This is why ad agencies should be paying me the big massive bucks. But they're afraid. Too afraid…

The damn spineless & hidebound fools!

No more gif(t)s for you tomorrow. You've had enough.

It may have something to do with a new blogging project that has "cunts" (phnarr) in the title. It may, instead, be related to the fact that I'm reading a book about shit. Or, it could, simply, be all down to the omnipresent recession. Everything else is.

Anyway, it struck me, the other day, that I'd no idea what the legal definition of “obscenity" is in 21st century Ireland. Could, for example, one be fined/jailed for obscene acts & works? Did “obscenity", as a legal concept, even exist anymore?

In a bid to answer these vexing questions I did what any serious researcher and seeker after knowledge would. I asked my "followers" on Twitter. Follower Crehan pointed me in the direction of the 1929 Censorship of Publications Act – a document that contains the following choice nugget RE: “indecency".

the word "indecent" shall be construed as including suggestive of, or inciting to sexual immorality or unnatural vice or likely in any other similar way to corrupt or deprave.

Before you chortle, roll the eyes affectionately, and say “Ah! The old days!", bear in mind that the above definition is (Follower Crehan assures me) still (still!) the law. God bless the state that, in its infinite wisdom, protects us from the corrupting durtiness of sex. With a stabilising and paternal hand it pours cold waters on our raging mickies. Without it we would, surely, be wanking openly in the streets and rutting passers-by like drooling pigs in heat. Christ…we're filthy bastards altogether.

Later that day, Follower McGarr telephoned me as I chewed contemplatively on an elevenses sausage. Between mouthfuls of meat (waaa!) we discussed (among other things) Alan Moore's Lost Girls, The Daily Mail (but of course), and (for reasons I can't precisely recall) the laxity of tax legislation. All very pleasant and diverting but, with appetite whetted, I wanted more.

So, in a half-assed amateur looky-uppy spirit, I opened a few books. First port of call was Murdoch's Dictionary of Irish Law (5th ed). “Obscenity" led on (as it does) to “Indecency" where the following was found.

Indecency – Any act which offends modesty, causes scandal or injures the morals of the community.
[...]
The publication or utterance of indecent matter is an offence and is required to be punishable by law.

Now I've always thought (Satan-worshiping lover of depravity that I am) that one of the functions (nay, duties) of art is to be unsettling, upsetting, challenging, discombobulating etc. There are plenty of community “morals" that I'd enjoy seeing “injured", and let's not forget scandal-causing: one of the most entertaining acts a human/artist can engage in. Yet, it turns out, such things are required to be punishable by law. Take that hippies!

Where's this post leading? Not sure…but I'd like to veer off on a slight tangent and mention Irish satire. One of the maddening aspects of our national “satire" (and other “subversive" forms of expression) has traditionally been how it's reigned itself in in the face of “Ah now!" culture.

“Ah now…you can't say that". “Ah now…that's not on". “Ah now". “Ah now".

Ah now? Ah fuck off.

The perfect response to (and antidote for) fat-necked Fianna Fáil soul-destroyers, banking fucknuts, The Sunday Independent, and all the myriad life-sapping forces that surround us is not cuddly ("Sure, it's all a bit of fun!") mickey-taking, but properly transgressive and (yes) even obscene "art" (define that how you will). Forget whoopee cushions, let's have some proper bombs. Old-timey anarchist ones. Ah now. Ah now. Kaboom!

Tomorrow I'll kick things off by…let's see…uhm wandering around town in a provocative t-shirt. On it will be a cartoon horse, wearing knee high boots and lipstick, pissing on a bishop. You have to start somewhere.

Conclusion: This, I know, has rambled, raved and meandered. But it's merely a kicking off point. An opening for a chat. Thoughts? Questions? Free legal advice? Over to you.

This blog's recent forays into (among other things) the colourful worlds of horror and bestial fan fiction seem to be bearing stranger fruit than I had anticipated.

Where previously I had been busily moderating and deleting (tedious) spam comments that appealed to my perceived need for credit cards and Viagra, the latest batch seem to focus on my (perceived again) weakness for the literary and the hard-core pornographic.

Consider the following for example (received on Tuesday morn):

horror, then a strong thrill of grief, then a desire a necessity to where can i find free lesbian movies the Leas are coming with him he sends directions for all the best kuyftjupzqk¹

The "horror" and "strong thrill of grief" were (as a quick search confirms) emotions felt by Ms. Jane Eyre (in Charlotte Brontë's novel of the same name). The "necessity to…find free lesbian movies", however, does not appear to have been mentioned. I suppose it could be implicit…

In Chapter 17 of JE Adele Varens (the child that Jane becomes governess to at Thornfield Manor) is allowed to "sit up much later than usual" (on the night of a party) as she could not "possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening and shutting below, and people bustling about".

A slightly different slant on this later than usual up-sitting is offered by the following recent slice of spam:

…for she declared she could not possibly go to sleep mature lesbians dildoing in the office a step which sank instead of raising me in the scale of social kuyftjupzqk

We've all (I'm sure) been in just this situation. It's the night before a big exam (or job interview) and the furious sound of "mature lesbians dildoing in the office" destroys any chance of a peaceful night's sleep.

Also, living above (or beside) such a debauched office would clearly sink (instead of raise) you in the "scale of social kuyftjupzqk". It's easy to say "Just ignore social kuyftjupzqk!" (and all its pieties and hypocrisies) but the reality is that we're all insecure slaves to it.

1. He/She who "sends directions for all the best kuyftjupzqk" is surely a self-help guru of some potency. [back]

As the "Dreadful Thoughts" club badges begin to wing their way around this wide world (i.e. Ireland) my thoughts have turned from the sunlit plains of munificence to the shadowy valleys of greed. I've enjoyed being a giver – but now it's time to take something (badge-shaped) back.

Midget Wrangler (spurred on by Damien Mulley) recently introduced us to the "Filthy" badge – a scarce and highly-desirable item awarded to those bloggers who've managed to plumb the depths (or should that be scale the heights?) of delicious dirtiness. What follows is my modest bid for this rare prize.

Though the universes of Star Trek, Buffy and Harry Potter (!) have been thoroughly probed and penetrated by writers of slash/adult fan fiction, there remain, I'm happy to say, some niche (and outré) areas of "fandom" that have yet to be fully explored. While, for instance, the Buffy section on (the indispensable) adultfanfiction.net bursts at its seams with over 3500 tales,¹ the My Little Pony archive can boast but one sad, solitary entry – "Belle of the Ball Until Dawn Comes". Admittedly, this may be one more entry than you expected…

Getting it on for the titillation and entertainment of…I'm not sure who exactly,² are the below pair – Twinkle Twirl (L) & Star Catcher (R):

While daylight hours no doubt find them prancing gaily about the fields and meadows of Ponyland, they're at play of a different sort once night falls:

"Star Catcher!" She breathed. "HARDER!" She panted in a breathy equine sort of way, shivering.

He thrust into her harder still, gasping as he did.. IN and OUT…. in and out… back and forth… faster and faster… "Oh! TWINKLE!" He called out heavily. "Twinkle Twirl… you're wonderful…!!!!!"

Hmmm. Though I may have forgotten (due to the nepenthean effects of passion), I don't think that I've ever called out – at the moment of climax – "Oh! [insert name here].. you're wonderful…!!!!!"

It's probably a (little) pony thing…as (unless I'm not doing 'it' right) is the panty, equine, breathy-shivering (not to mention the nibbling, biting and "loving head butts").

Given the tight shorts, moustaches, Hawaiian shirts, camp & arch Englishmen, purring & pistoning Ferrari engines (etc) – it's quite surprising that the adventures of Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV (et al) have not been more enthusiastically "slashed".

Again we find but one lone example, though that makes up for the general lack by giving us good 'n' juicy stuff. In "Peeping" we're introduced to two colourful (but fairly obvious) pairings – Rick/T.C. (I always suspected as much) and Magnum/Higgins (that bitchy, but affectionate, verbal sparring was a dead give-away). Kicking us off in gentle fashion is the former couple:

Rick stared at the broad back of his best friend and lover. Walking over, Rick wrapped his arm around his lover’s waist. Leaning over he rested his head on his beloved’s shoulder. Turning his head, he kissed his lover’s neck, then reached for his lover’s glass and drank the whiskey.

"Rick! Stop that."

"Sorry T.C…." Rick kissed T.C. again, "But I love to kiss you with whisky lips."

"And I love to taste you with whisky tongue."

All so well and so tender, but the motor is quickly revved up a few notches:

Using his strong hand, so gentle on the joystick of a copter, so firm on his lover's flesh. He caressed his lover’s cock, squeezing and massaging until he could feel his lover rocking and whining for T.C. to bring him off.

I'll never look at T.C.'s "chopper"…

…in quite the same way again…

One assumes that this intimate exchange is but the warm-up for the main event – the Magnum/Higgy bonkfest – but no. Their love act is but an afterthought and takes place entirely "off-screen". That doesn't, however, prevent the build-up from from being anything less than the stuff of high hilarity:

Magnum walked back to his brilliant red Ferrari and started the engine. Half way back to his cottage he called ahead to the house.

"Hello, Mildred?" Magnum said as Higgin’s [sic] wife answered.

"Yes?"

"Tell Higgy to go into the cottage and be naked, ass up when I get home. I’m about 15 minutes away."

That's it! The end! "Higgy" waits (forever), "ass up" and naked in the cottage. What happens next is left to our fertile & licentious imaginations. Lovers of explosive crescendos and "money shots" will, no doubt, feel somewhat teased and cheated.³

Badge, please.⁴

1. And features one story ("My Own Demons") that lists the following perplexing – and mildly terrifying – codes in its summary: Abuse, Anal, Angst, AU/AR, BDSM, B-Mod, Bond, BP, DP, F/F, H/C, HJ, Humil, Language, MC, OC, Oral, Other, Preg, S&M, SH, Slave, SoloF, SoloM, Tort, Toys, Trans, UST, WAFF, WIP, Yuri. [back]
2. What fetish, one wonders, is being catered for here? [back]
3. And what's this with a Mrs. Higgins? I always thought (even before reading this) that Mr. H was a "man's man"…if you get my meaning. [back]
4. I can't finish without mentioning a classic line from a Captain Scarlet/Captain Blue story – "Hush Adam, I feel the same way, you were just braver than me, I may be indestructible, but my heart isn't." Genius. [back]

Pictured above is one of Irish sport's most enduring images: Packie Bonner in the act of palming away poor old Daniel Timofte's penalty (Genoa, June 25th, 1990). Not pictured anywhere on this page is the moment (4 years later) when Packie haplessly flapped Wim Jonk's speculative long ranger into his own net (Orlando, June 4th, 1994).

Never mind. Even despite that rare lapse (in the dying moments of his international career) Bonner remains an Irish sporting colossus. The fact that his lively agility between the sticks wasn't matched by his remarkably stiff and rigid TV presentation style is a fact that need not detain us. We'll always have Genoa.

"Dave F" appears (I think) to share our affection for the big fella, if this graffito (spotted on Harvey's Quay) is anything to go by:

The indefinite article does, however, confuse the issue somewhat. It may not be the aforementioned "Bonner" that Dave actually "has" (all the time). It could well be North Carolina general assembly member Bonner Lee Stiller, or 'Russian' human rights activist Yelena Georgevna Bonner, or even the late American bluesman Juke Boy Bonner. The graffito remains elusively non-committal…

Even if we remove the additional 'n' in "Bonner", and get closer to what was (I suspect) the creator's intended message, it's hard to tell if the claim is intended to be pejorative or complimentary. Is priapism something to be hidden or flaunted?