Bad moods
I'm not sure why, but for some reason it's forbidden for a man to be in a bad mood without having a damn good reason. Sometimes you just had a normal day at the office, you didn't get harassed on the tube, the supermarket had everything you wanted and it's a beautiful sunny day, but you just are in a shit mood. There isn't anything to explain or a hidden meaning. It just is what it is.

So you come home, you're grumpy and you just want some me time. She senses something is wrong by the monotone drawl in your voice so with obvious concern she asks what it is:

'Nothing', I reply.
'Nothing?', she asks with an incredulous look upon her face.
'Yes, nothing. I'm just in a shit mood'.

Now I should point out at this point that it's socially acceptable in every females eyes to be in a downright disgustingly heathen and abusive mood with the 'love of their life' at least once a month. So why can't I have the same privileges? Why can't I just have my moment in the burning cauldren of Satan's front room while I stew in foul thought.

But, NOOOOO....there must be a reason and armed with her amateur psychology degree from the pages of Cosmopolitan magazine she presses on, and on, and on ....ad nauseum.

And so a few hours later you emerge from your personal hell with just enough emotional strength to muster an actual physical hug and a 'I'm sorry babe'. Not because you want to apologise mind, but sometimes it's easier to let the lawnmower run out of fuel than it is to keep listening to it whine away on the couch next to you.

But you know what the clincher is, and they don't write about this in Cosmo, it's so simple avoid all this crap. All she'd have to do is walk up to me, put her arms around me, look into my eyes and give me a big hug. Then slowly get down on her knees, unzip my pants and start sucking my cock. Bad mood gone, I'm happy and you've had a lovely starter before I happily toddle off to the kitchen to cook the main course.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 21:33, 10 replies)

Why do women always put the new roll of bogroll on the holder so that the open side faces away from you?
What advantage could that possibly have? It's further away and bloody inconvenient.

Bints.
(The Artist Formerly Known As &c You can order curries ONLINE these days., Mon 4 Jan 2010, 21:30, 7 replies)

I use the power of sexism to my advantage!
I can't park. I mean, I've got the cock for it and everything, but I just can't seem to get my car between those white lines.

So... I use the power of sexism. I just used to leave the child seat in the car. Even though I drove typically executive cars, like a 406 or a C5, it always looked like the 'little lady' had borrowed it, because of the child seat.

Now that Red Demigod's older, and doesn't need a child seat - I drive an MPV. Dump that anywhere, people look at it and nod dismissively as they notice how crooked it is in the space. "Parked by some dizzy bint, eh?" Sorted.

Oh, and because it's a typically 'girly' car, chavs just overtake at high speed, rather than sit behind it flashing their lights trying to make me go faster. This also suits me fine.

Oh, and Pink Goddess is quite lovely.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 20:23, 1 reply)

the Chinese certainly seem to cling to an old one ...
see this article in the Telegraph about a Chinese car park designed for women drivers.

www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/china/6904526/Chinese-car-park-has-wider-spaces-for-women-drivers.html

best line? --- "Wang Zheng, the manager of the facility, said that the design would appeal to women's "strong sense of colour and different sense of distance".
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 20:03, Reply)

I have a penis
It is mansized.
That is all
(Freddles, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 19:51, 3 replies)

Delia Smith
TV chef or cook?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 19:34, 13 replies)

I like to think I've conquered sexism
by fancying Elly Jackson from La Roux something fierce. I have such an absurdly huge horn for her that I don't think anyone can call me desirous to restrict women to stereotypical gender appearances. They can, and do, call me a man with bad taste, however.

Seriously, I go weak at the knees for girls who just look a bit like her. It's pathetic really.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 19:33, 6 replies)

Bollock-kicking VS. Childbirth.
Many people say childbirth is worse and more painful than a bollock-kicking. But I say childbirth has 9 months advance warning and can only happen once in 9 months. Bollock-kicking can come at any time without warning and repeatedly.

Personally, I think overall a bollock-kicking is worse.
(Stephen5555 is posting on, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 18:43, 9 replies)

Why are
female rocket scientists in films always fit pretty blondes? Why do they never look like Susan Boyle? (Who as Charlie Brooker described looks like a cross between John Prescott and a haunted tree)
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 16:43, 19 replies)

PMT
I don't get it - being a man, obviously - but at the same time I REALLY don't get it.

My ex would absolutely rip me to shreds during her "special" time. I started off sympathetic, then after a couple of years the novelty started to lose its shimmer, and eventually it got so bad that I used to mark up a calendar with regard to her cycle and avoid her like the plague on red days. So far, so reasonable. However, should I have the temerity (or sheer bad luck) to encounter her during one of her periods, it would go like this:

1. As I mentioned above, she would rip me to shreds, call me every name under the sun and make me feel like absolute shit.
2. I'd go to leave, for I do not need to be treated this way.
3. She'd apologise, start crying, and then say she was being irrational because of her period.

So my point is I know when I'm angry - that's when I walk away from arguments. Why don't women (especially those who suffer with bad PMT) think: "Hmmm, there's blood leaking from my vagina, so I'm probably hormonally imbalanced and irrational right now. Perhaps I should just give him the benefit of the doubt, instead of calling him a cunt in front of all his mates..."
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 16:27, 17 replies)

Conforming to sexist stereotypes
My Auntie & Uncle rented a car to visit some rellies up north as they were worried their old jalopy wouldn't make it.

I asked them what car my Auntie said "a lovely Blue one"

my Uncle "Seat Ibiza 1.4 Sport Coupe SE"
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 16:18, Reply)

I am a proud feminist!
But this is one of my favorite jokes....

What's the smartest thing ever to come out of a woman's mouth?

Einstein's cock.
(persnickety I Am The Seaward, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 15:55, 2 replies)

Avatar
Went down to the Imax to watch Avatar on New Years Eve with a bunch of people. Afterwards the main topic of conversation was generally split between the sexes and went something like this:

Women

“Flimsy plot but the special effects were pretty cool.”
“Pandora looked amazing. OK, was a bit long and you had to leave your brain at home, but worth it just to see those great big dragon things leaping out at you in 3D.”
“Sigourney Weaver still looks pretty good for her age, isn’t she in her fifties?”
“Basically a remake of Dances With Wolves in space.”

Men

“WOW!!! DID YOU SEE THAT??? THOSE GIANT BLUE SMURF GIRLIES TOTALLY HAD THEIR TITS OUT!!!”

Apparently this is a sexist comment… Well, that told us. But they did totally have their tits out. Pert. Blue. About ten meters wide on the giant Imax screen. And there were two of um… With nipples and everything!!!
( SpankyHanky, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 15:51, 5 replies)

Oooooooooold joke alert...
How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb?

2.

One to change the bulb, the other to suck my cock.
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 15:34, 5 replies)

Bless'em
Women should not be allowed to work. They say that a woman’s work is never done. Well, if they stopped cocking gossiping all day then perhaps they might. The women in my office do my nut in. They spend about 6 hours out of every 8 gossiping about how pissed they got at the weekend, of some lethario that bothered to chat them up, about how all men are bastards, how ‘her in accounts’ is a bitch before being nice as pie to their face, make-up, diets and how they can’t seem to lose weight (whilst simultaneously munching on a bag of Sensations) and how men don’t know what it’s like to have a little monthly visitor (no, we’re men; we don’t have the equipment). Same thing with childbirth: no, we don’t know how painful it is, just as you don’t know how fucking painful it is to be kicked in the love spuds. Deal with it and move on.
Oh and Facebook. They spend half their day either logging on to Facebook or talking about Facebook. Telling each other their status for the last six months even though those people can actually read it themselves when they get home.
They love being so independent and empowered, love the impressive sounding job titles but cry whenever something goes wrong that thus requires a bollocking.
Women are also crap drivers (why is it that 99% of those that drive 4x4s are women??). I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve had to slam all on because a woman has just pulled out of a junction without looking (why would they when the universe revolves around them?). Or had to beep at them because they’re touching up their make-up in the rear view mirror. And yet they still want a Mini, a Beetle or a sports car, invariably a soft top because they love to pose with the top down. And why is that the women who drive said convertibles are invariably blondes and all wear the same shitty WAG sunglasses?
Oh, and Man Flu. It doesn’t exist. When it was announced on our local news channel that Swine Flu had hit my little corner of Yorkshire, within ten minutes three women had gone home. I kid you not! How many men? None. Zero. Nada. When we have a heavy cold we go to work (a male colleague of mine is in work at the moment after the spending the last week with a temperature in the 100s) and we don’t spend all day banging on about it. Neither do we spend a ton of cash on pointless pills and potions
And the toilet seat. We leave it up because in this age of gender homogenisation, leaving it up is the last bastion of maleness that we have left
And breathe.
Sorry girls, I’m not a raving misogynist - half my closest friends are of the female genre and they’re ace - it’s just that the women I have to work with are pains in the arse and offer a somewhat blinkered view. Please don’t hate me!
(Ghostlight, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 15:14, 4 replies)

The whole English language is sexist
I mean, why is the act of hurting a person for their actions against you called "Penalising" them? Why not "Vagalising"?
(MrOli is ugly, but in the morning you will be sober, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 14:52, 11 replies)

Speaking of tidying up
I've noticed that me and Mrs SLVA tackle it in different ways. She gets out a load of cleaning stuff, then starts polishing the windows, then polishes loads of other surfaces, gets the hoover out and so on.

When I do it, I get a box and put everything in it that doesn't belong in that room, then take it out and leave it elsewhere. Then I tidy up what stays in the room, plump the settee up, sweep the wooden floor and the room is presentable in maybe 5 mins when she would still be faffing about with the Mr Sheen. I then go put away the stuff in the box and then get down to the polishing etc.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 14:20, 3 replies)

im no technical whizz but in an exception to the rule
how come my boyfriend spends most his time on a computer but doesn't know ANY keyboard short cuts, how to change the printer options OR how to double space text?

which is why i get a phonecall everytime he has an assessment due in.
(ladyintheradiator, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 14:14, 5 replies)

Tidying up?
While doing some DIY recently, I was happy to leave stuff out so I could carry on with it the next day. However, Mrs Sandettie wanted me to put the tools/materials away at the end of the day.

My argument was "What's the fucking point, I'll need to use it all again tomorrow. But feel free to put it away for me, but you dig it all out again in morning"

She refused.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 14:12, 2 replies)

Games
In our genitallia face hit challenge I've found that she normally gets poked in the eye and I get a broken nose.

And that is the difference between men and women!
(Feeb is a smooth operator, operating correctly, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 14:10, 2 replies)

Everybody is a bastard...
and especially you.
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:54, Reply)

My expert opinion.
Having lived 44 years on this planet and having experienced both sexes as friends and lovers I can catagorically state with absolutely no qualms whatsoever that men are shit................... and women are slightly less shit than men.


Shortly I may put this theory forward in a scientific journal and see who dares to contradict me.
( girlinthehole, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:50, 6 replies)

I dont like sexism.
I am female and have a male partner. Therefore gender roles now play a part of my life.

As a youf I was strongly opposed gender specific roles, when I was at school I refused to help clear out the art store cupboard. “Just because I am female does not mean I will do domestic chores - This is SEXIST.” I even refused to wear make-up or ‘fancy’ underwear for many years, under the impression these were bindings of gender repression. I was one of those types.

Now in my adulthood I find myself, wearing make-up and underwear to look nice for my man. I pick up and wash dirty clothes that don’t belong to me, cook the dinner of his choosing, I sew on buttons, iron his clothes, clean up mess I have not made, ask him to take the bin out, move the heavy suitcase, open jars for me, to fix my bike. All these tasks I am perfectly capable of doing myself and likewise as is he. So, why do I do it? Because, I like doing things for him and I like him doing things for me and I like saying thank you to him too.

We do not conform the ‘1950s domestic bliss’ ideal either – He studies and I work – I earn more money than him and I expect I will continue to do so for many years to come. He wants to get married and have children – I want to be financially secure before starting a family and I don’t want to get married. He likes dancing to romantic songs, I do not. When I get upset I usually get angry and rarely cry, when he gets upset he gets angry and has been known to cry. I don’t what to paint myself as some kind of hard faced fishwife type and he my wet milk fed hubby, either.

Doing domestic chores I could be accused of reinforcing an outdated and outmoded female stereotype, which has enslaved women into centauries of domestic servitude. Why do I do ‘house work’ because I like it – I like to live in a clean house, I like to look after my man.

I am a woman but my head is not filled with endless hormonally driven thoughts of clothes, shoes and chocolate. No more than it is about high strength larger, the political situation in the middle east, smoking, the value of the £ against the € or $, what I want to watch on TV tonight, what is in the fridge, the last time I had sex, the next time I will have sex, what book will I read next, that I must ring my best friend and I must sort out cancelling my gym membership.

But one thing that I fail to understand – why do men like to urinate around the toilet? Yes, I urinate generally into the toilet (unless I am caught very short) not around the toilet then I take a moment to flush it away, nor do I leave it for the next person like a golden offering.

Is this a hanger on from the times when it was necessary mark territory?
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:41, 8 replies)

Cars through to cocks...
Being the owner of a fully functioning cock leads to a few common misconceptions among those without the meat and two veg swinging about between their legs. Yep, I’m talking about the ladies (and possibly eunuchs, though you don’t meet many of them on a day-to-day basis in the squalid little part of North London I call home).

So it’s time to set the record straight.

Firstly, because I have testicles this does not, in any way shape or form, mean I have a fucking clue how to get your car to start if its knackered. Occasionally in the past I’ve been asked by various people of the tit-and-cunt persuasion to have a fiddle about under the bonnet of their clapped out old Ford or Fiat in the vein hope that my innate manliness – possibly coupled with the fact that I piss standing up – will somehow magic the fucking motor into starting. But, like a prize fucking tit, I will somehow find myself stooped down in the early morning freezing fucking cold prodding at a shitload of rubber-coated wires, some metal bits and bobs, and something that looks like an oversized metal liquorice allsort in the vein attempt not to let my sex down. Ladies, I don’t even fucking drive. As far as I’m concerned cars run on ‘voodoo’ or perhaps ‘the force’. Please, don’t ask me to fix your fucking cars in future.

Secondly, if we’re settling down to do a bit of satellite TV surfing, please, please, FUCKING PLEASE!!!, don’t assume that as the man it is written in fucking law that I’ll be in charge of the remote control. I really don’t need that responsibility. I’ll only end up settling on some dodgy episode of Sexcetera where some scantily clad Eastern European babe will bang on in broken English about how many ping pong balls she can fit up her flute. You won’t like this. You’ll start a row. So, in future, take the awesome fucking responsibility of what we’re going to watch away from me. We’ll sit and watch the knitting channel – I really don’t give a shit. The chances are I’ll be so traumatized from spending an afternoon sat in a pub with you and your mate while you discuss your periods in the style of Hostel, that I’ll probably welcome a spot of light and insightful speed crocheting.

Thirdly, if my footie team gets hammered 5 – 0 in the Cup, don’t see this as something petty. Don’t view this as a mere trifle you can rip the piss out of me over. I need time to mourn and mope in the style of someone who’s lost a sibling in a terrible boating accident. Remember, I’ve had a relationship with my footie team for thirty-four long, torturous years. We’ve been through the bad times, and we’ve been through the even worse times. You – on the other hand - have only been on the scene for a couple of years. And – unlike footie teams – I can switch allegiances and change to a new girlfriend without leaving a terrible, indelible stain on my conscience that would keep me awake at night (that’s if I could ever be arsed).

Finally, let’s talk about cock size… Why? Because ever girlfriend I’ve ever EVER had has always, at some point or another, talked about the size of their previous boyfriends cocks because, apparently, this is a topic of conversation that might actually interest me. I really don’t need to know if your previous boe was hung like a T-Rex or a baby new potato. I don’t need to know if his shaft veered off to the right or left. I honestly couldn’t give a flying fuck and telling me about it doesn’t make us an enlightened modern couple of the 21st Century… it’s just a little creepy. I mean, would you like it if we turned round to you and said: “Hmm, you’ve got a tight flange… but I’ve had tighter…” Or: “I used to go out with a girl who’s clit bizarrely always tasted like Worcester sauce.” Or even: “You’ve got the nicest labia I’ve ever seen in my life. It looks like a meat cauliflower down there and I fucking like it!” No. This will not do. This will not do at all…

Sexism… Bollocks to it… Time for a new question, shirley???
( SpankyHanky, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:39, 3 replies)

If a man is ill he has two problems
The illness, and his wife/gf/whatever giving him shit because of it.
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:39, Reply)

The usual case
It's in the reply because it's 500 words long
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:29, 8 replies)

"Not today, I have a headache."
Here's a treat: There have been studies which have found sex actually helps relive migraines. Google it if you want to find them.

Okay, so I don't know if it helps little ordinary headaches, but can confirm from personal experience (I suffer regular migraines ranging from annoying to the kind that make me think I'd be better off without a head completely) that it certainly does seem to alleviate the pain. The mister is just glad he can help me get better. Or so he says.
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:27, 4 replies)

When at a restaurant with my wife
My wife can't order from a restaurant menu without knowing what i'm going to have first. This is despite me always informing her that i will not be sharing what i order so what i am having bears no relevance to what she's going to order. Regardless of this, no food will be ordered, waiting staff will be sent away with a blank notepad until such time as i reveal what i intend to eat.
Even when i do reveal what i'm planning to have she will then have to read through the entire menu and will choose 3 or 4 possibles. Then the narrowing down process will begin and (against my will or better judgement) I will be asked to comment on these choices as she 'talks them through'.
I have in the past suggested that she use my approach which is to read down the menu until she comes to something she likes and then stop and order it. This suggestion has met with incredulation and shock. 'But what if there's something i might like more FURTHER DOWN the menu???', she asked. 'Well you won't know it's there love, will you?', I reasonably reply. I may has well have told her i plan to urinate publicly in all 4 corners of the restaurant for the horror with which she looked at me.
On one occasion, I ordered while she was finishing a call on her mobile. I didn't order what I'd told her i was going to. Once she placed her order and the waiter headed off, i confessed to my henious crime. At this point she called the waiter back, a menu was requested and a full review of her original order took place. She still ordered the same thing but would never have been happy without being given the chance to check through the menu again following my shocking revelation.

I wonder what happens when a women eats alone? Do they ring someone? Force the waiter to have a conversation about their choices? Just sit there not eating before leaving?

Anyway, sexist or not, it's something only women do.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 13:07, 19 replies)

Boring serious life/family questions..
This is is something that I never really say out loud, being a bit of a modern anarcho-feminist and all that, but really, little kids do better with their mum around. Yes, women should be able to reach their full potential (as should men), but I do think that families with both parents working full time has a detrimental effect on children and on wider society. I sometimes secretly wonder if the rise of women entering the workforce correlates entirely with the breakdown of community and responsibility in our neighborhoods.

Or maybe it is the society wide brainwashing that we need more tatt and flatscreens to be happy? Maybe too many of us have swapped chasing the cash and splashing it (or credit) for proper human connection and experience.

I know this is a bit serious but I would be interested to hear what other b3tans think, even though I suspect I will told to get back in the kitchen and bake pie. Hmm, which sounds like yummy fun actually!
(AmiBambini, Mon 4 Jan 2010, 12:48, 10 replies)

Not really on topic but,
I would just like to thank you all for making me realise how lucky I am. I was born into a hippyish family and started from the assumption that people of both genders were not only equal, but thought in much the same manner. Various relationships and one failed marriage, have made me realise that a lot of the more reasonable complaints about women listed in this QOTW have a good sound basis in reality (FWIW, not fond of most men either) I had more or less despaired and was starting to wish I could embrace The Gay as a way of life, when I met my current girlfriend.

A few edited highlights:
Takes out the bins as often as I do
Refuses to let me carry her bags whn shopping ("If I can't carry it I shouldn't have bought it")
Seems to have no interest in babies
Does not do Christmas (really, didn't get her a prezzie and am still living).
Both accepts and gives decent advice, none of this sympathy bollocks
Says that if/when we move in together I should have a shed (her idea)
Six months in, no noticeable PMT
No makeup, and no need for it = win
Is as quick in and out of public toilets as me (goes solo)
Has smashing jubblies and no problem with my obsession with them.
probably much more.

so, anyway, they do exist, keep looking, my adivice is:
1) Use dating sites, much easier to find what you want.
2) Date germans.
( CQ Knows the truth, all of it., Mon 4 Jan 2010, 12:35, 8 replies)