Just what is it with people and this fear of sex?
As our esteemed webmistress has argued eloquently elsewhere, there can be little argument that organised Religion has much to answer for with regard to the demonisation of our most basic of (voluntary?) drives, but with the Church up in arms about the demise of society, the family and the loss of faith—as evinced by consistently falling congregations—is the time not ripe to throw off the shackles and embrace the coming Dawn Of the Age of Aquarius?
Perhaps it's because sex is dirty? Well it is if you do it right according to the aptly named comedian, 'Woody' Allen. But then Woody would say that, wouldn't he, as he also famously said that he only believes in sex and death—only, as he added—'you're not nauseous after death.' How would he know? Something to consider: we all enjoy a stroll along the beach. The crisp, salt-laden sea breeze blowing through our hair, up our nostrils and into our mouths. There are three hundred times more bacteria per cubic metre of sea breeze than in a cubic metre of sea water. I am well informed that this is a result of the complex sugars that cling to the surface of bacteria and the way these sugars interact with the air/water interface. A personal favourite pursuit of mine is quite similar and involves blowing copious amounts of a salty mixture through someone's hair, up her nose and in her mouth. Whilst no amount of asparagus and zinc capsules would allow me to manage a cubic metre of the stuff, at least jism is sterile. Nope, sex may be many things, but it ain’t dirty.
Gone are the days when a member of the Royal family need go to the trouble of denouncing an entire doctrine in order to marry his bit on the side. Prince Charles simply asked the Archbishop of Canterbury's permission by way of a text message. Does this act, promulgated by way of Scripture from the Daily Mail, suggest that we are, at last, beginning to rediscover our natural selves, released from dogmatic dictates, through freedom of speech and opinion in a world brimming with the scourge of the Church and the likes of Stephen Hawking and Richard Dawkins?
I picked up a copy of last Sunday's newspaper this morning, a fairly objective broadsheet that I tend to buy for the crossword if the truth be known. On page ten, in a small article no longer than a 'C-List' celebrity cock, Bridget Morris' headline whimpered: "New strain of HIV that is 'impossible' to treat." I had thirty seconds to spare—I hadn't quite finished emptying my bowels and being a Friday, I had given up any aspirations of finishing the crossword before the answers were printed that weekend. 'Quickie'—my arse—so I read the thing.
A crystal amphetamine user in his mid-forties, who had a penchant for same sex partners (I believe the umbrella term is Gay, although very few of the ones I have met seem particularly happy with the way society treats them), was found to be infected with the new strain. Apparently, this strain of HIV is so deadly that the onset window from HIV virus to full blown AIDS (Auto-Immune Deficiency Virus, 'Adolescent Inspired Dirty Shagging', call it what you will) is, 'two or three months,' compared with the standard progression rate, usually about a decade or more. Thanks to the altruistic, humanitarian nature of drug research companies, the average HIV-infected individual can expect to live a reasonably active, healthy life, although they may rattle a bit due to the cornucopia of tablets they are obliged to swallow every day. That in itself may have some merits as it adds to the percussion down at the Gay disco on a Saturday night, right? Thankfully, Health officials in New York are working overtime to try and track down this unfortunate gentleman's previous sexual partners and are confident this new strain won't, 'get out.' Hang on a minute—a socially active, Gay, crystal amphetamine user from New York. Good luck is all I can say!
So why page ten, why is this willy-shriveling headline not screaming out from every front page of every newspaper around the globe. Why? Because we're scared of sex. After death (we are all going to die, stop running around and sit down, this is important), sex is the last social taboo.
As I skipped through pages one to nine of the newspaper in question I encountered six cleavages, although in fairness two of them belonged to Cate Blanchett and one was Germaine Greer's. On page four there was an interesting article concerning a sadistic, convicted murderer of his girlfriend, Luke Mitchell. I feel devastated for Jodi Jones, that poor girl's life cruelly snuffed out before she had even a chance to experience how wonderful the journey can be. I also, although not equally, feel sorry for Marilyn Manson—when will the oligarchs realise this guy is arguably the voice of a disenfranchised youth—a group who's instincts demand sex and rebellion. Kids, take it from Snoz, it's okay to wank, it used to be the only thing that kept me awake during Mrs Wilson's history classes.
In Britain, we have the highest rate of teenage drug use and sexually transmitted diseases and underage pregnancy of any country in Europe. Look out for the free chlamydia testing kits cumming to a chemist near you soon. Waste of money though, because we all know that kids just aren't shagging, because they're all too busy wanking (if male) or giving blow jobs (female)—the 21st Century equivalent of a courteous handshake in previous times.
There was an interesting article on page seven too; the team responsible for cloning Dolly the sheep are appealing to Richard Branson for funding into the Cloning of human embryos. The irony of potential human-cloners approaching Virgin for funding is probably beyond parody, but what's the big deal about this strive for immortality, because that is clearly what this is really all about? We already live for ever. In his book, 'The Selfish Gene', Richard Dawkins argues that, 'Animals exist for their preservation and are nothing more than their throwaway survival machines,' (forgive me Father, for I have compared thee to a beast—but that's another story). Think of a new-born baby; a male child will suckle longer than a female because of the hormonal impact the manufacture of breast milk has on the mother, i.e., she is less likely to conceive, thus creating potential competition and the child is more likely to survive so he can reach sexual maturity and spread his genes to all and sundry—'sundry' being the fifteen-year-old slappers who hang around your local bus shelter blissfully ignorant of the fact that sweet cider is not a reliable contraceptive.
You know that feeling you get when you see a spider, scurrying around your underwear drawer, fearful for it's life because it's genes have already told it what's coming next? Who told you to jump up and down screaming before killing the poor blighter with a combination of shoe, deodorant and boyfriend (although he won't admit it, he's petrified too)? It's in your genes, just like that cock or fanny itching to be scratched inside your post pubescent's offspring's jeans. We are not consciously in control of everything. Deny people what the Church deems to be perversions and what do we end up with? Perverts.
So next time angry from Manchester waxes lyrical about how they just don't want their kids to make the same mistakes they did, just remember, lessons come from experience, we teach others but educate ourselves. Page five : IMPOTENCE TREATMENT: Discreet assessment by fully qualified sympathetic male doctors. All leading treatments supplied at one stop assessment.
Unfortunately, they do not treat impotence of the imagination
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