Have yourself a naughty little Christmas

If there’s a choice between being “naughty or nice”, I think we all know which one I’ll choose. So, when I heard about the Naughty Christmas Market, I just had to pop along last weekend and find out what it was all about.

Answer: a whole lot of vulva and a little bit of penis.

A whole lot of vulva…

If you’re looking for a nice traditional Christmas market with wooden huts, handmade arts and crafts, Glühwein and sausage, this probably isn’t the right market for you. (Actually, come to think of it, there was sausage – in ceramic form for €250. Tempted though I was, I just couldn’t really see where a ceramic penis would fit into the tasteful decor in my flat.)

If, however, you’re looking for a special gift for the person who has everything, you might consider “The Post-Structuralist Vulva Colouring Book”.

Bet you thought I was making that up.

And instead of boring old wrapping paper, why not present it in a delightful (surely this season’s must-have) cock bag?

Want.

After perusing my way through the PVC outfits, nipple suckers, nipple tassles, aphrodisiacs, high-brow literature, room of giant vulvas and elegant array of accessories…

I’m sure these will never go out of fashion.

…I hit pay dirt at the wankers’ table.

I kid you not.

Me: Bah ha haha! What are they? 

Hubertus: Wanking tissues. 

Me: BAH HA HA HA! Oh, look at the stickers! How cool are they!?

Hubertus: Take one.

Me: Free? 

Hubertus: Yes, free. 

Me: Then yes, don’t mind if I do. 

I guess Hubertus thought I looked like a wanker.

With my “I love wanking” sticker, complete with sperm-adorned heart tucked into my pocket, I felt that that was probably as good as it was going to get at the Naughty Christmas Market and left, mulling over which hapless wanker I could stick it on at some point in the future.

Watch your back.

I then promptly forgot all about it until I was rummaging around in my pockets a couple of days later. Thinking that spankrags.com sounded like it might be worth a chuckle or two, I fired up the laptop and headed on over.

This may be the best thing I have done all year.

Once I’d wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes (not with a wank tissue), I scrolled down to see what other treats the website had in store.

This was definitely the best thing I have done all year.

Under the section titled “The most memorable present ever”, it states that “Unwrapping a stupid tie, or a pack of socks makes speechless. Unwrapping this gift makes brains explode!” Can’t say I disagree. I was exploding just by being on the website.

Another section assures you that you will love wank tissues because “A thumbs up looks like grabbing a schlong. Think about it!”

I am! I am!

Spank Rags are also kind enough to offer worldwide delivery. “No matter if you live in an igloo, or a tent in the Siberian desert. We deliver to all our wankers!” This must be such a comfort to wankers everywhere.

There’s a segment where you get to meet “the girls” – Alexa from Germany, Kate from England, Narcisa from Romania, Sarah from Canada “and her other lovely girlfriends from all over the world”. I was a little sorry that each one didn’t come with her own back story but I guess you can’t have everything.

If you thought that the website couldn’t get any better, whenever you hover over a link, the cursor turns into a cock and balls. I’m not joking – go and try it.

After reluctantly clicking through to Amazon, I discovered that €9.99 will get you ten different girls on ten wank wipes – “10 full-colour tissues for a great night in!” as it says on the box. If you’re quick, you could probably get a box in time for Christmas. Just think how happy the special wanker in your life will be on Christmas morning…

Despite this feast of hilarity, I still wanted more so I headed on over to Twitter to see if Spank Rags have an account. Joy oh joy – they do!

@spankrags 5 May 2015 Spankrags in Scotland! Our stickers made it on top of the Loch Ness tourist sign. #ilovewanking #lochness #scotland

I guess wanking is as good a way as any to pass the time while you’re waiting for Nessie to appear.

Anyway, that’s probably as much wank as I can fit into one post without getting kicked off WordPress so I’ll leave it there. I wish all of you a very merry Wankmas and a happy New Wank. (OK, a couple more “wanks” probably won’t make much difference at this stage.)

 

 

Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman

In my 39 years on this planet, I’ve been groped, flashed, wanked at, had a knife held to my throat for telling a would-be molester what he could go and do to himself and his mother and, in one particularly memorable incident, I got punched in the face by a drunk Russian.

Luckily, my mouth more than makes up for my diminutive size and I’ve been able to talk (or yell) my way out of most precarious situations – apart from the Russian who blindsided me and left me sporting a rather fetching fat lip for close to a week.

Still, I’ve always been of the opinion that if I have to go down, I’ll go down fighting, thank you very much. You know, if life gives you lemons, keep throwing them at the bastard until he either realises the error of his ways – or kills you. While having a big mouth and no inhibitions when it comes to using it is all well and good, being able to back it up is even better. So, when Berliner Unterwelten offered an intensive, two-day self-defence class to its female employees, I jumped at it with the speed of a drunk Russian attacking a small woman.

Lemme at it…

The course took place in a boxing club and was being given by a giant of a man and his son. There were around twelve of us taking part and, interestingly (or maybe sadly), every woman there had had some kind of negative experience. There was quite a bit of talking in the beginning about the amazing concept of using common sense – seemingly it’s not all that common – and also trying to talk your way out of danger before getting physical. However, if that doesn’t work, there’s nearly always something you can do.

We warmed up a bit by walloping some punching bags and then learned what we could do with our hands, elbows, feet and knees in various situations. Gigantor asked me if I’d boxed before. I hadn’t but seemingly was something of a natural. It might be an Irish thing. Gigantor Junior then went off and got kitted out in full-on combat gear.

Uh oh…

He charged each of us in turn with a boxing pad in his hands. We had to shout “NEIN!”, or pretty much anything else that came into our heads, block him and then start beating the crap out of the poor guy. Unfortunately, I got a little over-enthusiastic when it came to the kneeing part of the exercise, kneed my way past the boxing pad and hit one of his protection guards.

Oof. I had a feeling that it was going to be pretty bad but even I couldn’t have imagined just how impressive the bruise would be.

Ouch.

By day two, my knee had swollen up to three times its normal size and was a stunning array of colours. I basked in the oohs and aahs that it received from the other participants, and the guilty look it prompted on Gigantor Junior’s face, and limped about my business.

The first exercise was to revise what we’d learned the day before, which meant that GJ would be coming at me again. I did consider sitting it out – one of the German girls came and sat for four hours because of period cramps (Germans do like to take care of themselves) – but what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound(ing).

GJ charged me. My knee buckled a little but I somehow held my ground and then went at him hell for leather with my hands, elbows and other knee. He went down. Woop!

I probably deserve a place here…

For the rest of the time, we learned different manoeuvres for various scenarios, including what to do if someone comes at you with a knife or if a maniac comes into a bar with a machine gun. Any kneeling exercises were unfortunately out for me, but I limped my way through to the bitter end in spite of the pain.

It’s hard to describe how empowering the whole experience was and I can’t recommend doing something like this highly enough – to both women and men. Not only was it incredibly useful, it was also a lot of fun – and it gave me a chance to practise my kick-ass German.

God help any drunk Russians in the future.