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UK Ban's Sex Toys!
@ 2008-07-03 – 17:30:41
In a stunning legislative move by Mr Browns Government via , the High Court of the United Kingdom, banned the sale, advertising, or exhibition of any three-dimensional device used primarily for the stimulation of human genitalia!The landmark decision makes sex toy possession an offence punishable by up to five years in prison and/or a £1,000 fine. Once the controversial law passed, United Kingdom’s Premier, Gordon-The Unelected, authorised dozens of simultaneous sting operations to rid the country of the phallic threat to British lifea threat second only to terrorism in these dangerous and uncertain times.
At Good Vibrations, an adult store on the East Side of Croyden, several undercover policemen witnessed the sale of not one, not two, but eighteen individual vibrators in less than an hour earlier this week. “Things were really buzzing at the store,” commented storeowner Gale McFarland from behind bars in Belmarsh prison for women. “None of us realised the hot men in trench coats were cops. We thought they were London metrosexuals in the market for some new butt plugs. When they asked to frisk us, we just assumed they were ordinary perverts,” added the 53-year-old grandmother of four. McFarland and her employees are eligible for parole in 2010.
As stunned United Kingdom women picked themselves up off the pelvic floor, 19-year-old Rita Millingham could be heard screaming at police raiding the Pleasure Plaza in the unfortunately named town of Ramsbottom. “You can have my Rabbit Pearl when you rip it from my cold, dead thighs!” She was later arrested and held without bail. Fred Phillips, who was shopping for a new inflatable doll to replace the old one he patched up with duct tape after an unexpected encounter with a hot muffler, witnessed Milligan clenching a 12 inch silicone willy between her thighs, 'as fiercely as a drowning woman would hold a bouy.'
The United Kingdom law may be rubbing women up the wrong way but it’s not the first of its kind in the world.
Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas in the US have similar laws on the books, banning the sale and/or advertisement of sex toys for women. South Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia are all considering joining them. But the new laws do allow a little wiggle room, according to Texas based attorney Jack Offalot.
“Devices are only illegal to own or sell if their primary use is the stimulation of female genitalia. In other words, if your vibrator performs other functions, it’s completely legal or own or sell under all state statutes,” he explained to The Happening Place Team,
“Let me get this straight,” I asked him over coffee at Starbucks. “It’s legal to own, sell and masturbate with ordinary household items, as long as they’re sold for other functions?”
“Correct. Many household tools, for example”
I was never much on DIY, so I cut him off. “How about vegetables? Cucumbers, pickles?”
“As long as you eat them afterwards.”
“Candles?”
“Tapered candles work the best.”My mind was whirling with ideas. “A turkey baster?”
“It's the only way my wife gets a good stuffing on Thanksgiving,” he quipped. “Yet another thing to be thankful for. And of course, the electric toothbrush, a staple for any modern woman with a healthy libido.”
Despite the fact that the United Kingdom residents average the fewest number of teeth in the union, toothbrush sales have always been impressive over the years, which has perplexed many European marketing executives.
Some clever entrepreneurs have taken advantage of the loose wording of the law in the US by designing undercover vibrators, dildos disguised as normal household items.
One such designer, Smith and Wesson, has released the designs for their Colt 69, which will hit the store shelves later this year. Part handgun, part vibrator, the Colt 69 has a retail price of you guessed it £49.96, which includes a complimentary round of bullets and batteries.
“The inspiration for the Colt 69 was a woman named Sharon Wood, whose Louisiana residency restrained her from buying a Jessica Rabbit, Doc Johnson Pocket Rocket, or even a Wal-Mart brand neck massager,” a spokes person for Smith and Wesson told The Happening Plae. “One night, after her husband of 39 years belched his way to sleep after another premature ejaculation, she took matters into her own hands. Grabbing the nearest item as she lay in bed, which just happened to be her old man’s Colt 45 under the pillow, she masturbated herself into such a frenzy that she literally shot her load. Unfortunately she didn‘t survive to see the unveiling of our product, but I like to think that when this baby hits the stores she'll be smiling down at us from Heaven.”
All of which is bad news for the makers of the Swiss Sex Army Knife. The British-designed multi-function sex toy which we reviewed earlier this year, has not sold well in a America a fate that is unlikely to befall the Colt 69. In a nation where the gun is an enduring symbol of male pride, the Colt 69 is sure to be a winner because it’s a vibrator that men won’t be embarrassed to buy for their wives and girlfriends. Also, it has the endorsement of the NRA, one of the USA’s most powerful lobbies on Capitol Hill. They’re already lobbying Congress to allow the bypass of the customary seven-day waiting period for the weapon/sex toy. “I think it’s very clear to consumers,” added the spokes person, “That when vibrators are outlawed, only outlaws will have vibrators.”
The fate of sex toys in the our beloved United Kingdom was still largely up in the air as we went to press, but one thing is clear; the Colt 69 seems tailor made for a nation of chronic wankers who love their guns but are terrified of a 9 inch vibrating, plastic willy.
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Problem Page
@ 2008-06-26 – 12:30:09
Tel’s Personal Problem Page:
*Some problems readers have sent to me are of an intimate nature. If you are of a shy, nervous disposition, please leave while your pants are still clean.
*NOTE FOR THE VERY DIM. Although every question on these VERY PERSONAL PROBLEMS pages is a genuine plea for help from some desperately sad person, my perhaps witty, literate answers are entirely satirical and NOT to be taken seriously!
1.
'Sara' (15), from Leeds, in the UK, asks:
Well i was so close 2 going out wiv this boy but he said he said mayb coz i got my m8s 2 ask him but he said no 2 them but he came up 2 me and he said if i asked him he wud say yeh this was over the phone so i went 2 him the next day 2 find i was 2 l8 2 ask him this happened sumer 2007 i still like him is there any point in waiting 4 him 2 finish with his other gf i really like him.Answer:
No point at all, Sara. Let me try to translate the incomprehensible gibberish that passes for communication among you and your 'm8s' into passable English:'I failed miserably to date this boy, because, like the dim-witted, gutless chav I am I got my friends to ask him out on my behalf and he refused. Later, he telephoned me to say that if I got up the bottle to ask him out myself he might consider my request. So I approached him the next day but he said I was too late. This happened nearly 12 months ago when I was 14. In the interim he has found a girlfriend and I have become even dimmer. Is there any point in waiting for him to ask me out on the off chance that he might dump his girlfriend for me?'
*No, none. Frankly, your only chance of scoring is to put on your prettiest belly-button ring, squeeze into a risible pelmet that barely covers your arse and hang around the bike sheds. If you're lucky the boy may just ask you out. If you're really lucky, a gang of your fellow chavs may rip your thong off you, spread your thighs as wide as the vacuum between your ears, and shag some sense into you before it's too late.
'Mojo' (14), from London, asks:
No matter how good things are going I just can't be happy. It feels like there's nothing I can do about it. Every day is the same old day; get up, go to school, go home, do homework, then sleep and then again for the next three years of my childhood. I have nothing to look forward to. Please help!Answer:
Look on the bright side; you could be a 14-year-old Chav living on a sink estate who crawls out of the foetid pit she's sharing with the fathers of her three kids, feeds her latest 'littlun', collects her giro, goes home, downs a bottle of vodka, gets shagged by the landlord in lieu of rent and falls into unconsciousness. At least you have your homework to look forward to. On the other hand, you could put aside your self-pitying whining, turn your back on your self-obsessed existence, and bugger off to darkest Africa to help people with real problems. Such as where to find the next meal and how to escape the marauding gangs who want to rape your two-year-old child. Your choice, Mojo.'Lisa' (45), from Calgary, in Canada, asks:
This guy I like, acts like he likes me one day, then doesn't the next. He will be distant to me around his girlfriend and nice to me when she is not around. Then he will act distant to me and she is not even there! It seems like it depends on what mood he is in. I am so sick of this guessing game. He knows I care about him and he shows he is interested in me. His body language, etc. I just don't know what the heck he is trying to tell me or whether he really is interested in me OR NOT!! I am so confused. Him and his girlfriend have an open relationship where each one can do whatever they please.Answer:
Are you sure you're 45, Lisa? Frankly, I've known 14-year-old chavs with more sense than you appear to possess. Have you tried unzipping his pants, whipping out his willy and wrapping your lips around it? No, silly question. That would require imagination and initiative; qualities you clearly don't possess.'Stu', from Preston, in the UK, asks:
Until recently I had an ordinary sex life. I now find I like to wank myself with my wife's dirty pee stained white knickers on my head. Is this normal?Answer:
It is if she's in them. If not, you may find that playing with your wife rather than yourself will improve your dismal sex life.'Charlotte' (15), from Limerick, in Ireland, asks:
OK, I'm lesbian and about a month ago my pussy started seriously irritating me, itching, and being quite sore, and now its caught onto my gf. I want to tell some one but I'm too scared. I just wanna know if u cud take a guess at wat might be going on? (please dont be nasty).Answer:
The only nasty thing here is your girlfriend's dirty mouth, Charlotte. You might try swopping her germ-infested fingers for a squeaky clean willy. Sperm is sterile you know, unlike your girlfriend's filthy tongue.'Billy' from Reading, in the UK, asks:
My girl friend won't let me lick her jazzy jeff. I like licking the furry muff but my little bit on the side won't let me taste her doner kebab. I've been with her for three years and never had a close encounter with her fanny. Please help, I'm worried in case there's something she doesn't want me to see.Answer:
That would be the enormous load the bloke she's been seeing behind your back regularly dumps in her love tunnel, Jimmy. Unless you enjoy swallowing other men's cum I suggest you stick to grooming your girlfriend's pitch with your tongue.Lucy' (27), from Birmingham, in the UK, asks:
I just don't know where I stand with my best friend. When we have a drink she's really lovey dubby and keeps kissing me and saying I love u and don't ever hurt me. There's something about her I can't put my finger on please wat can I do?Answer:
Do you mean 'can't put your finger on' or 'won't put your finger on,' Lucy? Look, she's a lezza, you dozy slapper. Either let her into your knickers or tell her you don't play for the home team.'Sandra.' from Leicester, in the UK, asks:
I've known this bus driver for about 5 years and my husband knows him but what my husband doesn't know is that I am having an affair with this man. We had sex only once but it was really good. I love my husband very much I have been with him for 10 years and married for 4 years. I need your help what should I do about this driver?Answer:
Perhaps the best solution would be to divorce your hubby and marry the bus driver and have an affair with your ex on the side. No, hang on, that would be the same as the situation you're in now. Oh, bugger it, just carry on as you are; the 52% of married women who cheat on their husbands can't all be wrong, can they?'Zoe' (23), from Brooklyn, NY, in the USA, asks:
My problem is that I can't have an orgasm from intercourse. This is probably way more common than people think? So I figured it was because the boys I fucked in the past were probably all just a bunch of selfish pricks, right? But I've been with three new people since and still nothing (besides getting some good hand jobs). Should I just wait until some compatible fuck-mate comes along, or is it actually possible to not be physically able to have an orgasm from intercourse?? Is it just the Clit??! Oh and I've been with many a varied dick size too. Big and medium.Answer:
Let's not beat about the bush, darling. You're a slut. After that many partners your pussy is obviously as loose as your morals. Short of having a nip and tuck or using the back door, I'm afraid you're just going to have to buy larger vegetables.
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Aussie Thinking!
@ 2008-06-24 – 10:00:54
An Australian guy istravelling around the Greek Islands . He walks into
a bar and, by chance, is served by an Australian barmaid.As she takes his order, a Foster's, she notices his accent.
Over the course of the
evening they get chatting. At the end of her shift he asks if she wants
to come back to his place.Although she is attracted to him she says no. He then offers to pay her
$200 to sleep with him.As she is travelling around the world, and is short of funds, she
agrees.The next night the guy turns up again. Again he orders Fosters and after
showing her plenty of attention, asks if she will sleep with him again
for $200. She remembers the night before and is only too happy to agree.This goes on for 5 nights. On the 6th night the guy comes in again,
orders Fosters but goes and sits in the corner. The barmaid thinks that
if she pays him more attention then, maybe she can shake some more cash
out of him. So she goes over and sits next to him.She asks him where he's from in Australia .
' Melbourne ', he tells her.
'So am I. What suburb?' she enquires.
'Glen Iris' he replies.
'That's amazing,' she says excitedly, 'so am I - whatstreet?'
' Cameo Street ' he replies.
'This is unbelievable.........' she says, her voice quavering;
'What number?'
'Number 20', he replies.
She is totally astonished. 'You are NOT going to believe this,' she
screams, 'but I'm from number 22! My parents still live there!''I know...' he says, 'Your Dad gave me $1,000 to give toyou'
HE WHO DRINKSAUSTRALIAN, THINKS AUSTRALIAN
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The Quest
@ 2008-06-16 – 14:11:46
During my twenties and thirties it was my goal to have sex with every physical type of woman on the planet!
“The Sacred Quest!”
I was proceeding from the belief that by sleeping with a representative of every kind of female body, and every category of appearance I would, in effect, come to know all women and that such an accomplishment would be good for my life education and my many failed attempts to understand the Woman.
Okay?
Of course, even to gather only samples from what, you realise when you get into it, is a vast assortment of sizes, shapes and physiognomies, would have meant putting up numbers comparable to Wilt Chamberlain’s. And being all of five-foot-six, more skinny than slim—and with a nose you would think must obstruct my vision—I’d obviously set my bar too high. But spurred by the promise of the literary rewards that even limited success would yield, I determinedly pursued my objective, and had it not been for a prostate gland the Cambridge School of Medicine will surely make a bid for upon my demise, I’d probably have been at it much longer.
Middle-aged now and long out of the game, I’m forced to concede that my art would have been better served by writing more and researching less. Still, the time spent on my project wasn’t entirely wasted. Collateral though it may be, I did reap one unanticipated and very practical benefit. While my collection of memories isn’t as comprehensive as I’d have wished (variations on the theme of plainness are more than adequately represented but girls who look like Nicole Kidman and Jennifer Connelly are conspicuous by their absence), the mental snapshots I've kept of the women I WAS able to cop have been more than sufficient in their quantity and variety to save me the price of a subscription to 'Jugs.'
And, indeed, I have been left with a story or two to tell.
Not least for the adventure it turned into, a hook-up I think of a lot was with a twenty something woman named Crystal who’d come to London just days before for the very first time from the Midwest on a month-long vacation.
We met in a bar. I was standing alone, checking out the action, when I heard, right behind me, the sound of a short, sharp fart—like a wooden match striking. Turning to look I confronted a sight only the word 'humongous' could accurately describe a female at least a foot taller than I was and approximately the width of the Great Wall of China.
She was smiling flirtatiously at me and, though taken aback by her appearance (not to mention her novel method of gaining my attention) and instinctively recoiling, I quickly recovered when I realised the unique opportunity she was presenting me with. Here was my chance to cross gross obesity from the list of body types I hadn’t yet explored.
In a brief conversation—during which it occurred to me that she’d be almost attractive if she just lost 300 pounds—Crystal told me she was a cashier at a Michigan supermarket (a career chosen, she readily admitted, for the substantial food discount it offered); that she had once played a Packard convertible in a high school production of 'Grease,' and that her parents had tragically expired in a suicide pact just weeks after her birth.
Then she invited me to her hotel room.
As we were leaving, I saw the bartender, who could not, of course, have been aware of my agenda, shaking his head in disbelief.
“That’s it,” he nudged the customer slouched in front of him. “Right there—that dude. That’s the definition of drunk.”At her hotel, to which we necessarily took separate cabs, the first thing Crystal did was crack open, and devour, the complete contents of a pack of chocolate cookies. Then, from a utility-kitchen refrigerator, she retrieved and consumed (in exactly what order I don’t recall) a container of chicken wings, several packets of potato chips and an economy-size tub of cheese spread.
Finally she put a Barry Manilow tape into her boom box.
Now it’s not that I mind Barry Manilow all that much, but a more appropriate musical accompaniment to the night’s activities would have been the theme from 'Raiders of the Lost Ark.' The thing was—and my insistence that we leave no more than the bathroom light on was definitely a contributing factor—I could not for the life of me find Crystal’s love tunnel. I’d heard that this was a common occurrence with very fat women, and especially with very fat women under poor lighting conditions, but it still took a lot longer than I would have expected. What was compounding the problem? Simply put, Crystal’s body could have served as a Special Forces training ground for the field of hazards and challenges it presented. I’m speaking of the twisting climbs and sudden valleys, the crags, the craters and the amazing plenitude of gullies, ravines and bogs that I was, on my hands and knees, obliged to negotiate and traverse in my search for the motherlode.
A dismaying project to begin with, my progress was further impeded by an extraordinary number of ambiguous fissures and crevices that, not quickly identifiable, required time-consuming investigation and study. You wouldn’t believe how many deceptive nooks and seductive crannies I came across. In fact, at one point, when I felt for sure that I’d located and entered the secret cave, I discovered, to my chagrin, that I’d inserted myself into what was only a fold of fiercely perspiring epidermis. What’s more, I realized, when I looked up, that I was seriously lost in some apparently outlying district of Crystal’s anatomy.
You’re thinking that I had only myself to blame, that not to stop and ask for directions is typical of a man. Well, I swear, I was just about to when I heard what sounded like the swift currents of a babbling brook in the distance.Groping my way toward the sound it increased in volume until it was a deafening roar and I knew I was directly above its source. Reasonably confident that I’d located Crystal’s stomach, I paused to collect myself and survey my surroundings. In the absence of a compass I was looking for some sort of marker with which to establish my coordinates. When I noticed that the horizon ahead of me was blocked by an especially pronounced elevation in the terrain, I reasoned that I was likely facing north. With a cautious optimism I began, then, to crawl slowly backwards. You can imagine the rush I got when before too long my toes were caressed by a soft and lush foliage, and then bathed in the gentle bubbling of a warm spring.
I was at last at the pleasure grove.
Feeling like a world-beater, I was glowing with a sense of accomplishment and I have to confess that I indulged myself in a moment of pride. Relying on my instincts and wit, persevering in the face of exceptional difficulties, I had achieved an elusive goal lesser men would certainly have given up on. My triumph was short-lived however. After entering the promised land my mettle was tested again and again. Twice I was jettisoned (and risked becoming a ceiling fixture) by the astonishing power of Crystal’s pelvic motion.
It was really disappointing. Each time I was forced to go back to square one and I had to reach deep inside myself for the perseverance I wasn’t at all sure I possessed. But I hung in there and on my third expedition, with my eyes now accustomed to the dark, I was recognizing landmarks and proceeding with dispatch. Having reached the treasure chest within minutes, I managed to more or less to stay put this time, and with the tenacity of the Captain from the film Moby Dick, clinging to the back of a great whale in a high sea, those final seconds were every bit as exhilarating as the Splash Mountain ride at Disney World.
In the morning, Crystal, cheerily humming to herself (doubtless never before the object of such committed attention), seemed unaware of my odyssey. After eating a cake, and washing it down with a quart of chocolate milk, she asked me if she could take a Polaroid of the two of us naked in bed. (Should you ever come across this picture, I am in it.
That’s the top of my head, not a puppy, just behind her left ankle.)
Then she announced that she was cutting her trip short and returning home. There was no reason, she said, to remain in London now, because no big-city experience that she might imagine could possibly surpass her night with me.
Having completed my mission and worried she’d suggest that we get together again, I was enormously relieved by her decision and gave it my enthusiastic support.
But as I departed, her expression suggested she was slightly ambivalent about changing her plans; that she was thinking of something she might later regret missing. Not wishing to prolong the moment I chose not to ask any questions, so I’ll never know just what was on her mind. Yes, it could have been the Transit Museum or the Edgar Allan Poe Cottage. But I suspect that the most likely explanation for her puzzled look was forgoing the chance to discover a new food group!
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Winalot Diet
@ 2008-06-11 – 11:58:26
I have 2 dogs & I was out this morning buying a large bag of Winalot in Tesco's and was standing in the queue at the till.
A woman behind me asked if I had a dog?
On impulse, I told her that no! I was starting The Winalot Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds, before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.
I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and the way that it works is to load your trouser pockets with Winalot nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry & that the food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.
I have to mention here that practically everyone in the queue was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her.
Horrified, she asked if I'd ended up in the hospital in that condition because I had been poisoned?
I told her no, it was because I'd been sitting in the road licking my balls and a car hit me.
I thought one guy was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard as he staggered out the door.
Stupid cow..........why else would I buy dog food??
Answers on a Postcard!
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Jedi Knight Demands Equality!
@ 2008-06-09 – 09:24:18
The right to wear religious symbols in school has been asserted by a fifth form pupil and practicing Jedi Knight at the High Court.
Kevin Baldcock, from Cannock, arrived flanked by senior officials of the UK Jedi Council to challenge his expulsion from Hedge End High School for refusing to remove his lightsabre during a geography lesson. The court heard that Kevin was sent home indefinitely after being found with the laser-based weapon under his cloak.
The counsel for Hedge End School argued that the decision did not breach Kevin's human rights. "This is not a headscarf or even a chastity ring, this is a lethal weapon more suitable for battling an army of Sith Lords on a moon of Endor," he said.
Judge Douglas Ramurbottom QC heard that the carrying of a lightsabre was an integral part of the Jedi religion, mainly used for symbolic purposes but also as a means of fighting the dark side.
At one point Kevin, 15, approached the bench and handed Judge Ramurbottom a handwritten note. Stepping back, he gazed hypnotically into the judge's eyes and was heard to instruct "This is the decision you are looking for". Judge Ramurbottom appeared momentarily bewildered before seeming to snap out of it and held the boy in contempt.
The result of the case will have serious implications for the Jedi community in the UK. Jediism has joined a long list of so-called "new age" beliefs systems that include Scientology, Ninjistu and Protestantism. Believers say it is in no way merely an excuse to piss around on the Census form.
Kevin's mother, Mrs Baldcock, appeared unsupportive outside the court. "We've been trying to get him out of this wicked religion for the past two years," she said. "He's become indoctrinated and regularly performs 'Jedi mind tricks' on his little sister. Poor thing doesn't know whether she's coming or going."
A decision is expected next week.
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Government Initiative
@ 2008-06-04 – 11:01:36
Many thousands of vulnerable would-be homeowners have been cynically targeted by what could prove to be one of the biggest financial mis-selling scandals of recent years, writes Tel Crusader, The Happening Place’s overworked Spin Affairs Correspondent.
The Government's much-vaunted HomeBuy shared ownership scheme has by all accounts sent dodgy pensions companies, purveyors of dot-com unit trusts and even timeshare touts into apoplectic rage that they do not enjoy the seeming imperviousness to financial regulatory sanctions which the Government and its minions evidently feel they do.
The Happening Place Team can sensationally reveal, as can any journalist who wants to do more than parrot Treasury spin, that the HomeBuy proposal documents are largely based on sketchy at best research (some of which was helpfully withheld until 2 weeks before the public consultation ended), mostly dating back rather conveniently 3-5 years ago to a time when the house price surge seemed unstoppable.
"It did strike me as rather odd," Crusader comments, "that the HomeBuy proposals entirely fail to mention that the property boom is now well and truly over, that any number of economic forecasts and indicators (including the ODPM's own) back this up, that many financially savvy homeowners have been 'helped' by selling up and getting off the property ladder rather than on it, and that waiting for prices to fall might in many cases be a rather good idea."
He added, "Well, better than buying a 50% share of a vastly overpriced, miniscule, depreciating new build rabbit-hutch with all the strings attached - even restrictions on one's choice of job - which HomeBuy can entail. But that's not exactly difficult'."
Of course, as any reputable financial adviser will affirm, it is nothing more than best practice to lure people into entering an asset class at the top of the market on the basis of flawed and years-out-of-date assumptions, especially something as illiquid as property. Few financial advisors, however, enjoy the privilege of doing so with the benefit of a sycophantic and dutiful media spin machine or of subsidising such schemes at taxpayers' expense.
The move has, however, been greeted with enthusiasm in an independent report from leading property developers Shysters & Hutchbuilders who currently have 100,000 "executive studio apartments" languishing on their books, a slew of bad debts from failed off-plan completions, and whose share price was set to plummet overnight on publication of their accounts and which would undoubtedly have fuelled the simmering economic "feel-bad" factor. They, perhaps understandably, have no objection whatsoever to the Government's far-sighted and benevolent munificence in endowing them with a virtually guaranteed (and subsidised) market for their wares.
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Short & Fat !
@ 2008-06-02 – 09:55:19
A recent study has revealed that short, fat ugly women with red hair and greasy skin are more likely to develop heart disease as well as fail to score with guys, except at McDonald's on a Sunday, when they may get off with a short, fat bearded guy called Kevin.Unless you're a tall, slim, gorgeous hottie, the chances are that you are already on your way to intensive care easy street in a coronary care unit. According to a report just published in the ever popular Women's magazine 'Microwaveable Meals in Minutes' the likelihood of women suffering heart disease increases by approximately 94.78 percent for every extra inch of flab.
The study of more than 1,947 British women aged between 25 and 55 found a clear link between height, weight, hair colour and the risk of developing coronary heart disease, as well as more serious medical conditions such as spots, genital warts, breast hair and thrush.
The author of the report, Dr Anna Rexia, told me "a short stature, red hair and obesity are statistically significant proxies for environmental factors which affect both the growth of the bones in the legs and also have a long-term effect on coronary insufficiency."
"Does that mean short, fat women with red hair and greasy skin are more likely to die from a heart attack?" I asked.
"In a nutshell, yes."
"You don't think it could have something to do with all the crap these fat, ugly women stuff their faces with?" I asked.
"Such as?"
"Cheese, microwaveable pizzas, burgers, chips, snickers that kind of thing."
"American women like Britney Spears and Paris Hilton seem to live on fries and cheese-based snacks and they're not short or fat, are they?"
"I guess it can't have anything to do with what you eat then."Dr Rexia went on to tell me that similar studies have shown that the children of tall, dark, handsome men also face less risk of heart disease.
"Why's that?" I asked her.
"Because tall, dark, handsome men don't marry short, fat ugly bitches with red hair and greasy skin," replied the tall, leggy, blonde bombshell curtly.
