Please exit via the gift shop- The sex issue.

I have heard so many women throughout the years bemoan the fact that a lot of men have no class, and are obsessed with sex.

Not a healthy kind of obsession, where you fuck your girlfriend 'til she can't walk because you're both so into it all the time, but the seedier, creeps into your conversation inappropriately, leaving new introductions hanging in an embarrassed set of scare quotes, kind of obsession.

We've all met him. Parties, bus stops, he sells you emergency junk food at the all night convenience store. Ultimately harmless, but giving off that terrifying stench of desperation that only the truly committed can pull together. Excessive sweating is optional, but always goes well with the overall mélange. Sets it off, even.

And it shocks me, because women are usually the ones with hearts, the ones that have compassion.

The reason some men are creepy is because they are sad and damaged, unfulfilled, lonely, and desperate for attention they are ensuring they will never get.

They masturbate to shiny pictures of girls in bikinis in the magazines tradesmen buy in their lunch break. They idolise these girls, constantly fantasize about meeting them, sweeping them off their feet and out of their panties. And over time, the dream becomes too painful, because it just gets further away. And the desperation grows accordingly. Then they become "sluts" and "whores".

That's pain language.

I grew up in rock'n'roll, on the road. I was surrounded by the standard conception of "sexy." Those girls were my sisters, my stand-in mothers, my agony aunts, and sometimes my lovers. Healthy, for the most part, and so I grew comfortable in the presence of women, of beautiful women. I can talk to them well, which apparently is a gift. I never knew there was any other way, not for a long time at least. They are home to me, I love and appreciate beauty, but I'm not mesmerised by it like the creeps we're talking about here. I don't just shut down and grunt, go red and run away stuttering, or the worst kind of all, smile like a snarling dog and employ derogatory expletives to narrate depraved sexual scenarios for a womans potential participation.

They do it because they are lonely.

We all have dreams that didn't eventuate- 'Fight Club' was built on that foundation. And these guys dreamed, through the pages of Penthouse, that one day, a girl like that would love them.

But she never showed.

I have shared a bed with more than one girl from those pages, each time was a mistake, a waste of valuable time. Not to say all 'Pets' would net the same result, more that the dream isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Still, when is it?

Nowadays, some kids just jump straight on the creepy and desperate bandwagon. Some of them just give up instantly, and go straight for gratification at the bottom of the barrel. Don't believe me?

Go here.

Fully graduated from stealing their neighbours lingerie from the washing line, or masturbating through a crack in the curtains as the netball team walk home, now they just wank on the internet.

"Surprise! It's MY COCK!!!!"

It's so odd how so many men now just don't get it. that while it's good and right to respect women, putting them up on a pedestal hurts everyone. I get so tired of seeing endless sites full of girls who have no talent, nothing to offer, but the photos they post up for male attention. Vapid, insecure no-ones, who are downright worshipped because they won a genetic lottery, or who got surgery so they could play 'at that level'.

If only they had a thought. And if only boys grew up talking to girls like they're people, instead of "sugar and spice" (which is one of the worst lies I have ever heard perpetrated upon the unsuspecting ears of children!)

And so the cycle eats itself.

Sometimes you come across hot girls who have something to actually say, and they're good value. But rarer than rocking horse shit, to quote Kinky Friedman.

I think that's why Sarah Silverman is such an icon.

I lived in the Middle East for a while, and when I did I was introduced to a cat.

I don't mean that as a dated hipsterism, I mean a literal feline animal.

My girlfriend found him hiding in the bushes in the hotel bar, she fed him some cheese, and won him over. We all lived together from that point on, and he was absolutely the best little friend you could imagine. He adored being close to us, and he grew from something that could curl up in my hand, to a full blown desert cat, muscular and handsome.

We had to leave suddenly, something about me starting a bar fight with an Arab...I thought they were into M.M.A. over there? Anyway, we had to go.

The cat would hang out front of a schwarma store on our block, the Indians who ran it would feed him fatty meat off the rotisserie. We left him with them.

My girlfriend bought a digital camera and a little laptop computer, and gave it to them, making them promise to email us pictures whenever they could. These guys were all certified Microsoft Engineers, they just sold lunches on a technicality. They assured us they would, and the cat was happy, because he would sleep in their beds and get fed 500 times a day by a bunch of vegetarian animal lovers.

The first photos we received were setups. You know, "here we are at the front of the store, the cat's on our laps, we're smiling and waving."

Sometimes we'd get just the cat doing something cute.

Then we got erect penises ejaculating semen, and no sign of the cat whatsoever.

My girlfriend has large, fake tits. She has a dancers body, and since she was an early teen, dreamed of hyping her femininity with surgical enhancements, or as Frank Zappa said- "Mammalian protuberances". Eventually she met the right doctor and an agreeable credit card, and between the three of them, the stereotype of perfection was achieved.

Men kinda lose their minds around her, and I'm fine with that, but it does highlight how some men are, in ways I wouldn't see if I was by myself.

And even though I wasn't surprised per se, I was dissapointed. Not in her, but in the Indian guys level of respect for her. Or themselves.

Those pictures were like pages from a book, I didn't see an image, I read text. And each photo said something like this:

Dear Miss ******,

I very much enjoyed your good humour, and also your patronage of my store. I hope you enjoyed your vegetarian sandwiches and our large variety of freshly squeezed fruit juices. We live to fulfill your stomachs dreams.

Please find enclosed a photograph, depicting my erect penis during the act of ejaculation...I can assure you as an aside it is extremely difficult to achieve a clear image when the hand holding the camera is shaking with delight!

I send you this for two reasons:

1. Spending time around you, I was intoxicated by your loveliness. Living where we do, and being surrounded by veiled Arabic women, the sight of a gorgeous young Greek girl with a body such as yours had a let's say, dramatic effect. I privately fantasized about what it would be like to have you, to make you a servant to my desire. Unfortunately for me, you were with a man, and to be honest I see the cultural differences between us would probably preclude any kind of intercourse other than social.

I wanted to touch you, to reach out, and for you to receive me. To want to receive me. But this was not to be. My loneliness grew after you left. There is now no-one here like you. No-one comes close. And I feel a physical pain from knowing you didn't notice my manhood, my masculine energy, my private sex. I feel insignificant, trapped in the knowledge I will never know the attentions of a woman like you. And coupled with the fact that life here is so hard, the colours that left with you are so sorely missed.

And so I wish for you to witness me at my most vulnerable, but also to prove that I am a man. I am hard, and vital, I am ripe with sperm. Did you know we created the Karma Sutra? I want you to see me this way, to share the moment of my eruption with you. To show you the majesty of what you alone have inspired.

Because I know there is no other way. This is the only method I could conjure, that may bring me closer to you in a fashion. And I need to hide my face, because I truly do know shame from this.

2. I send this to you on the wings of misguided hope: that you would see what is essentially quite an ugly, average, disembodied penis, and that it would trigger some primal urge in you to want it. Dare I say to even need it.

My breath catches in my throat as I imagine you walking through my door again, the spark in your eye speaking to my body, silently proclaiming your need for me. If I could make you need me, I could feel like I matter.

Like I exist.

There are 2 and a half million people in this city right now. 70% of them look just like me, at least to the casual eye of a Westerner.

I am nothing special in this world, and to capture the attention of someone like you, even for the briefest of moments, even in a desperate and perverse manner, well, that would be something more than I have.

And if it made you want me, that would be the most perfect thing.

And if I never hear from you, I can tell myself that privately, you did want me. And that thought would provide me with the energy to continue through this mundane maze of meaninglessness we call life.

Yours so very sincerely- Pradeep V.

So I guess, just like the drunk who shouts at you on the street, because his wife and 3 children died in a house fire when he was drinking with friends, everyone has a back story. And while it doesn't necessarily excuse their individual behaviours, it does shed light on their motivations.

Why do I do this?

As I pass through space and time, and I become increasingly aware of my limited sphere of influence on this planet and its inhabitants, the story behind becomes more important to me. I like to know why, I like to give it my time. I think it makes me better, more patient, less hateful.

And while people ultimately make their own choices, I don't think it's right to punish someone forever. Who are we, Satan?

More tolerance, less ignorant judgement. That's the moral of the day.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.