Monthly Archive for November, 2006

Boys and girls, the time has come to discuss something magical and special that sometimes happens between consenting individuals who may or may not know eath other’s names.

Syphilis.

According to an article that I read over someone’s shoulder on the National Rail train today, the number of cases of syphilis in Britain has doubled since 2003.

This would have been shocking had it not been for three recent incidents that prepared me somewhat for the shock:

1. Witnessing the distressing emotional trauma of an individual who witnessed a couple exercising their apparent right to public fellatio on a train.

2. Witnessing the distressing emotional trauma of the same individual walking into a train’s lavatory after a man had left only to find a scarcely clad woman still inside.

3. Reading an article some weeks ago from the same newspaper which encouraged women to have more one-night stands. This article included a mildly amusing anecdote from a woman who, when she noticed that street cleaners were watching her engage in prurient acts in the doorway of a shop in the wee hours of the morning, waved at them.

This would not only suggest that syphilis is, in fact, likely to be on the rise, it would also suggest that a train is not the place to be if you want to avoid contracting it. But this is beside the point.

The article featured in Point #3, which I sadly did not keep long enough to include a scan, asserted that sex restricted to a stable relationship was contrary to the lifestyle of a modern independent woman. While this ethos may not be exactly my cup of tea, I understand that these things happen and we’re only human. But let’s not pretend to be appalled and surprised when syphilis cases are on the rise. While the article did list several socially acceptable excuses to give if you do the nasty with a person and then do not wish to see that person ever again, it made no mention of the importance of wrapping it up.

And why the hell not? As Uncle Ben said in Spider-Man, with great power comes great responsibility, and sometimes in the heat of the moment we cannot be bothered to obtain and recall such mundane details as a person’s sexual history or last name or distinctive facial features. Therefore, we would do well to remember to make sure Little Jimmy has put on his diving suit.

Aunt Aleshia’s message is simply this, kids: Just be safe. Please enjoy the following verbal and audio delights as encouragement as you venture syphilis-free into a safer, less diseased Britain.

Just be sure to stay off the trains.

TRICKS AND TREATS: Background Information for the Knowledge-Thirsty E-Rotic - Willy Use A Billy…Boy What IS a Billy Boy? Madness - House of Fun

And we’re back! After a moderately long hiatus, Bingo in Smoking is back in action, righting the world’s wrongs and bringing justice to those who care to be justified. Yes, if you need validation or even if you’re a block of text and you need to be spread evenly between left and right margins, I’m your individual.

And now. Back to our regularly (if you can stretch your imagination far enough to call it that) scheduled programming. But first! A story problem:

If person “A” gets 4 hours of sleep per night without exception for 3 weeks despite the distinct nonexistence of person “B” (who could be any of the following or anything equally disruptive: a very motivated but decidedly abhorrent accordeon player living inside one’s mattress, a person who juggles houses, Fran Drescher, etc.), does person “A” automatically become a member of the undead, or is there an application process?

I don’t know about you, but I, for one, am getting the worst sleep of my life. This may be due to the fact that I am no longer spoiled by the magic and wonder that is Sealy Posturepedic®, or perhaps it is because I am now sleeping on a mattress that was fashioned by Paleolithic Hunter-Gatherers®. Whatever the case, my quality of rest categorically Blows®.

Not sleeping well has its distinct advantages, though I am too tired to remember any of them. However, I am remembering my dreams with an accuracy that is usually reserved for pi decimal placements.

(Tangent: There is a wonderful band called The Andy Ober Orchestra who I once saw perform a parody of ‘NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” called “Pi Pi Pi” in which they encourage the crowd to sing along as they recite pi to 60 places. They also did a Bud Light “Real Men of Genius” commercial parody about Mario Van Peebles. You MUST support this band.)

Of course, using the word accuracy in reference to dreams is a paradox of sorts. There is nothing accurate about, one minute, drifting to sleep and, the next, helping the brother of your high school valedictorian move into his dorm room along with one of the sons of your former babysitter. Or introducing someone to large groups of long-forgotten people as “Jake” when his name in real life is Rob.

These things make sense in dreams. Of COURSE you, your best friend, Aubree, and your sister, Alaina, are racing around a castle with bugged phones trying to find a way out before the air supply runs out. What ELSE would you be doing? Fretting because your “pet pidgeons” (also nonexistent) were released via the window of “your room” (a room you’ve never seen before) by an evil blonde girl named “Kelly” (conjured from eating cheese too close to bedtime)?

This insight into my subconscious admittedly makes little sense, particularly as I am not generally of the mindset to make sense of anything including my own motor functions. Which works out. Word on the street I’m a hot candidate for the undead.

TRICKS AND TREATS:
Real Men of Genius - Mr. Jean Shorts Inventor
The Andy Ober Orchestra - Pi Pi Pi