stored”.

Awesome. Fabulous. I’ll just go get myself some teeny little tweezers shall I? I mean, how exactly does one spank the mousey, as it were?

Now fatties are expected to carry one of those little plastic pet-shop cases packed with 3 bucks a day (“buck” being the term for a male mouse – duh!)? At the end of each meal you pull out another unfortunate future miniature eunuch and tug one off?

What happens if it’s a little chilly that day? Shrinkage could seriously hamper my progress.  So, how exactly do I warm the little fella up? I just don’t know that my thumb and forefinger are really all that nimble. I mean, I don’t want to break anything. For that matter, I’m not overly keen on getting a palmful of Mus Musculus* spunk either.

No thanks, I think I’ll stick with the tried and true method of a little 2-fingered post-meal assistance, like any self-respecting woman.

Jewish rodents need not apply.

* scientific name for the common house mouse.  Bet you didn’t know that before you started reading this piece of intellectual genius now did you?

Spam Whore Unmask Thyself

Have you ever noticed that spam porn is always about chicks?  I was cleaning out my spam, as you do every blue moon, and I noticed an odd trend.  Allow me to elucidate…

give her more of your rod
bring joy to your better half
rock her world every night
be aware of her needs
show her what you’re really packing
give her ecstacy
bang her, show her your love


Are you seeing the pattern here?  Do mine eyes deceive me? THESE ARE BEING WRITTEN BY WOMEN!!!!!!  I highly doubt that men are that motivated to ‘be aware of her needs’ which means it must have been written by a woman.  Now before you jump down my throat with your soon-to-be long hard rod, I’m not suggesting that men don’t care, I’m just saying that a command to ‘give her ecstacy’ isn’t a big male motivator.  I’m suggesting that perhaps some of the following subject lines may carry a little more impetus for the male psyche:

impale that bitch
wanna be a titan at the trough
be the biggest dick  
(ok this one has some problems I acknowledge that.  It’s a work in progress).
add inches to your rod
swinging dicks need not apply
make her bleed (oh, did I go too far?)

Now don’t they sound more masculine?  Surely any man would be jumping to be “the biggest dick”?  My point is, that there are women out there writing this spam porn and annoying me.  (Well, let’s not overstate things.  To be frank, I clear my spam out about once a year (apologies to all those real people who sent me emails like 8 months ago and you’ve just today got a reply from me – blame the spam gods at yahoo)).  Something must be done.

Oh, and by the way gents, if you take away anything from this rant, please let it be this bang her, show her your love. 🙂 

* Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Accidental Finger Tattoos are Fun

Why is it that someone who is ostensibly quite coordinated and relatively intelligent can do such stoopid things?

Oh ho ho… I accidentally tattooed my finger… he he he… what an amusing anecdote…. But I really, accidentally tattooed my fucking finger. On the first knuckle of the pointer on my right hand I now have a ½ centimeter black line. And there’s nothing clever, artistic or interesting about it.

It’s no:


…it’s just a plain crappy black line that peters out a little at one end.

I had one of those artline felt tip pens, the ones with the little metal barrel at the nib. And yes, exactly what you are thinking right now is what happened. I shoved that metal barrel into my finger, creating a puncture-like hole. Not intentionally, obviously. I was shoving the lid back on a little too enthusiastically and whammo! A puncture. In my skin. Oh, a puncture and a strange black line running down my finger. Interesting. Not to worry, it will go away.

Well guess what, no it fucking hasn’t. Hole? Gone. Black line, not. Gone.

I have officially tattooed myself.



Because the bounce-o-meter will let you procrastinate for another 5 minutes

I honestly saw this and assumed it was a joke… really… the Bounce-o-meter… I can’t tell you my profound joy at being disproved…


Oh, did you think I was being clever and oh so witty when I called it the bounce-o-meter???  You can thank the folks at shockabsorber.co.uk for that gem.

Thing is though, hilarious (tsk tsk) as it is, the bounce-o-meter is kinda pissing me off now.  Why? Because I want one.  One of their nifty brassieres I mean.

I’m 34 and a larger bosomed gal so I choose not to stand in front of the mirror and really examine how saggy my boobs may be – there are some things that best not to know. I can’t change it so I choose to ignore it but now, the fucking bounce-o-meter has got me thinking about the possibility, however remote, that my boobs, the one’s on which I’ve prided myself for many years, may no longer be exactly as great as I imagine them to be.

There’s no doubting they once were. Great.

Fucked if I can be arsed putting a whole lot of effort into examing the harsh truth… let’s face it, laziness clearly overrides any real desire to be perky. And you know, men will still be men (and lesbionics will still be lesbionics for that matter), they WILL still get looked at (the boobs not the men you imbecile)…

I choose to continue down the path of denial, thank you very much, so just stop judging me. Crack whore.