Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Footballer Ronaldo in transvestite tangle

According to the Daily Mail:
International football star Ronaldo had a fight with three prostitutes he brought back to his Brazil motel room after he discovered they were actually men, it emerged today.

Police became involved when an "altercation" happened as the 31-year-old A C Milan striker came to the shocking realisation that the call girls he had paid to have group sex with after his night out were in fact transvestites.

Ronaldo, who is back in his hometown of Rio De Janeiro recovering from a career-threatening knee injury, had left a nightclub in the fashionable Barra da Tijuca neighbourhood on Sunday night with the paid-for company.

Back in the room in the early hours of Monday morning, having discovered their true sex, Ronaldo is understood to have tried to resolve the situation by paying them each off with £300.

It was not clear yesterday how far the group had became acquainted before Ronaldo made his protestations about the fact that the call girls were in fact men.

It is understood that only two of the men agreed to accept the offer of £300. The third is alleged to have hastily hatched a plan to extort a further £15,000 from the footballer not to take the story to the media, police inspector Carlos Augusto Nogueira said. Continue reading.

You can tell this story is from the Daily Mail by the way they say he came to the 'shocking realisation' that the women were in fact men. lol.

I guess you could make a comment about the fact that footballers aren't the sharpest tools in the drawer, but in all fairness to Ronaldo, having seen photos of two of the women, it's not that obvious that they are packing lunchboxes. They look like women to me, admittedly women who have knife fights and kill their own dinner, but women regardless. I guess he likes his ladies rough and tough looking, which is what led to all the trouble in the first place.

The poor guy is never ever going to hear the end of it on the football pitch. You can just imagine him walking out for practice to a team rendition of, 'Lola... la la la la Lola....'

Photo: usafricaonline
Daily Mail

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Karate chop!

Man, this story made me laugh. Picture it: A bride and groom are just about to enter a hotel room on their honeymoon and they break into an argument. The groom, who happens to be a dentist (an irrelevant yet strangely funny detail), then uses a karate-style kick on his bride which knocks her to the floor. Hearing her screams and the commotion, two good samaritan hotel guests come running to her rescue, only to have her turn against them and join her husband in beating their asses.

Apparently they kung-fu fought in the corridor, in the lift, and even in the lobby! Unsurprisingly the two were arrested and charged with simple assault, criminal mischief and disorderly conduct.

Following their arrest, "Mrs. Wielechowski, still dressed in her wedding gown, was picked up by her father and taken home. No one was awaiting Dr. Wielechowski, whose left eye was blackened and swollen shut. He was arraigned wearing tuxedo pants, a bloodied T-shirt and one shoe." Continue reading.

You've got to love this, it's straight out of a David Lynch or John Waters film.

Source: Dlisted

Monday, April 28, 2008

Le Divorce

These videos posted by socialite Tricia Walsh-Smith on YouTube are making the rounds on the Internet. They chronicle her unfolding divorce from her millionaire husband, and are so raw it sometimes makes for difficult viewing. You sort of feel as though you shouldn't be watching them but yet can't look away either, kind of like finding a dirty magazine in your dad's bedside drawer.

I want to like her, really I do, but mainly I'm just frightened by her. She's the kind of woman who stands in the middle of Waitrose and has a shit fit, 'What? No avocado's? Are you kidding me??!! What the hell kind of bloody supermarket doesn't do avocado's? If I owned this place I'd fire the lot of you!!'

I think Tricia is a smart cookie. Mad as a box of frogs certainly, but smart. She's going to get a ton of publicity off the back of this and probably her own reality show. Watch this space.

PS: I love Phillip (her husband's) secretary's reaction when Tricia calls and tells her to ask him what she should do with all his Viagra, porn, and condoms. Classic.

Source: Dlisted

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Wanted: Vintage sewing machines

I have come to develop a passionate hatred of car hooters. I'm sure it was invented with an honest and useful function in mind, like alerting someone that their jaywalking (while talking on their mobile phone) may result in their leg being caught under your wheel. Accidentally of course. The people who drive past our street however, seem to use their hooters as an outlet for all their passive aggressive rage, and woe betide anyone who does not instantaneously accelerate the split second the light turns green. I mean, god forbid these people aren't able to get their 30 mile per hour fix as they screech past our house, only to join the next queue of traffic at the opposite junction.

I have fantasies, as I did when I was pregnant and extremely intolerant of noise, of climbing to the top of our house and dropping heavy old fashioned sewing machines, on indeed anything I am able to get my hands on that will make a satisfactory dent, onto these people's cars. I don't want to hurt them mind you, but I do want to hear the loud thud and watch their terrified faces jolt upwards to see what caused the sudden impact and noise. Much the same way their hooting often jerks Julia and even myself out of a peaceful place of contemplation or near sleep.

She's a little soldier our Julia. She's learnt that if she is to have any sleep at all, she must ignore the ambulances, police sirens, fire trucks, jack hammers, and aforementioned hooter-obsessed bastards. While other little ones listen to 'Bach for babies', Julia is now very familiar with 'Sounds and sites of London traffic.' In fact I'm thinking that when we travel with her to more peaceful destinations, it would be prudent to buy such a soundtrack because this child is not going to know what it's like to sleep in peace and quiet, and it may make her anxious.

I received a very fancily-addressed thick cream envelope in the post this week. I thought it was a wedding invite, admiring my name written in the black curlicued calligraphy. It turned out to be a Harrods advantage card. I was informed that they were delighted to have chosen me to be the recipient of this card, and they very generously pointed out all the benefits of using it - invitations to special shopping events, free gift wrapping, discounts on baby elephants from Inja etc.

That said, I have never, ever, in my entire time of being in England, bought a single thing from Harrods. Not even an olive from their famous and horrendously overpriced food hall. And, I have also only ever been into the store twice. Once accompanying a much older boyfriend who took great pleasure in pointing out every attractive woman to me, and the second with a girlfriend who wanted to peruse cosmetics. I think the first may have something to do with my disregard for the place. But that's just a guess.

I take it someone, somewhere, has been selling my credit profile details:
This woman shops a lot online. Buys plenty of stretch jogger bottoms, baby clothes, cosmetics, and Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Conclusion: She has just had a baby, is doing nothing to lose the post-pregnancy weight but thinks that a bit of touche eclat can hide the fact, and her only day-time stimulation is hitting the 'view shopping basket' button, which further affords her an excuse not to leave the house because she is waiting for the delivery man. The jogger bottoms give the illusion that she is a sporty mommy on the road to getting her figure back, but the reality is that her ass is as wide as a Buick and looks like crap in jeans, and stretch fabrics are oh so much more comfortable.
Of course that assessment would be complete and utter rubbish. But still, those marketing guys are sly, and what's worse, Harrods now have me in their sites.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

What a difference a stylist makes

This is Hillary Clinton long before she was landing at airports under sniper fire. You've got to love that stripey trouser leather sandal combo - clearly she was a trend setter even then.

I found this photo on a site called myconfinedspace. People are invited to post images on there that are of interest to them. Worth a look.

Photo: myconfinedspace

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Can not sleep with snoring husband

In 2006 Jack Rusher wrote a piece entitled Search Log Analysis as a Narrative Form. It is a fascinating, funny, and at times worrying article looking at the results published by America Online in that year of searches typed into their search engine in a course of 3 months, looking at 650,000 users. Users were kept anonymous and given an anonymous ID number, although personally I think some should have had a visit from the police or men in white coats pronto. I mean, keeping the streets safe and all.

What's fascinating about the searches, aside from the content, is that over time they form a kind of narrative of these people's lives. In some cases clearly showing a course of action the person has taken (like the women who starts with the question, "you’re pregnant he doesn’t want the baby” to “abortion clinics charlotte nc,” to, “can christians be forgiven for abortion,” and in others a bizarre train of thought:
  • prayers to break curses
  • prayers for defeating enemy
  • bible scriptures for defeating the enemy
  • prayers to plead the blood of jesus against problems
  • how does a male’s cocaine use affect a fetus
  • birth defects caused by father’s cocaine use
  • are chain letter scams ever successful

You can read the article here. Well worth it, although some of the written content is definitely NSFW.

I'd like to end on a transcript of my personal favourite, that of user ID #711391. (Comments are Jack Rushers):

  • can not sleep with snoring husband
  • online friendships can be very special
  • how many online romances lead to sex
  • how many online romances lead to sex in person

    The emphasis is mine. She seems to have realized that the search engine gods might consider one-handed typing a form of sex.

  • how do i get to the omni hotel in san antonio off i 10 coming from houston
  • how to make a good first impression on a man
  • how to drive a man crazy with desire for you
  • nervous about meeting online friend
  • god does not want you to worry because he will help you

    Who is speaking? And to whom?

  • staying calm while meeting an online friend
  • should you plan sex before meeting a cyber lover
  • husband does not think it is a good idea for me to meet my online friends

    Well, that’s shocking. I wonder how he found out.

  • my family does not want me to meet my online friends in person
  • how can i tell if my spouse put spyware on my computer

    I guess that’s how.

  • i gave my heart to another man
  • married but in love with another

A suggestive woodcut.

She appeared, at this point in the narrative, to have accepted that her problems, whatever they may have been, could be solved by extra-marital sex. She returns to AOL a few days later, at which point we find out exactly how well her plan worked:

  • i met my cyber lover and the sex was not good
  • why would a guy act weird towards a woman after they had sex
  • guy online used me for sex
  • online friend is horrible in person
  • sexually transmitted diseases
  • how can you get aids
  • can herpes of the mouth be transmitted to the genitals
  • how do you break off an affair
  • i thought i could handle an affair but i couldn’t
  • you will get nothing out of having an affair
There's also this extremely NSFW link following one of the weirder searches. The guy who put this automated slideshow together clearly likes his soundtracks, so you may want to mute the volume on your computer. Very funny though.

A big thank you to the lovely Roberto for the tip.

Source: Rhetorical Device

Saturday, April 12, 2008

The man

It's a Friday night. A night usually reserved for dates, getting wasted with your colleagues at the subsidised company pub, talking in tongues with an attractive stranger, falling into bed at 3am with your makeup on, and many other such scenarios that usually involve large amounts of alcohol and an element of personal risk. Which is what life's about right? Then there comes a time where at 10pm on a Friday you find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed in your sensible pyjamas, horribly sober, makeup meticulously removed, applying E45 foot and heel cream, and wondering where it all went wrong.

We went house hunting south of the river today. As soon as we parked on a particularly leafy street in Kew, I started to feel anxiety rise up through my body, settling in my chest. I don't know what it is. Perhaps I've lived in central London too long - but if there aren't ten police and ambulance sirens within five minutes, a heroin addict trying to hustle me for money, horrendous traffic - both human and vehicular, and a vague smell of vomit on the streets, I get antsy.

This place was far too clean, quiet, and, unbelievably, filled with bird song. Not a jack hammer in earshot. I mean who can take all that fresh air and peace and quiet? It worried me.

Certainly un unfair thing happens when you have a child - your priorities are expected to change. No longer are you permitted to look for a place based on it's proximity to an Odd Bins, cheap mini cab firm, or an all night kebab shop. Noooo, now you're supposed to want stuff like a reasonable sized garden, being close to decent schools and the local park, and well away from any reputable strip clubs.

I'm not sure when this move thing is going to happen. We're thinking of hiring one of those companies who work for you, the buyer, and go out and do all the hard work. Read: bugger around looking at all those 'charming' houses estate agents try to palm off on you that have absolutely zero of your specified requirements, and exist on a disused fork of the District Line.

I want a company that basically does all the research for us and short lists places with a nicely typed accompanying Powerpoint presentation of what's what in the area: Local schools, shops, doctor's surgeries, the whereabouts of resident teenage gangs etc. The important stuff. Oh yes, and a Starbucks. There has to be a Starbucks.

I had an Ocado delivery this week. I started unpacking the fridge stuff as the delivery guy brought things into the kitchen. Noticing all the microwave and 'Easy to cook' meals, he looked at me with a condescending smile and said, 'Oh, microwave eh? Radioactive eh? And proceeded to tell me that Ocado do this wonderful organic vegetable box - 'Seasonal you see, so you never know what you're going to get. Makes life interesting it does. And you can make soups, stews - experiment. Good for you, good for the baby. Life's all about trying new things.'

What is it with me? I never get the strong silent delivery man. No, I get the philosopher king who wears a woollen beanie and probably meditates on his allotment. He mostly likely delivers groceries because it's a more honest form of making a living than prostituting his mind to the man.

OK, so basically I'm sore about the fact that he called me up on the ready meals. I tried telling him it was because I had a baby and finding time to cook from scratch was tough, but he didn't buy it. He looked at me and his face read: You are poisoning your body and thereby your baby too. Or at least in my insecure projecting state of mind that's how I read it.

Today I redeemed myself by using the 'oven cook' option to prepare our risotto with spinach, cheese, and pancetta. It meant a excruciating 25-30 minute wait, as opposed to the usual 5 minutes in the microwave. But feeling residual guilt, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Man breaks woman's leg because she asks him to

No seriously, I got this from Dlisted. The story goes that Gordon Thompson from Plymouth (pictured), has been sent to jail for three years, because he jumped on his girlfriend's leg until it broke. Apparently she wanted him to do it so they could sue the council house they lived in.

Not the smartest cards in the deck, they filmed the whole thing with a camera phone.

Gordon's girlfriend wrapped herself in a duvet and laid face down on the floor. He propped up her leg using two bricks, one by her ankle and one by her knee. Gordon then jumped on her leg and it made a loud crunching noise. Everyone in the court room apparently gasped. Gordon and his girlfriend told the council she broke it by her garden wall falling.
And, as these things go, they got caught out. Apparently police were called to the house on a drug warrant, and in and among the items they seized was the cell phone with the footage on it, and an incomplete insurance form.

When asked why he did it, Gordon said, ''I did break her leg, but only because she had kept on and on at me for days to do it. I only jumped on her leg to shut her up.''

Source and photo: Dlisted

Sunday, April 06, 2008

8 inches

I've always wanted to look a bit more closely at those postcards that are pasted in phone boxes offering services to men with an adventurous spirit and a blatant disregard for their sexual health. I wanted to know how these ladies might go about wording the services they had on offer - selling yourself being one of the more complex marketing skills.

Well, I got my wish. Today, while coming back from a walk with Julia, we passed an open phone box which had two such postcards stuck on the wall, and a bunch littered on the floor. The two pinned up both, as it happens, offered the services of transsexual 'ladies'.

They were equally disturbing, not that I find transsexualism per se disturbing, rather it was the poses, facial expressions, and clothing, or lack thereof, that really stuck in that place in my mind that will later resurface as a nightmare. I imagine the heterosexual ones were equally distasteful, had I the courage to reach down onto the floor and actually inspect one. But yes, phone booth floors that house such things are probably not the sort of place one wants to be rooting around in, unless searching for DNA samples.

The more disturbing of the two, and it was a strong contest, had the 'lady' in question wearing glittery red tassels over her (admittedly shapely) breasts in place of a bra, knee-high leather boots, and a pair of leopard-print bikini panties. She had an expression on her face that could be viewed as sexually alluring or frighteningly aggressive - depending on what rocks the beholder's boat. But what was most unpleasant, was that the open-legged pose revealed a lone hairy testicle sticking out of the side of the bikini briefs. The wording, though short and to the point, promised 8 inches of, well, you know what, and that the lady in question was pre-op.

Though reeling from the unexpected site of that testicle, I did wonder if if being pre-op was considered a bonus in these circles, otherwise why else advertise it so boldly? Likewise, was the stray genital accidental, or a clever intentional marketing ploy?

Interested parties were assured that the photo was in fact authentic. Yes, because I for one would want to make sure that were I to call up and make an appointment, I'd get none other than that particular aggressive-looking person in her leopard print panties with that unforgettable testicle. No being short-changed for me thank you very much.

I'm genuinely tired today. None of this light weight 'I didn't get my 8 hours' stuff either. No, more like the kind of tired you get when you've been toiling in the fields all day long under the hot sun. I say this having absolutely zero experience of working in a field. But it must be tiring right?

My back aches, my legs feel like led, and my sense of humour has packed its bags and left without a note. Indeed, I am in a bad way.

And to make matters worse, we've been told, here in fair England, that we can expect an especially cold summer this year thanks to a menacing-sounding weather phenomenon called La Nina.

Really? So, last year with its, let me see, zip, zero, nil, de nada days of a decent summer was considered a temperate one? Foolish me for hoping that perhaps the snow we had today, in April, a month that is supposed to herald Spring, was just a fluke. And that maybe, just maybe, we may actually know what it's like to feel the warm sun on our faces again.

But I'm not complaining. No, not me.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Size 16 woman makes it into Miss England finals

This is Chloe Marshall. She has become the first size 16 beauty queen contender to make it to the finals of the Miss England contest.

According to The Daily Mail:

The Guildford-born plus-size model weighs 12st 8lb, is 5ft 10in tall and has a 38DD bust.

But although she is the average size for a woman, in the age which has seen the rise of the scarily thin size zero model, she certainly stands out.

Chloe said reaction has been mainly positive, but she admitted in an interview with Hello magazine, that there had been some snide remarks with one writer accusing her of "promoting obesity".

Chloe told Hello: "I'm a size 16, I eat well, I exercise regularly – I jog, swim, and work out with weights.

"What I am promoting is a healthy girl who looks after herself and doesn't try to force her body to be something its not." Continue reading

Wow, what a refreshing thing to read this miserable-looking (weather wise) Wednesday morning. I think it's also a good reflection on the contest. Perhaps this will start a new trend and in future it won't just be skinnies and plus-sized girls, but women in the in between sizes too.

I can just imagine what Tyra Banks would say to Chloe if she were a Miss England judge: "Chloe, we love your big sexy bootie and your Fierce! feminine curves, but I'm not sure if you want this too much or not enough." Because that's the kind of non-sensical crap that makes Tyra not just a pretty face but a, OK, a pretty face.

Photo: Hello magazine via Daily Mail