bloody predictable

If you asked me to word associate 'cunt', it would take a long looooong time before you heard me utter the word 'aunt'. Probably about 2 trillion words would spring to mind before that one, at a rough estimate. There's 'hot', 'delightful', 'yummy', 'blood', 'pleasure', 'pink', 'sex', 'woman', etc etc etc. Yep, it would take a long time before 'aunt' sprang to mind.

Not so for mobile phone manufacturers. When they think about cunt their minds turn immediately, not to sex but to their aunties. Or perhaps to sex and their aunties but that's a tad disturbing so I won't explore that angle any further. In any case, the nong heads have arranged it so that when you try to type 'cunt' into your phone the following appears:


As if to say - you were thinking of 'cunt' but what you really want to say is 'aunt', yes? No, Nokia - NO!

And even when you try to correct them by scrolling through the predictive text word-change doovie all that happens is this:


Now this is just ridiculous. Why on earth do we need a made up gibberish nonsense word on our phones more than the vital 'cunt'? Maybe mobile radiation does affect the brain after-all 'cause something is clearly very wrong in the land of cell-phone peddlers. Pack of bloody cumu-heads.

Tautology

This delightful graf can be seen on a boarded up shop-front opposite Bebida on Smith St. It was encouraging to see a council worker busily scraping band posters from the boards - presumably so they wouldn't get in the way of the beautiful writing.

Eat this blog up, every last morsel & remember: starving office workers GET NO CUNT

You may find the content of this blog slightly unpalatable but that doesn't mean you shouldn't read it all up, and be grateful for it, dammit, because many less fortunate than you don't get a chance to.
I'm talking about office workers, of course. Those poor, grey, ashen-faced little creatures who sit at hard unyielding desks all day, no doubt dreaming of the cunts you take for granted. Corporate internet filters prevent many office workers from accessing sites that contain the word 'cunt', effectively snatching that most nourishing of words from the minds of those who, arguably, need it most.
I know about this horrible travesty because I have recently conducted field trips to certain depressing little cubicle office buildings and attempted to log onto good bits of the interweb myself. That's right, dear readers, I am WALKING THE TALK, intrepidly travelling to the badlands with scant concern for my personal safety, unafraid to mingle with those poor souls sentenced to a life of corporate whoredom. I am EXACTLY like Princess Di - venturing into the deepest darkest corners of the globe and lovingly patting retarded children on the head.
You may think this is someone else's problem - that could never happen to me, you think as you dine on cunt-related websites 'till you are completely satiated. Well, I'm sorry to say that it soon just might happen to us all. If the Government goes ahead with cruel schemes like its Plan for Cyber Safety we might all become cunt-starved.

What's to be done? Well, first off I think we should take care of those most needy - the office workers. I propose a massive cunt drop. If we can't feed cunt to them via the web we should do it old-school by paper mail. This could be costly so we should probably establish a charity to fund it all. 'Cunt-Aid' has a nice ring to it. To get the cash flowing in we need an image for the campaign that pulls at the heart strings - it's an emergency situation so we shouldn't be afraid to use shock tactics - a cunt-starved suited office minion, it's little belly swollen from boozy lunches, lack of exercise and wholesome web material should do the trick.



Think of the cunts - PLEASE! Won't someone think of the cunts?

Bless me.

I lost my voice recently - completely - I could barely even whisper. It got so silly that my dear mate Kakariki had to set up the text-to-speech doovie on her computer so I could blab on as per usual, albeit Stephen Hawking style*. Before it completely disappeared though I had a wonderful few hours where my regular twelve-year-old girly vocals transformed into a low throaty growl. Everything I said sounded hot. I ordered a freddo frog from the guy at the milk-bar and he gave me a big grin - he asked what flavour, I said strawberry and he winked. Then, probably just for an excuse to listen to my dulcet tones, he asked if I wanted anything else. Unfortunately I went into a phlegmy coughing fit and the magic was lost, but for one glorious moment I had experienced what it was like to sound like a grown-up.

Is it sick to find being sick sexy? Who cares. The hipsters at why would you knit that certainly don't seem to think so if this beautiful tissue box they recently posted is anything to go by.


* I am SO stoked to report that the text-to-voice computer doovie correctly pronounces 'cunt', also 'cuntcuntcunt' and 'cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt'

Bless me indeed.

Oh for crying out loud legalise abortion already.

A woman's body is her own to do with what she chooses. Full stop.

The Victorian Abortion Law Reform bill is going before the upper-house this Friday (Oct. 10) so it may at long last be acknowledged that our bodies are our own. Write to the MPs to tell them not to fuck it up with any dark-aged amendments, please. Ta.

contact MPs & tell 'em what you think here

Why confuse them further?

Very pretty (thanks Ms. K) but I don't think I'd want to risk misdirecting any visitors.

I have not had cheese, wine, chocolate or sex for TWO months

I may be about to have an identity crisis. Who am I?

WHO AM I??!!

I'm never playing ping-pong again

If you ask someone what they associate with Thailand, prostitution will probably be up there. Prostitution - cunts - I should be having a field day but after spending a few days in sex-capital Pattaya all my words (& plenty of my other bits) have dried up.

I'm not opposed to porn, or prostitution, or ping-pong balls for that matter, but the particular combination here could almost make me cry. Pattaya is a town of cloned couples - overweight, ageing, pasty white men teamed with tiny, young, scantily-clad Thai women. Misery multiplied.

Weaving my way through the pimps & gaudy neon lights the other evening, for a stretch I found myself walking behind a couple. The man was middle-aged, hair greying at the temples, he was stocky & very short so that I was looking down at his balding crown. He was clutching the hand of a very slim young Thai girl - 17? 18? She was wearing long shorts, a singlet, scuffs, looking straight ahead. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of her profile - set & unsmiling. I'd hesitate to call her beautiful, in several years she might be. She had the potential perhaps to be stunning but for the time being she still had a coltish youthfulness about her - the glow of newness. She was the essence of loveliness but beautiful? No, not yet.


She pulled her hand from his and shook it but when she dropped it back by her side she let him pick it up again & it hung there, limp in his.

He kept nudging into her; she looked straight ahead. He lurched up onto his toes & tried to peck her on the cheek. She flinched away & he furrowed his brow - looked offended, hurt. He made attempts at trying to talk to her but she didn't look his way, she just abruptly shrugged her shoulder a few times as though a pinched nerve was troubling her.

And that dreadful hand - comatose between his fingers.

She was revolted by him.

He was her grandfather - probably, to her, incomprehensibly old. She wanted money. He wanted to fuck her but something more as well- he wanted to soak in her loveliness - to own her in some way. But it was beyond her, beyond her to pretend to enjoy him.

It seems that there is a lot more than bodies being commodified here - men come seeking not just sex but souls. It seems such a tragic farce for everyone involved. I don't understand how people can so easily make light of an industry so depressing. To ridicule & humiliate the women involved in a transaction that in its essence is ridiculous & humiliating is barbaric & easy. I feel sick (physically sick) at the ease with which people seem able to make 'jokes' about ping-pong balls & 'love me long-time' pick-up lines.

Of course it's not always such a stark mismatch as the couple I walked behind. Sometimes it seems the couples are close enough in age & appearance to make the scenario almost plausible (with a big nudge from poverty playing cupid, of course) but too often it's all just sad & freaky vaudeville parade.


I've tried to think of the girl spending her money. How would she spend it? I've imagined her getting a massage, a full body scrub, a haircut, a pedicure. I wonder what, if anything, she could possibly buy to make up for that terrible, dead, limp hand.

Food maybe.

Today I found a pube with a split-end

There has obviously not been enough moisture in my cunt-region lately.

Children are the new fetuses.

Recently I have been thinking about age - I'm 29 1/2 so it's compulsory to do so. Also quite a few people I care about have recently decided to pop (tear, rip, tug) out a baby and I have been hearing troubling groups of words like 'ten centimetres dialated' and '13 stitches' with alarming frequency.

It has gotten me thinking, now and then, 'I wonder if I....?'

My mind was flowing along these lines the other day while I was watching a group of little tackers running around an empty block of land happily whacking each other. The thought made me snort. Which I had to quickly convert into a cough so as not to draw the attention of the kids (their sticks were very big). Nothing makes me feel more childish than the thought of having a child. Surely I'm not old enough for that kind of grown-up business? Except that apparently I am - I'm almost 30 - my mum was this age when she gave birth to me. If I hunted around I could probably find a statistic that said that it is this very age when women are most likely to carry a pregnancy through to full term (so let's just pretend I've had the maturity & patience to find such evidence).

It's hilarious. It's bizarre.

Fortunately I've found a loop-hole. It has been decided that the 30's are the new 20's. I'm sure if you read the Herald Scum you'll already be well aware of this - there's even a Myspace group dedicated to the notion (http://groups.myspace.com/Inmy30s) asking members to "tell us all about how the 30's kick the 20's ass! ;)" - it's totally official.

So, though I'm 29, I will soon be turning 20 and won't have to seriously consider the notion of breeding for at least another ten years and can relax. Except for a few niggling concerns about the ramifications of a whole decade supercedeing the one before it - will 20's now be the new teens, teens the new childhood, etc.?

It will raise some delicate questions about my stance on abortion, for sure, however my main concern is sex. What will become of sex? Sex will be the new.....what? It's quite intriguing but, as I'm soon to enter my 20's for the second time I should be having a lot of it (whatever it is now) so I'll let you know.

Julie Andrews: cuntface

A friend sent me this video. It has the word cunt in it. Therefore it goes in this blog.




What a gorgeous woman she is.

This cunt gets around

I have been very busy for the past month staring at sunsets like this:



But Ms. Kakariki has roused me from my tropical slumber with news of this delightful & stylish garment:



Etsy :: kaibrina :: Black Striped Vagina Tank Top
Source: www.etsy.com
Black Striped Vagina Tank Top, kaibrina, $20.00

Once I had gotten over marvelling at how pretty it is I had an uncomfortable moment after thinking 'but I probably wouldn't wear it here'. Then I realised that I probably wouldn't tell any of the Thais I've met here about my preoccupation with the wonder that is the cunt, either. Am I embarrassed? Am I only interested in preaching to the converted? Possibly yes. Oh dear.

Thais are (in general) quite coy, demure - it's not unusual to see locals swimming fully clothed. I guess I think ramming a cunt down their throats just won't be a very effective way of endearing it to them. And yet I relish the idea of putting cunts in the face of all & any back on my home soil - whether they feel ready for it or not. Why is this? I'm confused.

Oh My God! Two Sleeps!

Just writing that made me so excited I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight. Which means (Oh My God) ONE sleep!! How can I sleep, knowing there's only ONE sleep left?

My God: NO SLEEPS. I'm practically there.

I'm not qualified for this blog!

I feel I should apologise to anyone who thinks I'm presenting myself here as some sort of cunt-expert. It has come to my attention that there are wondrous things happening down there that I have no idea about. A b s o l u t e l y NONE.

I was recently lucky enough to be lying next to a handsome young man who was happily making his fingers busy in my cunt-region when he said something potentially fascinating. He started to make comment about the "physiological response" of cunts to sexual arousal. I interrupted him, partly because I assumed he was just going to talk about getting wet and partly because I had something important to say ("oooh, ooo, mmmm , mmm mm" as I recall). But, looking back, I'm certain he was about to describe some response other than wetness, something other, something, something... my mind boggles.

And then the other day the boy (darling, darling boy) decided to put tongue to cunt and grabbed a nearby towel. When I quizzed him he shrugged & said "I never swallow".

Swallow??! Exactly what is he anticipating my cunt will produce that will be swallow-worthy? Needing a cloth to wipe away moisture I can understand but swallow?? I'm producing a meal (or at least a snack) down there??

I have so much to learn. So very much.

I'm bloody sick of bloody whimsical little bloody pictures of girls doing bloody fuck-all. (bloody)

This post goes out to the remarkable Ms PolkaDot who manages to consistently create adorable crafts that are NOT benign. No mean feat, in my book.

There have been a rash of 'crafts' infesting the artsy stores & gallerys of this town for some time depicting blank-faced misses doing sweet fuck-all and I am disturbed. I am very disturbed.




Where are their hands? Do they have hands?





Why do they spend an inordinate amount of time swinging?



Just swinging...



But they're never shown climbing up to the swing??



And for God's sake - tell me where their mouths have gone!



They either have tiny puckered up (closed) pinch-pot lips or



NO MOUTH AT ALL



It is extremely creepy.



*shudder*

Hot Date 101

Today I'm going to use the time-honoured 'Do' & 'Don't' list technique. It should be invaluable experience for if I ever get a job writing for a trashy 'womens' magazine plus it shouldn't tax my my post-hot date scattered brain too much.

Do

try & ask Hot Date plenty of questions that require complex answers just so you can listen to their sexy accent.

Don't

bother telling Hot Date that you have forgotten their name. There are much more exciting ways to discover the information. Such as getting them to book a table at the restaurant (hopefully in their name) or mentioning a friend's name, suggesting that they might want to move in together & hoping they respond with "That'd be kind of weird having two N's in the house". That last one might seem like a bit of a long shot but it worked for me, it really did!

Don't

go to Bar Open. Actually I think this can be a blanket rule for hot dates, cold dates, non dates ALL TIME. I think my liver and the community in general would be much happier if I stayed away.

Do

ask Hot Date's age. I spent the entire first two courses feeling like a deviant because I suspected he was twelve. As it happens he is two years older than me, just a particularly beautiful specimen.

Don't

decide to shave your cunt for the first time half an hour before you meet with Hot Date. The terrain is undulating down there! It's very tricky to deal quickly with every crook and curve and it's considered impolite to inflict stubble-rash on a Hot Date's groin.

Dad, get out of my mind, I'm trying to be all grown-up here

I had a telephone tiff with my father last night which has lassoed around my mind and dragged me out of bed in the still-dark morning. I'd like to exorcise my angst here but I'm finding it hard to think how I can relate it to the theme of 'cunt' without getting all Freudian on your arse. If only I'd chosen a broader blog topic like certain wise wordsmiths...

It's astonishing how easily this man can send my stomach somersaulting as though it belongs to His Daughter circa 1994. We've been getting along so much better since he moved waaaaaay out woop woop & I'm a grown woman now, damn it! *stamping foot for emphasis*

The topic was my plan to travel to Thailand in the very near future. Perhaps I use the word 'plan' more loosely than most, Dad certainly seems to think so.

Dad: Now, have you done anything further to organise your trip?

Me: Well, I haven't heard back about my visa yet so.... (actually I haven't applied for one yet but he has no way of knowing this unless he is a psychic psycho so he's got no cause to get narky about it right? Right!)

D: And how much money do you have? Because it is imperative that you don't end up in a foreign country without any money.

M: Well I'm not exactly sure yet 'cause there are a few things that aren't settled yet like I'm not sure if I'll get a visa so I'm not sure how long I can stay and I've applied for a loan but I'm not sure...

D: Exactly how much money do you have?

M: Well, about $this but then I owe A(my sister) about $this so...

D: That is ridiculous!

M: But if I get the loan...

D: Ridiculous! You can't just wind up in a foreign country with no money and no insurance.

M: Dad, I promised I'd get insurance...

D: It's unrealistic!

M: I haven't asked you for any money. I'm not asking you to support me...

D: You've got to learn to take responsibility!

M: You can't speak to me like that any more, Dad

D: Like what!? I never speak to you like this! (quote of the conversation, I reckon)

M: I...

D: Ask anyone and they'll tell you it's ridiculous!

M: I...

D: Unless they're a fool

M: *squeak*

D: A fool!!!

Then I dropped the handset & picked it up to hear his end clicking down - I'm sure he thinks I hung up on him, oh bluck.

I wasn't sure exactly what to do at this point - the occassion seemed to call for a good dose of bedroom-door slamming. Instead I ate some chocolate and indulged in some intricate daydreams about myself languishing in a hellish Thai prison having suffered some terrible calamity that had left me penniless and injured (though NOT disfigured in any way - a limp would probably be ideal). I would quietly and with great dignity bear my misfortune without once considering relinquishing my pride to call my father for assistance.

*sigh*

It must be quite stressful being a parent (even a distant one) to me. I am not exactly known for being practical. Of course I'd expect my father to bail me out if I got stranded - I just haven't really considered the possibility of getting stranded. I guess I'd better go and get myself organised.

*sulk, pout, sulk*

Lunt ain't no Cunt

There have been recent reports in the media about a wee little town somewhere in the UK whose residents are having a bit of a problem with vandals. For some reason no newspapers have yet felt compelled to print any examples of the vandalism so I have here produced an artists reconstruction for your enlightenment:


The residents of Lunt have gotten themselves into such a tizz that they are considering changing their town's name and not, it appears, to 'Cunt' as suggested by vandals.

As a general rule, I understand why people get uppity when their property is defaced by freelance graffers, even if it could be argued that the property has been beautified (as is surely the case here). And after devoting a solid 15minutes to researching the town I believe I understand the residents' embarrassment - Lunt is simply not Cunt-worthy.

To illustrate my point here is Lunt's major (only?) attraction in pictures - the Lunt Fort:

not cunty

not cunty

nothing cuntish here

nope, not even vaguely cunt-like

I rest my case.

The last thing the cunts of this world need is to be associated any further with fortresses. I want graff artists to find a nice open, pretty, hot, welcoming and wild little town instead.

And when a deserving town is found I have a couple of minor suggestions for the signage:

Lest We Forget

This title would have been much more appropriate (or perhaps inappropriate?) if I'd gotten around to putting it up on ANZAC day, but never mind - I'm sure you can summon fitting somber facial expressions as you read this solemn post of rememberance for a lost love one.

I would like to dedicate this blog to the memory of my beloved Facefuck group "I don't find the word cunt offensive, cunts are friendly, in my experience".

The group, which had the noble aim of restoring 'cunt' to its rightful place in our lexicon as a descriptor of things warm and lovable and sought to remove the nasty negative associations that the word has been unfairly saddled with, was taken from us late last year.

Facefuck cruelly shut down the group in its prime declaring:

"The group "I don't find the word cunt offensive, cunts are friendly, in my experience" has been removed because it violated our Terms of Use. Among other things, groups that are hateful, threatening, or obscene are not allowed. We also take down groups that attack an individual or group, or advertise a product or service. Continued misuse of Facebook's features could result in your account being disabled.

There was so much more to be said about cunt that I have decided to create this blog to explore every nook & cranny, to get right to the bottom of cunt and perhaps right to the bottom of bottom too, if I have the time.

Well Cum

Cunts: deep, warm & delightful -NOT offensive.