World Mooching

Old old old old blog. New one here. www.dansiron.co.uk

Thursday, June 14, 2007


Thursday 14th June 2007.

Not a great deal to report execpt that winter has begun to set in. This, to a man with my capacity to sweat is a welcome relief. Don't get me wrong, I am not a smelly and grimy individual, but my very healthy metabolism means that I do break into dampness with the remotest amount of exercise. This is not helped by my insistance in walking everywhere or by my refusal to buy a car. I would like to claim that I am going green and reducing both my carbon emissions and carbon footprint, but in actual fact it is simply that I would find parking tricky on my little street. That and the fact that I might have to fill in some forms if I buy a car.

My flatmate was telling me about her boss having some confusion about some TV advertising. She then went on to tell me about one of her other "blonde" moments. I shall tell the story here, but I won't name and shame her. She received a note requesting that she phone someone at Auckland Zoo about some advertising. She called and said

"Hello, it's Emma and I have a note to call to speak to a Mr. Ken Garue. Is he there?"

The woman on the other end of the phone actually shouted out.....

"Do we have a Ken Garue here?"

my flatmate, who I sharn't name, couldn't understand why everyone was laughing until someone took her to one side with, "Emma....let me explain...."


Ken Garue! I asked her if she meant to a ask for Ally Gayter but she was tired of me laughing by then.


Tonight I have stayed in and ended up watching a programme about dolls. Not Sindy Dolls, not Barbie Dolls, nor action men. Real Dolls. A sort of business class blow up doll. It is a sex tool for the lonely and they DO look relatively realistic. I don't think I need to explain what acts people would pay £4000 for a doll to perform, or what kind of person buys them. I am sure you can all work that out for yourselves. The really freaky part about the programme was that the owners treated the dolls as though they were real. Really real. Make up, clothes, chit chat, even cooking meals for them. The only thing that was unrealistic was that they didn't nag.

It was at this point that a mate of mine, Kev, sat watching with us baulked when the narrator moved onto the servicing of the dolls and the fact they were available with REAL pubic hair. "What if it was a man's pubes?!?!"

I explained to Kev that, in my opinion, if you had reached the stage where you were indulging in a physical relationship with a lump of rubber that you have parted with £4000 with....... I don't think that the origin of the hair would be the straw that broke the decency camels back!

"I admit that I can't form a real relationship with women and have paid £4000 to have a latex substitute satify my sexual needs, and yes, I do treat this inanimate object as though it were in fact human........BUT FOR CHRIST'S SAKE.....IT HAS THE BUSH OF A MAN! i AM NOT A PERVERT!!!!!"

The programme even went on to show the "doll Doctor" that does the servicing. In the initial appraisal of the dolls condition, he obviously has to pop his hands and fingers into all the nooks and crannies. Now, perhaps I thought about this too much..... but as the "dolly doctor" you WOULD know what the last thing was in those crevices. Call me squeamish but I felt a little nauseous when confronted with this thought. It was all I could do not to think about Peter Duncan in Flash Gordon when he pops his arm into that tree stump thingy, unsure if his hand would come back intact.

I think I should leave it there for now. I will try to pick more wholesome topics for future blogs. I am off now. To my room. Strawberry Shortcake is waiting for me. Strawberry Shortcake with Dave's midtown afro.


Bye!!! Sleep well. We will!


Dan