First rude thing I ever saw
Our Ginger Fuhrer's young life was scarred by the discovery of an end-of-the-pier 'What The Butler Saw' machine and a jazz mag shoved behind a toilet cistern. Tell us about the first time you realised that there was more to life than sweet shops and Friday night TV
( , Thu 11 Aug 2011, 13:07)
Our Ginger Fuhrer's young life was scarred by the discovery of an end-of-the-pier 'What The Butler Saw' machine and a jazz mag shoved behind a toilet cistern. Tell us about the first time you realised that there was more to life than sweet shops and Friday night TV
( , Thu 11 Aug 2011, 13:07)
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Zebra willy
I am five years old and on a lovely day out at Whipsnade Zoo. I clap my hands with glee at the monkeys throwing poo. I watch birds of prey in a display, catching dead chicks in their beaks. I marvel at the wary suspicion of the meercats. Giddy on ice cream with strawberry sauce, we reach the zebras.
The zebras are, all things considered, rather boring when compared to the liveliness of the other animals. The zebras are just standing there eating grass. Sure, they're stripy and fun, but they're not really doing anything.
And then my attention is caught. There is something different about one of the zebras. It appears to have a fifth leg, somewhat withered; it is thinner than the others and does not quite reach the ground. It is pink, glistening in the July sun.
I gaze at the foreign object, my little brow furrowed, bewildered. I wish I could read properly so I could look at the sign and find out why one of the zebras has a poorly leg. The zebra looks unfazed by its horrible disability, lackadaisically munching grass. The other zebras are similarly unbothered. They are accepting of their equoid comrade's affliction.
I try not to stare. It's impolite.
My mum nudges me. "Look," she says, pointing, a conspiratorial grin erupting across her face, "that zebra's got his willy out."
And suddenly my world stops spinning. I am aware of the existence of willies. At that age, I can't say with any certainty that I'd seen one, but I was definitely aware that boys used them to do wees and also babies were made when a man put his willy in a lady's minnie.
That was a willy? That terrifying, gleaming, pink thing that I had mistaken for a crippled limb? That was how boys did wees? How did they hide something so vast in their swimming trunks? How do men help make babies when that thing is so gigantic it would surely destroy a lady's minnie? It would be like impaling! Was I born because of a violent impaling with an enormous magenta weapon?
After that, I feared the cock. I assumed they must all resemble that horrid, horrid thing hanging off a zebra. I refused to play show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine. I knew what the boys were packing in their shorts and I didn't want it anywhere near me.
I almost laughed with relief when we were finally shown diagrams of human cocks in Year 6 sex education. They were so small! They were not frightening at all!
It was, after all that, sex education that saved me from exclusive lesbianism. It was how I learned to stop worrying and love the cock.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:06, 13 replies)
I am five years old and on a lovely day out at Whipsnade Zoo. I clap my hands with glee at the monkeys throwing poo. I watch birds of prey in a display, catching dead chicks in their beaks. I marvel at the wary suspicion of the meercats. Giddy on ice cream with strawberry sauce, we reach the zebras.
The zebras are, all things considered, rather boring when compared to the liveliness of the other animals. The zebras are just standing there eating grass. Sure, they're stripy and fun, but they're not really doing anything.
And then my attention is caught. There is something different about one of the zebras. It appears to have a fifth leg, somewhat withered; it is thinner than the others and does not quite reach the ground. It is pink, glistening in the July sun.
I gaze at the foreign object, my little brow furrowed, bewildered. I wish I could read properly so I could look at the sign and find out why one of the zebras has a poorly leg. The zebra looks unfazed by its horrible disability, lackadaisically munching grass. The other zebras are similarly unbothered. They are accepting of their equoid comrade's affliction.
I try not to stare. It's impolite.
My mum nudges me. "Look," she says, pointing, a conspiratorial grin erupting across her face, "that zebra's got his willy out."
And suddenly my world stops spinning. I am aware of the existence of willies. At that age, I can't say with any certainty that I'd seen one, but I was definitely aware that boys used them to do wees and also babies were made when a man put his willy in a lady's minnie.
That was a willy? That terrifying, gleaming, pink thing that I had mistaken for a crippled limb? That was how boys did wees? How did they hide something so vast in their swimming trunks? How do men help make babies when that thing is so gigantic it would surely destroy a lady's minnie? It would be like impaling! Was I born because of a violent impaling with an enormous magenta weapon?
After that, I feared the cock. I assumed they must all resemble that horrid, horrid thing hanging off a zebra. I refused to play show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine. I knew what the boys were packing in their shorts and I didn't want it anywhere near me.
I almost laughed with relief when we were finally shown diagrams of human cocks in Year 6 sex education. They were so small! They were not frightening at all!
It was, after all that, sex education that saved me from exclusive lesbianism. It was how I learned to stop worrying and love the cock.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:06, 13 replies)
Zebras are perverts
I went to Chester Zoo in April and the Zebra there had it's cock out that kept getting bigger the closer he got to the zookeeper.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:30, closed)
I went to Chester Zoo in April and the Zebra there had it's cock out that kept getting bigger the closer he got to the zookeeper.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:30, closed)
*click*
for Strangelove reference and some genuinely hilarious literary talent.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 16:04, closed)
for Strangelove reference and some genuinely hilarious literary talent.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 16:04, closed)
I would be amazed
If there isn't a porn spoof with that title floating around somewhere.
But I can't be bothered to find it. Oh no.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 22:46, closed)
If there isn't a porn spoof with that title floating around somewhere.
But I can't be bothered to find it. Oh no.
( , Fri 12 Aug 2011, 22:46, closed)
I'm sure porn could do better
"...Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bum", e.g.
( , Sat 13 Aug 2011, 5:33, closed)
"...Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bum", e.g.
( , Sat 13 Aug 2011, 5:33, closed)
Were you born because of a violent impaling with an enormous magenta weapon?
Well, your dad liked to believe so...
( , Tue 16 Aug 2011, 17:54, closed)
Well, your dad liked to believe so...
( , Tue 16 Aug 2011, 17:54, closed)
So funny
I can almost imagine the childish horror of such things!
Clicky for the impaling line alone!
( , Tue 16 Aug 2011, 19:59, closed)
I can almost imagine the childish horror of such things!
Clicky for the impaling line alone!
( , Tue 16 Aug 2011, 19:59, closed)
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