» Call Centres

Someone trying to sell me the Daily Mail
It's an old story, but it bears re-telling:

One night, I'm sitting by my PC when the phone rings. So I answer and it goes like this...

Caller: "Is that Mr [Whippity]?"

Me: "Yes."

Caller: "Hello, Mr [Whippity], I'm calling from the 'Daily Mail'. Do you read a newspaper?"

Me: "Very rarely, and if I do, it's 'The Guardian'."

Caller: "You may be interested to know that the 'Daily Mail' are doing a special half-price offer for a fortnight in your area. It will be supported by local newsagents so they'll deliver it to you, and you'll have 14 days papers for the price of seven."

Me: "I'll stop you there. I know you're only doing your job, but I'd rather stick pins in my genitals than read the 'Daily Mail'."

Caller: "Oh well, I'll let you get back to that then." [click]

From that night, I've been in love with whoever she was who called me. I was left holding the phone thinking "You're wonderful".

So - if you're reading this, Daily-Mail-selling lady, get in touch. I promise there'll be no pin-sticking involved.
(Fri 4th Sep 2009, 12:18, More)

» My sex misconceptions

Oh dear. Now it all comes back to me.
Closer to 40 years ago than I like to think, when I was about two years old, I asked my Mum what my testicles were for.

In a spirit of open information-providing, my dear Mum tells me that when I get older things like small insects will come from them and be used to make babies.

For years (YEARS!) after that I had a nagging fear that I had blackfly in my scrotum.
(Thu 25th Sep 2008, 21:25, More)

» Evil Pranks

Teenage pranks
A mate of mine once had a party while his parents were away - usual teenage stuff - and some of us decided it would be fun to hide empty cans across the house. Having hid 11, we dutifully informed him that we'd hidden 12 and went off.

By the end of that Sunday, he'd found all of them and was going mental looking for the twelfth.
(Wed 19th Dec 2007, 16:54, More)

» Mobile phone disasters

The phone rings in the middle of the night....
Not so much a disaster, but an odd call all the same on Saturday night.

The call came up as 'Private Number' on the screen - so it could have been a chum of mine who usually withholds her number. It being 1:30 in the morning, I decided to answer in case she was unwell (which has been known to happen). Instead of my cheery and cheeky friend, it's a male voice.

Him: 'Is this the sex line?'

Me: 'Huh?'

Him: 'Is this the number to ring about sex advice?'

Me: 'No.'

Him: 'So this isn't a line for sex advice?'

Me: 'No, not for advice.' *

Him: 'Who is this?'

Me: 'I'm a private individual. What did you want?'

Him: 'Well, I'm getting married and want some advice.'

Me: 'I'm not an advice line.'

Him: 'I don't want to marry a girl who isn't a virgin. So I want to know about if she bleeds or not, whether that means I can tell if she's a virgin.'

Me: 'I'm not an advice line, but I can answer that.'

Him: 'You can?'

Me: 'Yes. These days it doesn't mean anything.'

Him: 'Why not?'

Me: 'Everyone's built differently. A lack of bleeding isn't a sign a girl isn't a virgin, it just means she didn't bleed. Some girls are built like that.'**

Him: 'So if she doesn't have sex for two or three years, will it grow back?'

Me: 'No.'

Him: 'It'll never grow back?'

Me: 'No.'

Him: 'OK, thanks, Bye.'

And off he goes. He's not rung back for more advice so far.

* I am a contact number for a sex-related group, usually to filter out oddballs, hence the qualification.

** FFS, 1:30am is not the time for gynaecological conversations with total strangers. I know there's more to it, but not in these circumstances.
(Wed 5th Aug 2009, 17:39, More)

» Blood

The prince of blood
I got my Prince Albert done about ten years ago. Tor the unknowing, this is a body piercing where you get a ring through the end of your winky.

In order to keep my newly-pierced penis from flopping about too much immediately afterwards, the thoughtful piercer attached a surgical glove to the end with a bit of micropore tape.

Hours later, when I got home I realised I was spotting blood onto the sofa through my trousers. The trousers were fashionably black so hadn't shown the leakage as I trotted around London. I popped upstairs to the sink, undid my trousers and checked.

Wow. So far it's the most of my blood I've ever seen. It had collected in the finger-ends of the gloves, clotted and dried all over the rest of me, and seemed to be everywhere.

In a state of panic I rang the piercer.

"It's bleeding!" I think I wailed down the phone.
"There are a lot of blood vessels down there. It will bleed." He assured me.

With hindsight, it was a little naive of me to get a piercing there and not expect some bleeding, and it was probably a little foolish to spend hours wandering round the shops afterwards.

So - the lesson to fellow readers is that if you get someone to stick a needle through your bell-end, expect it to bleed.
(Fri 8th Aug 2008, 14:32, More)