I have just been to Hamilton on a truly exciting visit.
I drove a Ford Transit van up there. One that runs on diesel.
Perhaps I’ll rephrase that “runs”. You see, if my Honda Accord could be called a speedy rabbit, the Ford Transit would be the equivalent of a turtle – with severe arthritis.
If there were any manned speed cameras out there, the drivers behind me would have got clean away with speeding because the speed camera operators would have fallen asleep waiting for me to pass.
On the other hand, the van was quite at home doing 30kmh on the many road works sites I encountered. Gee, they are working on the road so much removing corners that Auckland is going to be miles closer to Wellington by the time they’ve finished.
This large number of roadworks does have advantages for women, though. Because any lady who wants a man who can make the earth move for them only need wander down to the nearby road works site. And talk to the earthmover driver.
Ah, but it was exciting driving the van, even if it was slow. Getting past big trucks on passing lanes was thrilling. You’d be about halfway past and the “Road Narrows 200m” sign would suddenly appear. Two hundred metres later, you’d be just alongside the truck’s driver’s door. And the road is getting narrower. And so are your bowels.
But, while I’m not sure whether there are any 18-wheelers in the ditches beside a passing lane or two between here and Hamilton, I don’t think I hit any of them.
I did pass a Britz camper van and the driver did seem to get a bit upset about that. So much so that he sped up to catch me and then pulled out to pass me on some 30kph road works. He didn’t succeed because just then we came upon a man holding a big STOP sign.
Me, being basically a pain-in-the-ass, suggested to the guy holding the sign that he might like to talk to the tourist in the campervan about sticking to the speed limit on road works.
The STOP man grinned and said “Good idea”, then waved me on. He then stepped out in front of the campervan to stop it and approached the driver to have a nice polite word. I later noticed that the campervan driver, some way behind, was keeping pretty well to the road works limit after that. I’m not sure what the road worker said to him, but it could have been something involving physical retribution from his rellies in tribes further on if the campervan driver desecrated more of the roading network the road works guy’s people are claiming as part of their Treaty settlement.
Of course, this all goes to prove that there are times when looking like Hone Heke in a particularly unpleasant mood can be very socially helpful.
Once I arrived in Hamilton, all should have been well. Unfortunately, this wasn’t so because of what my doctors says is a prostate infection I have been battling for a few weeks. I suspect the stress of the driving exacerbated things, because I suddenly came down with a burning fever and was in no condition to do anything but lie prostate. Or is that prostrate?
Whatever, I was burning up. Hey, being hot stuff is one thing, but having one’s body on fire is no fun!
However, a good night’s sleep brought my temperature down but I was still not very useful for tasks like loading vans for the next two days.
So I just comatosed and listened to Reece’s two-year old son, Dominic, causing chaos in the household. Young Dom is a real cutey. When I first met him, I said to Reece that Dom was going to break a few girls’ hearts when he got older and Reece grinned and said, “Well, he got a kiss from one of the little girls when I picked him up from daycare today”.
Which is rather cute and no real problem … until the day arrives when Reece has to pull them apart…
Hamilton is an interesting city. I didn’t see much of it because I wasn’t feeling well enough to explore the sin spots, although I did call in on the Museum just before I left. It was closed. They mustn't have seen me coming. I mean I'm one of the best historical specimens you'll ever find!
But, that’s their loss. I was thinking of offering them the exclusive rights to display a fascinating collection of 1960s male underpants, stains and all. Well, if they don’t want them, I’ll just offer them to Te Papa, instead. I’m sure Te Papa will be interested. I can see their banners now:
“A Brief Introduction To The Sixties”
“Underpants -The Greatest Let-Down Of The Sexual Revolution”
“Why Not Y-Fronts?”
After that, there is my collection of ties. There is the one with which my Uncle Herbert hung himself. A real mystery, that one. We all thought that Uncle Herbert couldn’t knot a tie, that Aunty Agatha used to do it for him. So how did he tie that slip knot? And shut it in the top of the doorway? Sadly, we haven’t been able to ask Aunty Agatha about it. She and her boyfriend are still touring the world on Uncle Herbert’s life savings.
And then there are the ties with the naked women on them. Of course, many of those have been ruined by the bikinis that my ex drew on them but …
This trip has given me new ideas for future career paths for me. I’m seriously considering becoming a rainsayer. Everywhere I went for the past few days, I’ve brought rain to the place. And all this without a single rain dance. Maybe it was just that my high body temperature raised the ambient temperature quickly, thus starting a precipitation generation process.
Or I could become a Hamilton parking meterperson. You get to wander down the main street vindictively brandishing a big piece of chalk and wearing a Stetson hat. I’m not sure why the Stetson hat. Maybe the metermaids didn’t like wearing a bowler hat.
I’m glad to say that the meter person I saw simply ignored me. I was sitting in Reece’s car pretending to be the driver while Reece went into the bank. He actually got some money from the bank and didn’t even take in a gun. I’m so in awe of the youth of today.
The reason that Reece wanted the money was because he was buying a car. It is quite a nice car, except that it has one of those huge exhaust pipes that look like the backside of a guy who’s spent too long in jail.
Reece bought the car to replace the Nissan he presently owns. That Nissan has a motor with more capacity than Julia Roberts has mouth. And it is about as expensive to run.
The car is a Subaru Legacy, still not a small car but apparently Reece likes large women. So he needs a big car. This preference of his for BBW is a bit of a nuisance, actually. I mean, if he likes large women, I can forget sending him a copy of my Sex Positions calendar as a birthday present. I'd feel terrible if he got hurt should they try the woman-on-top positions. He, on the other hand, probably wouldn't know if he was coming or groaning.
But, I’m now back home to my own little cluttered flat and a happy little old lady next door. I think the old sweetie missed me. With me no longer at my computer, she would have learnt not one new swear word all week.
But, now that I’m back, with my computer refusing to post messages to Internet newsgroups, her education continues. *^!”(^#!*<+*# computers!
It’s nice to be needed.
--
Allan
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
Yesterday (or was it the day before?) I bought a fancy jug. My other one had a severe case of acne. Actually, it was foot rot or something because the plastic had gone so crumbly that it was starting to leak.
So I bought a fancy glass jug one that allows you to see the water boil.
It's fascinating.
I've spent more time watching the water boil than watching TV for the past couple of days.
What I want to know is what is causing those bubbles. I mean, the only equivalent bubbling in water that I know of is when one sits in the bath and farts. So you can see why I'm a bit concerned...
But, enough of this intellectual discussion. I gotta make myself a cup of tea. Firstly, I'll get a subtle swirl in the water, then little tiny bubbles will come up from the bottom of the jug, then ....
Ah yes, it’s the little things in life that provide the entertainment.
So I bought a fancy glass jug one that allows you to see the water boil.
It's fascinating.
I've spent more time watching the water boil than watching TV for the past couple of days.
What I want to know is what is causing those bubbles. I mean, the only equivalent bubbling in water that I know of is when one sits in the bath and farts. So you can see why I'm a bit concerned...
But, enough of this intellectual discussion. I gotta make myself a cup of tea. Firstly, I'll get a subtle swirl in the water, then little tiny bubbles will come up from the bottom of the jug, then ....
Ah yes, it’s the little things in life that provide the entertainment.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
According to a report in the newspaper today, reserach has shown that sex is good for you.
Then again, I’ve been telling women this for years, but they just won’t listen. ~sigh~
According to this research, not only is sex fun, but a vigorous workout beneath the sheets will help you shed weight, and can also help ward off colds, heart disease, and depression.
Surprisingly, it can even lower your blood pressure.
This has all been discovered by Stuart Brody, professor of psychology at the University of Paisley in Scotland. This guy decided that research should be fun, and looked at sexual activity and changes in blood pressure when volunteers were stressed by being asked to speak in public or do mental arithmetic.
The mind boggles! Did this Brody guy get the subjects to speak in public and then rush back stage for a bit of nookie? Or did they do everything on stage?
This all raises interesting questions. For example, when you have sex in such a way that it raises your blood pressure and stress levels, such as on-stage or when being filmed for an adult version of New Zealand Idol, if the act of sex lowers blood pressure and stress levels, does this mean that when it’s public sex, it all cancels itself out? So you end up no better off?
Whatever, it's obvious that a bit of quiet non-public nookie has many advantages. Not the least of which is you’re less self-conscious about things like the pimple on your posterior.
The importance of this latest research, though, is that it reveals that not only does sex lower your stress levels and give you healthy blood pressure levels, but also that the effects can last for at least a week
One good bit of nookie on the Saturday, and you’re set until the following Saturday. This is so much more effective and much more fun than going to the gym. And the press-ups seem so much easier to do, as well.
This being the case, my fertile mind sees an opportunity to establish a new health and fitness business that taps sex for its health benefits.
While there are already some rather tacky sex businesses out there, they are really only in the business of entertainment, and not focused on the health benefits.
I see an opportunity here for a serious business of health-promotion through nookie. One that uses the services of dedicated personal trainers. What do you mean, with or without whips? We are not getting into alternative medicine, thank you!
But please don’t tell your local brothel owner about my idea. He’s sure to steal it and do something tacky like advertise: “Let our girls lower your blood pressure while raising everything else.”
Then again, do I really want to get into the sex business? It's a tough business. The sort of business where a man would have to be really hard to get anywhere.
No, I think I’ll just moonlight. I’ll just selflessly provide my assistance to a special lady and, with pure angelic kindness on my part, help her gain all the health benefits that are lying there waiting.
That's it. The perfect seducton ploy. Just convince a lady that you are just a delightful form of health insurance.
Then again, I’ve been telling women this for years, but they just won’t listen. ~sigh~
According to this research, not only is sex fun, but a vigorous workout beneath the sheets will help you shed weight, and can also help ward off colds, heart disease, and depression.
Surprisingly, it can even lower your blood pressure.
This has all been discovered by Stuart Brody, professor of psychology at the University of Paisley in Scotland. This guy decided that research should be fun, and looked at sexual activity and changes in blood pressure when volunteers were stressed by being asked to speak in public or do mental arithmetic.
The mind boggles! Did this Brody guy get the subjects to speak in public and then rush back stage for a bit of nookie? Or did they do everything on stage?
This all raises interesting questions. For example, when you have sex in such a way that it raises your blood pressure and stress levels, such as on-stage or when being filmed for an adult version of New Zealand Idol, if the act of sex lowers blood pressure and stress levels, does this mean that when it’s public sex, it all cancels itself out? So you end up no better off?
Whatever, it's obvious that a bit of quiet non-public nookie has many advantages. Not the least of which is you’re less self-conscious about things like the pimple on your posterior.
The importance of this latest research, though, is that it reveals that not only does sex lower your stress levels and give you healthy blood pressure levels, but also that the effects can last for at least a week
One good bit of nookie on the Saturday, and you’re set until the following Saturday. This is so much more effective and much more fun than going to the gym. And the press-ups seem so much easier to do, as well.
This being the case, my fertile mind sees an opportunity to establish a new health and fitness business that taps sex for its health benefits.
While there are already some rather tacky sex businesses out there, they are really only in the business of entertainment, and not focused on the health benefits.
I see an opportunity here for a serious business of health-promotion through nookie. One that uses the services of dedicated personal trainers. What do you mean, with or without whips? We are not getting into alternative medicine, thank you!
But please don’t tell your local brothel owner about my idea. He’s sure to steal it and do something tacky like advertise: “Let our girls lower your blood pressure while raising everything else.”
Then again, do I really want to get into the sex business? It's a tough business. The sort of business where a man would have to be really hard to get anywhere.
No, I think I’ll just moonlight. I’ll just selflessly provide my assistance to a special lady and, with pure angelic kindness on my part, help her gain all the health benefits that are lying there waiting.
That's it. The perfect seducton ploy. Just convince a lady that you are just a delightful form of health insurance.
Friday, September 01, 2006
An artist friend of mine who I've only met via email sent me an email when I was in a silly mood. A serious mistake. I should be a politician. It's so much fun to take another people's words and turn them around and make them mean something entirely different...
---------------------
> Big sis tells me you have been trying to send some of your entertaining
> correspondence to me but it has been "bouncing" back.
I thought she was your *little* sister?!
You mean you are the younger, voluptuous sister?!
> Well, that is because I am the best bounce in town.
Darling, I am getting many mental images here - some disturbing, some not so disturbing. There is the angelic image of a little child bouncing happily on your knee as you pull a face because it has just filled it's pants. And a more horrifying image of a man bouncing on you in the missionary position.
(Reminds me of the joke - that you've probably heard:
At a sexual techniques class, the teacher arrived and said the class would be discussing sexual positions that day. She asked the class how many positions they knew. Most were too embarrassed to speak but one woman said, "Twelve."
The teacher nodded approval, but as she got ready to call on another hand, there was a loud call from the far back row of the 150 seat auditorium, "A hundred and one."
The little teacher looked over her thick glasses but couldn't make out who had spoken. So she called on a guy down in the front row who replied, "Seven."
Once again from the very back was heard, "A hundred and one."
The teacher ignored that and called upon a very shy lady halfway back in the class. At first the lady acted like she wasn't going to answer. Finally she said, "Only one, Miss."
"Well, that is unusual, young lady", the teacher said. "And what position would that be?"
"With the man on top and woman on the bottom," she replied.
And from the back of the room came that same voice, "A hundred and two!" )
===============
But, to get back to these images, the third image that I get from your comment about you being the best bounce in town is a rather unsettling one of you being tied spreadeagled between two rails and children using you as a trampoline.
You really should be careful what you write to us imaginative men of words!
> I have been keeping
> pretty nocturnal hours in the gallery trying to finish a commissioned
> portrait that is due to be sent to England on Monday and with the deadline
> looming I have had to stay focussed on that.
A commissioned portrait, huh? Well, if it's of Prince Charles, I hope that you have painted him in a dunce's cap. Geez, that guy is thick! (As has been demonstrated only this week by his release of his arrogant, undiplomatic, and ideological diaries of his visit to China!) Thank God the monarchy is no longer anything but a symbol!
> But. Now I have hung up my brushes for a day or two
But, darling, what about the nude portrait of me you were going to paint? I thought a nice one of me standing looking at a pornographic picture would be a novel idea. Of course, you would have to paint it landscape to fit all of me in the picture...
> Because I don't do things by halves, I have celebrated by having a bit of a
> soirée which has just come to an end
Not only do you have the temerity to use a fancy word like soirée which I had to look up to be sure it didn't mean the disgusting thing I hoped it meant - instead it is "An evening party or reception" ~sigh~ - but you even had the ostentation to use the accent correctly! Geez, these artist types!
> How have you been?
Missing you! Broken-hearted because I no longer had this psychic link with your heart because you were putting it into your painting. I have been bereft, inconsolable, forlorn, melancholy, cheerless, desolate, and dolorous and I have some sort of bug that is making me feel miserable. Whatcha mean, I'm a moaner?! You asked!
However, now that you are back in psychic contact and I have been put onto antibiotics by the doctor, all is getting better. In fact, by the time I get around to selling my latest project at the Martinborough Fair, my "2006 Calendar Of Sex Positions For The Adventurous", should any lady customers want personal tuition on one of the more difficult positions, I should be able to oblige. Not at the Fair, of course. (I'll bet that gave you an interesting image!)
> Are you surviving the new year?
Survive is about the operative term. My books aren't selling! My motorcycle courses are going wrong. The queue outside my flat of women wanting my sexual attentions has dwindled so much it only reaches the next block and not the Dairy down the road so they can't pass a whiskey along to me to keep my ... er ... spirits up.
> Did you make resolutions?
Yes, to stop sobbing so much. It isn't working.
> Are you sticking to them?
Am I sticking to what?! Women? Good God, darlink! What do you think I am? An anti-woman limpet mine? Listen I only make women go off with a bang. I don't blow them up. (And we will leave blowjobs out of this, thank you!)
> Why not?
I don't blow women up because, (a) it's messy and (b) it's much more fun to have them come than go. Anyway, why all these questions about my sex life? You voyeur, you~!
> Why?
I don't know why you're a voyeur! I'd suggest that you look into it, but that would only make matters worse.
> Anyway, if you are off to Martinborough Fair for another dose of sunburn I
> suggest you wear one of those handkerchiefs with a knot in each corner. Not
> a good look but it obviously works as nobody would wear one otherwise.
Darling, the knotted handkerchief is the plebby English look. I have a cowboy hat that I can (and usually do) wear. It accentuates my blue eyes and makes women putty in my hands. Then again, have you ever tried making love to putty? It's no fun, I tell you!
> Oh dear, have you every tried to type with tiddly fingers?
> It is not easy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I make your fingers go all tiddly?! Well, I suppose that's better than you making some part of me go tiddly. A man really can't do much when some part of him is tiddly.
> I am still alive. I am still well and I hope you are in the same condition.
Oh yes, I'm still alive but I'm not sure about my chances of staying that way after you've read this email...
> Keep the correspondence coming in. I love it.
Darlink, in the flesh (and even with clothes on!) I am even better than my correspondence. You really are going to have to pop over here and meet me. Admittedly, petrol has just risen in price, but I could teach you to ride a motor scooter while you are here and you could become fuel economic.
Your sister says she wants me to teach her to ride a motorcycle. I might add that every time I try to pin her down (Er ... I'll rephrase that!) ... get her to make a day for a lesson she suddenly goes very quiet. It's obviously all just a fantasy for her. Then again, I'm used to women having fantasies involving me. It's when they involve a sharp knife and my genitals that I worry.
Well, enough from me before I say something outrageous...
Remember, I'm right here waiting (just look under my bed).
Love,
--
Allan
---------------------
> Big sis tells me you have been trying to send some of your entertaining
> correspondence to me but it has been "bouncing" back.
I thought she was your *little* sister?!
You mean you are the younger, voluptuous sister?!
> Well, that is because I am the best bounce in town.
Darling, I am getting many mental images here - some disturbing, some not so disturbing. There is the angelic image of a little child bouncing happily on your knee as you pull a face because it has just filled it's pants. And a more horrifying image of a man bouncing on you in the missionary position.
(Reminds me of the joke - that you've probably heard:
At a sexual techniques class, the teacher arrived and said the class would be discussing sexual positions that day. She asked the class how many positions they knew. Most were too embarrassed to speak but one woman said, "Twelve."
The teacher nodded approval, but as she got ready to call on another hand, there was a loud call from the far back row of the 150 seat auditorium, "A hundred and one."
The little teacher looked over her thick glasses but couldn't make out who had spoken. So she called on a guy down in the front row who replied, "Seven."
Once again from the very back was heard, "A hundred and one."
The teacher ignored that and called upon a very shy lady halfway back in the class. At first the lady acted like she wasn't going to answer. Finally she said, "Only one, Miss."
"Well, that is unusual, young lady", the teacher said. "And what position would that be?"
"With the man on top and woman on the bottom," she replied.
And from the back of the room came that same voice, "A hundred and two!" )
===============
But, to get back to these images, the third image that I get from your comment about you being the best bounce in town is a rather unsettling one of you being tied spreadeagled between two rails and children using you as a trampoline.
You really should be careful what you write to us imaginative men of words!
> I have been keeping
> pretty nocturnal hours in the gallery trying to finish a commissioned
> portrait that is due to be sent to England on Monday and with the deadline
> looming I have had to stay focussed on that.
A commissioned portrait, huh? Well, if it's of Prince Charles, I hope that you have painted him in a dunce's cap. Geez, that guy is thick! (As has been demonstrated only this week by his release of his arrogant, undiplomatic, and ideological diaries of his visit to China!) Thank God the monarchy is no longer anything but a symbol!
> But. Now I have hung up my brushes for a day or two
But, darling, what about the nude portrait of me you were going to paint? I thought a nice one of me standing looking at a pornographic picture would be a novel idea. Of course, you would have to paint it landscape to fit all of me in the picture...
> Because I don't do things by halves, I have celebrated by having a bit of a
> soirée which has just come to an end
Not only do you have the temerity to use a fancy word like soirée which I had to look up to be sure it didn't mean the disgusting thing I hoped it meant - instead it is "An evening party or reception" ~sigh~ - but you even had the ostentation to use the accent correctly! Geez, these artist types!
> How have you been?
Missing you! Broken-hearted because I no longer had this psychic link with your heart because you were putting it into your painting. I have been bereft, inconsolable, forlorn, melancholy, cheerless, desolate, and dolorous and I have some sort of bug that is making me feel miserable. Whatcha mean, I'm a moaner?! You asked!
However, now that you are back in psychic contact and I have been put onto antibiotics by the doctor, all is getting better. In fact, by the time I get around to selling my latest project at the Martinborough Fair, my "2006 Calendar Of Sex Positions For The Adventurous", should any lady customers want personal tuition on one of the more difficult positions, I should be able to oblige. Not at the Fair, of course. (I'll bet that gave you an interesting image!)
> Are you surviving the new year?
Survive is about the operative term.
> Did you make resolutions?
Yes, to stop sobbing so much. It isn't working.
> Are you sticking to them?
Am I sticking to what?! Women? Good God, darlink! What do you think I am? An anti-woman limpet mine? Listen I only make women go off with a bang. I don't blow them up. (And we will leave blowjobs out of this, thank you!)
> Why not?
I don't blow women up because, (a) it's messy and (b) it's much more fun to have them come than go. Anyway, why all these questions about my sex life? You voyeur, you~!
> Why?
I don't know why you're a voyeur! I'd suggest that you look into it, but that would only make matters worse.
> Anyway, if you are off to Martinborough Fair for another dose of sunburn I
> suggest you wear one of those handkerchiefs with a knot in each corner. Not
> a good look but it obviously works as nobody would wear one otherwise.
Darling, the knotted handkerchief is the plebby English look. I have a cowboy hat that I can (and usually do) wear. It accentuates my blue eyes and makes women putty in my hands. Then again, have you ever tried making love to putty? It's no fun, I tell you!
> Oh dear, have you every tried to type with tiddly fingers?
> It is not easy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I make your fingers go all tiddly?! Well, I suppose that's better than you making some part of me go tiddly. A man really can't do much when some part of him is tiddly.
> I am still alive. I am still well and I hope you are in the same condition.
Oh yes, I'm still alive but I'm not sure about my chances of staying that way after you've read this email...
> Keep the correspondence coming in. I love it.
Darlink, in the flesh (and even with clothes on!) I am even better than my correspondence. You really are going to have to pop over here and meet me. Admittedly, petrol has just risen in price, but I could teach you to ride a motor scooter while you are here and you could become fuel economic.
Your sister says she wants me to teach her to ride a motorcycle. I might add that every time I try to pin her down (Er ... I'll rephrase that!) ... get her to make a day for a lesson she suddenly goes very quiet. It's obviously all just a fantasy for her. Then again, I'm used to women having fantasies involving me. It's when they involve a sharp knife and my genitals that I worry.
Well, enough from me before I say something outrageous...
Remember, I'm right here waiting (just look under my bed).
Love,
--
Allan
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