… I decided to steal it from him. I resolved to steal his sperm from him in the middle of the night. I thought it was my right, given that he was living with me and I had bought him many, many M&S ready meals.
Ugh. Between Dervla Kirwan’s soft porn voiceovers for M&S food ads and Jizz Loans’ revelation that she considers that buying some of their ready meals is a fair exchange for a Durex load of her other half’s baby gravy I’ll never be able to look at any ready meal ever again.
One night, after sex, I took the used condom and, in the privacy of the bathroom, I did what I had to do.
Stoppit, for Christ’s sake.
… I resorted to similarly secretive methods to conceive in my next relationship.
The saddest part of this for Jizz Loans is that having revealed herself to be a serial spunk thief – c’mon, Jizz, you knew damn well they weren’t just using a bag to avoid catching anything – her chances of finding anyone willing to play hide the sausage has, er, shrunk. There will be the usual blokey jokes about her looks and remarks along the lines of “I wouldn’t, eh, fellas?”, but with what the Mail calls her most shocking confession yet Jizz Loans has also shown a manipulative side that a lot of men will find a bit of a turn off.*
I’ll leave the last word to the Mash.
DAILY Mail experiment Liz Jones has urged men across Britain to send her their used condoms.
Jones said: “I can’t wait for the parcels to start arriving. It’ll be like a never-ending Christmas as I rip open each little packet and squeeze the contents into my trembling uterus.”
Meanwhile, she has urged donors not to include a photograph or any personal details as she wants her baby’s surprising DNA to provide up to five years worth of ground-breaking journalism.
Almost the last word. If anyone wants me I’ll be in the shed, upside down in a bucket of mind bleach.
* That wording implies the possibility of something even more shocking up her sleeve, or possibly on it. We can only hope not.
If your cat steals bits of your dinner when you’ve been daft enough to leave it unattended she’s just being a cat. However, if what she stole was mashed potato and onion gravy she’s being a fucking retard.
Normal blogging will resume when I’ve stopped following her around with a dustban and carpet cleaner waiting for the inevitable.
The barbied lamb chops are fine, and if I was in Sydney I might be persuaded to go along to the harbour and watch the ferry racing* …
… but I’d draw the line at Vegemite wrestling.
I don’t know, someone leaves his normal breakfast portion of Vegie in a paddling pool for a few minutes in jumps a pair of pneumatically breasted girls. I call it bloody inconsiderate! The poor bugger’s got to put that on his toast after you two have been sweating in it. On the other hand it might be better than mixing it with cream cheese.
Weird place this sometimes. Good. But also weird.
Normal anger levels will resume in due course.
* Mrs Exile expresses some surprise that the Sydney ferry racing hasn’t been banned for some tedious reason tenuously connected with either elfin safety or warble gloaming or both. I’m not shy in criticising my new home when I feel it’s deserved so it’s only fair to say that I’m delighted something as stupid and pointless and, most importantly, fun as this is still going on. Now if I can just get somewhere with my idea for the annual Melbourne Tram Time Trials we’ll have something just as daft here.