On gender identification

On gender identification

I'm a man of the world.

I've done it, and I've seen a lady naked.

Therefore, I find myself in an ideal position to be able to tell men and women apart. Men, as a whole, tend to have johnsons; whilst the female of the species have a paraphernalia that is referred to in the British Medical Journal as the 'clunge'.

I mention this because I know thngs like SCIENCE and MATHS and still possess a number of diligently cross-referenced and lavishly illustrated journals from my youth that prove that I am well qualified in settling male/female gender disputes.

So, I find it my duty to tell the publishers of the Super Soarway free newspaper Metro that they are carrying advertisements obviously written by somebody who has never seen a lady naked.

"The London Women's Clinic - Expenses paid for sperm donation"

Somebody really ought to tell them. They've got basic biology and SCIENCE very, very wrong.

If I was a girl with bosoms and all the other parts, and possessed this freak-of-nature ability, I would be making a beeline straight to the offices of orange-skinned publicist Max Clifford rather than this bunch of quacks.

Then it'll be paydirt: Channel Five medical freakshow documentaries, Take a Break magazine followed by Richard and Judy and/or Phil and Fern.

This time next year Rodders, we'll be millionaires.

And then I'd realise the dreadful, fatal flaw in my plan. I've had a vasectomy.

Cock.


Stuff that, let's party

To quote poor, dead Glenn Gregory out of Heaven 17: "There's a party goin' on that's gonna change the way we live", and it's right over there on Misty's blog, where she's celebrating her 1,000th post with cake, games, full-frontal nudity an' stuff.

Strictly fancy dress, I shall be attending as Space Hitler, just as soon as I've finished invading the Pole Star (Geddit? Eh? EH?). Then, I shall drink heavily, scarf all the dry roast peanuts and be sick inna hedge. Typical Wednesday, then.

What? Still here? PAR-TAY!