Meatus is murder

Last Saturday saw a trip to Ginger Towers with the express purpose of achieving three things.

1 ) Wishing the Ginger Ninja a happy birthday.
2) Consumption of BBQ as cooked by Gingerfeck.
3 ) Very heavy boozing.

All the safely accomplished, I am now just about back to the land of the living.

My limited bloggage output this week has probably been due to the fact that stage 3 of Saturday involved three bottles of wine, and the destruction of countless billions of defenseless little grey cells.

I've been running on autopilot all week, and unless I go to the boozer tomorrow after work (which is unlikely) then I will have been off the sauce for a week which can only be WIN of the highest order.

Saturday was great fun. It's always lovely to see the Gingers, as the Ninja is one of the finest bakers in the World, and Chinny knows how to spin a yarn. We were joined by the usual suspects, and as the booze flowed, so did the banter.

As is often the case at a BBQ, there was someone there who 'didn't do meat'. Each to their own - I dabbled with vegetarianism myself for a few years, until I remembered just how fucking lush a nice bloody steak is.

And as always, there was a little bit of the grill reserved for the soya sausages and bean burgers. When all had eaten save for Gingerfeck, I swapped places on the barbie with him so he could have a burger while I kept an eye on the remaining sausages. On seeking the location for the utensils for the veggie stuff, I was advised that he was just using the same flipper as for the meat. Fair enough. His gaffe, his rules. They would never know about the cross contamination.

This got dropped into the conversation on my return to the table (the veggie was sat on the lawn somewhere), with a small discussion on whether this was ok, then Elvis had to go and lower the tone and ask if vegetarians could give blow jobs.

Oooookaay, lower the tone and draw a line and I'm going to cross it. In fact after a couple of bottles of wine I'm going to take a running jump at that line, and hurl myself over it.

Because, as I'm sure I quite eloquently pointed out without being overly loud, repetitive or crude, it isn't as simple as just a can they or can't they.

A vegetarian will not eat meat that has been killed, but will consume animal by products. Sure, you don't see them flocking to Tesco looking for a gallon of bulls semen, but sure as eggs is eggs, if they'll eat one of them, then that's half the DNA of a new life. The spunk is just the vinegar stroke vinaigrette that completes the dish. A nice glossy Eggs Benedict.

So not only can a vegetarian gob you off, they can also swallow with a clean conscience (and chin).

But vegans are a completely different kettle of fish (or mung beans). Due to their very strict rules, they cannot 'do' any by products even if the animal is still alive, nor use the leftovers to make a nice handbag. No eggs, no dairy, no leather, and definitely no man-milk.

Yet this doesn't mean they can't put your cock in their mouth. As long as you don't shoot your load in there, they haven't broken any rules.

And you better be very careful where you do end up spraying your muck as you pull your tally whacker out. If they can't wear animal products, then you're probably not allowed to cum on their tits.

So - rules sorted, and next time your at a barbecue and some vegan checks that no meat products have come into contact with the vegan utensils, it's perfectly acceptable (and probably advisable), to check that her boyfriend hasn't spunked all over the ones reserved for the meat eaters.

Pillow talk

Ahhhh, the sleep of the angels.

Not just because after 3 flights, 26 hours of travelling, and 32 hours awake (not including a bit of cat napping mid Atlantic), I finally got my own bed, and most importantly;

My own pillow

Bliss.....

And not only that, the correct number of pillows.

I'm a bit of a fussy fucker when it comes to pillows.

I need at least three. I tend to sleep on my side, so I need two for under my head, and one down the side to support my arm. That might sound a bit greedy, but I've got quite broad shoulders, so the side of my head is probably about 10 inches (don't make me measure it) from the mattress once laid down, so just one just won't do.

And then my opposing arm is at least a foot and a half off the bed, so unless I prop it up on something, it goes to sleep.

If at home, this doesn't even need to be a pillow, as I can choose between;

• Mrsslippy - although my propensity for sweating like a hippo's minge tends to curtail this quite quickly
• Busta
  
• A stuffed proboscis monkey called Barry who lives down the side of the bed
• A stuffed Yoda who lives wherever the force takes him

The great thing about Barry and Yoda, is that they have arms that attach to each other, so they can be worn like a furry armband, preventing loss during the night, although it is quite disorientating to get up in the night for a piss only to find an alien glued to your arm like a Koala on acid.

**Top tip** if you need to get up in the night, but can't turn the bedroom light on for teh fear of waking your other half, only open one eye. You can then carry out your ablutions (watch out for that depth perception though if not sitting!), and go raid the fridge.
When you turn the lights back off you'll now be blind in this eye as it has become adjusted to the light. Shut it and open the other one, and you'll still be able to see to stumble around the bedroom.

Anywho, pillows...

I've got enough, or enough substitutes at home, so why oh why oh why when I stay anywhere else, there is only ever one, and it is only ever wafer thin?

I've had the pleasure and privilege of staying in a multitude of different establishments over the years, from the most basic of wooden shacks to even worse (Travelodge, M4....), but no matter how shitty or plush the establishment is, there is only ever one pillow on the bed.

If you're lucky there's an extra one in the wardrobe, but more often than not, it's just more fucking blankets.

We just stayed in a very nice Hotel in Manaus, and despite it being 24 degrees C at night, there was a sheet, a thick over sheet, and a counterpane on the bed - none of which would actually be required for me as I would be sleeping on top of everything - yet still only one fucking pillow.

And what was there in the wardrobe? More fucking blankets!!

I harped on about this to Slippy Snr., but his suggestion was that it was easy enough to ask housekeeping for more. But why should I? In what school of Hotel Management do they teach, "When it's really fucking hot, make sure there are at least three layers of linen on the bed, and then stick some more blankets in the wardrobe just in case..."

So what generally happens is blankets get folded up and stuffed under the solitary pillow, which is bound by the laws of Hotel Management to be shit also, but if folded in half can almost be used to sleep on, as witnessed by Mrsslippy as I caught a little late afternoon catnap.



And while I'm giving friendly advice to hotels, yes, white sheets do look freshest when put on a bed, but they don't stay like that very long, but if you really want housekeeping to see exactly where I sat when I got undressed for bed, then feel free to keep them that colour.

We have brown linen at home..........