Who’s on the cover of this week’s Enormous Ego?

You gotta have a bit of an ego to get ahead, right? To convince yourself that your art is important to others… So what better example to follow than the composers Chopin and Liszt.

Chopin and Liszt come courtesy of the Hark, a vagrant blog. I bought the book the other day. It’s great. The topic, ego, was set by the Loose Bloggers Consortium. It’s all them, them, them with Ramana, Delirious, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Maxi, Maria SF, Padmum, Rohit,Shackman, The Old Fossil and Will – when it should be me, me, me, whoah ha ha ha.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: You may notice a new image under my horse’s head in the top right hand corner. It’s a big F. Please click on it and follow the link. I’ll tell you more about it soon.

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My boyfriend boils his balls for me

Consideration for others can be shown in various ways. Holding open a door for them. Giving them your seat on the bus. Boiling your balls for them.
Say what?! Wait a minute…

It’s true. It may even be true love. Melody Datz is a lucky lucky girl, because her boyfriend boils his balls for her.

Not in a euphemistic – hey, don’t go boiling my balls – type of way. (Not even to the tune of that Kiki Dee & Elton John duet. Know the one I mean?) We’re talking high temperature testicular torture – literally.

True love is shown in many ways. Here’s an insight into one way to turn up the temperature.

For seven nights out of every month, my boyfriend soaks his balls in a bathtub of 118-degree water for 45 minutes. He crams his six-foot-four frame into our claw-foot bathtub and sweats profusely as a constant stream of hot water slowly kills off enough sperm to render him infertile for the next few weeks.

The ball-intensive approach to the war on sperm—the heat method my boyfriend and I use—is great if you can put in the time and energy, but not many people really want to do this. The water in a hot tub rarely exceeds 104 degrees (or shouldn’t). Sperm-killing water must stay above 116 degrees—FOR 45 MINUTES. This means sitting in a tub (or in a sitz bath or on something really hot) for a long time while continually monitoring the temperature to make sure it’s high enough to zap the little bastards. My boyfriend downs a couple of pitchers of ice water during every bath. And, again, it’s incredibly time-intensive—45 minutes out of every evening for a week out of every month, not to mention the time it takes to run the water and cool down afterward.

I’m really not recommending you copy this yourself, but I really AM recommending you read the full article in the Seattle newspaper The Stranger. It’s about men sharing responsibility. It’s gruesomely fascinating – and interesting about the politics, practicalities and future of conception and contraception. Though oddly, after all the scorching scrotum soaking, there’s not much about sex. (I guess one might not be in the mood.) So it’s a suitable read for everyone.

Apart from squeamish men, of course.

Or to be more concise…

Apart from men.

(And Irish readers may be shocked. The very idea of leaving the immersion heater on so long. Good God. Angela Merkel would never stand for it.)

Amidst the comments left below the original article, was this epic piece of advice from someone calling themselves AlaskanbutnotSeanParnell, who said:

If you are trying to save time by microwaving your balls, remember to puncture them first with a fork.

Cheer up

It’s cold. It’s damp. But cheer up. Watch this. (It’s quick.)

It’s actually not bad. It came from here.

Best answer to the question: “Does my bum look big in this?”

It’s the question no one – man or woman, but especially man – ever wants to be asked: “Does my bum look big in this?”

Finally – here’s the answer.

But to appreciate it, I’d better give you some context.

You have to imagine that your partner has arrived home with a new dress. Or has maybe dug an old one out of the wardrobe, having not tried it on for a while.

“I want your opinion on this dress,” says she. “I’ll just nip into the bathroom to try it on, and then reappear and you can give me your verdict.”

It’s no good. You’re trapped. No escape.

So she’s in the bathroom. Dumps what she’s wearing on the bathroom floor. Pulls the dress over her head. Wriggles and shimmies it down. Jerks the hem to get it straight. Smooths the lines. Ready.

The door of the bathroom opens. She stands framed in the doorway.

“Now be honest,” says she. “Does my bum look big in this?”

Funny

You need cheering up. So here goes…

Mother Teresa (my Granny’s old mucker) died and went to heaven. God greeted her at the Pearly Gates. “Be thou hungry, Mother Teresa?” asked God.

“I could eat,” Mother Teresa replied.

So God opened a can of tuna and reached for a chunk of rye bread and they began to share it. While eating this humble meal, Mother Teresa looked down into Hell and saw the inhabitants devouring huge steaks, lobsters, pheasants, and pastries. Curious, but deeply trusting, she remained quiet.

The next day God again invited her to join him for a meal. Again, it was tuna and rye bread. Once again, Mother Teresa could see the denizens of Hell enjoying lamb, turkey, venison, and delicious desserts. Still she said nothing.

The following day, mealtime arrived and another can of tuna was opened. She couldn’t contain herself any longer. Meekly, she asked, “God, I am grateful to be in heaven with you as a reward for the pious, obedient life I led. But here in heaven all I get to eat is tuna and a piece of rye bread and in the Other Place they eat like emperors and kings! I just don’t understand it…”

God sighed. “Let’s be honest Teresa,” He said, “for just two people, it doesn’t pay to cook.”

Now you’re probably wondering how women burn calories in France?

Three ways. Wine, cigarettes and… surprise, surprise… exercise bikes. But not as you know it.

Here’s another.

A man enters a barber shop for a shave. While the barber is foaming him up, he mentions the problems he has getting a close shave around the cheeks.

“I have just the thing,” says the barber taking a small wooden ball from a nearby drawer. “Just place this between your cheek and gum.”

The client places the ball in his mouth and the barber proceeds with the closest shave the man has ever experienced. After a few strokes the client asks in garbled speech.

“And what if I swallow it?”

“No problem,” says the barber. “Just bring it back tomorrow like everyone else does

Don’t panic

Lance Corporal Jones in Dad’s Army was always urging us (and himself) – “Don’t panic! Don’t panic!”

Calm during times of stress. Stoicism.

Kipling celebrated both in his poem If – “If you can keep your head when all about you / Are losing theirs…”

I tend not to panic. But maybe I should.

I sometimes wonder if there is a delicious sense of liberation to be discovered through panicking. Loosening up. Primal screaming. Abandoning yourself to YAH! Being drunk on unreason. Dancing crazily. Running and running without having to bother with direction. Bungee jumping away from your worries

The truth about pain

Pain… We dread it.

Some endure it. Some can’t.

Some prefer death. Some welcome it as proof of life.

But who really knows what it is?

Who really knows the true nature of pain?

Good news. I do.

Pain is

Editing

Editing live TV or radio is about knowing when and how to shut people up.

Here’s an extreme example from the Olympics basketball.

BBC commentator Mike Carlson gets cross after being clobbered

Olympics Part 2 – Can you solve this security dilemma?

Pic from InsideThe Games.biz

The security at London Olympic venues is now being provided by soliders. As far as I’ve heard, they’ve been polite, reassuring and quite hot. Phoarr! (That’s according to one Olympic volunteer anyway.)

But here’s a security dilemma that left the soldiers scratching their heads. And there’s a prize for the best (or correct) solution supplied by YOU.

It was like this: The first military searcher could not decide. He called in his sergeant. The sergeant pondered a while, before eventually coming up with a verdict.

The puzzle is coming up in a moment. But your challenge, dear reader, is to tell me in the comments below, what you think the army sergeant decided. (You’re also welcome to say what he should have said or done.)

So here’s the scenario:

A parent with accompanying children arrived at the entrance to the Olympic venue with two full plastic water bottles.

The rule is that no liquids are allowed to be taken into the site. (For security reasons. Free water is available inside. Empty vessels are permitted.)

But this resourceful parent, anticipating a hot thirsty day, had frozen the water bottles overnight. As it happened, the day was overcast, and chillier than expected – and the ICE HAD NOT MELTED

We have lift off…

Watch out for flying motorbikes, Bermondsey Street, London.

I’m taking off – not actually on a flying motorbike Evil Knievel style – but on a plane to Scotland.

(Yes, yes, I know, I’m personally responsible for killing the planet. At least I’m getting the train back.)

So I’ll be even less responsive than the poor performance lately.

But it’ll give me the opportunity to – read my kindle. Assuming it works. The first one didn’t. I’ll be taking the replacement.

It’s about time I had one, given that I’ve been urging you to download the ebook I’ve written – but could only read myself on my computer. Cheeky, huh? But I’ve now rectified the situation.

The “gripping” ebook is called The Obituarist by the way. You can download it for pc, mac. kobo, nook, device, tablet, etc here from Smashwords, or for kindle here from Amazon.co.uk or here from Amazon.com.

As for me, having read The Point in print, I’ll be catching up with Wee Rockets and other work by Gerard Brennan and Dickens.

The trip will also give me the opportunity to distribute some of the NEW and exciting business cards for The Obituarist that arrived today. I also ordered a few postcards too. So if you know anyone who might be swayed by a postcard entreating them to download an ebook, let me know. You can email me their address if you don’t want to put it in a comment – paulwaters99 AT hotmail.com

Just think of their delighted surprise and happy faces when