Nothing fascinates men more than trying to get a small thing into a small hole, other than getting a bigger thing into a small hole. We have been consumed with this since the beginning of time.
150 men will be attempting to get their balls in the holes in fewer strokes than their fellow competitors for 4 days this week at Royal Birkdale in Southport England in the hopes of winning the 137th Open Championship.
If you are uninterested in golf, golf bores the tits off you, or you are fed up with my blogs, link away now, http://www.naughtyallie.com/1/updates/golf233.htm.
The Open is the original golf championship and the only of 4 majors to be held outside of the Unites States. Unlike America, there will be no spectators shouting ‘IN THE HOLE’ as the ball rolls toward the hole, unless it is an American. UK and Irish crowds are renowned for their spectator etiquette, and their golf knowledge.
No one has ever screamed ‘in the hole’, as my mine rolls toward the hole. I had a girlfriend who often screamed, ‘wrong hole’, during alcohol fuelled nights of trying to put her away. I am terrible in the dark when I am pissed. Luckily I have never played the wrong golf hole.
Golf can become a compelling addiction for some. It can consume hours of study, tuition and practice principally due to a seemingly large and somewhat complex number of variables: stance, weight distribution, grip, swing plane, swing speed, driving, irons, pitching, chipping, lobbing, bunker play, putting, clubs, ball, course type and layout, weather... Just to name a few.
If you take this rather academic approach to golf, you are a propeller head and are bound do more gardening on the course than golfing. Golf is not for nerds. Anyway, nerds tend to lick their balls, which is repulsive to witness.
Others look at golf as a Zen sport and play the inner game. In ‘Golf in the Kingdom’ by Michael Murphy, the biggest selling golf book of all time, you are encouraged to take a philosophically mystical approach to finding your ‘true gravity, inner body, and the next manifesting plane’. I am dizzy just typing this.
Chevy Chase as Ty Webb in the film Caddyshack summed up the best philosophical golf mantra for students of the game: ‘Just be the ball, be the ball, be the ball. You're not being the ball Danny.’
The best results in golf are yielded from doing what comes naturally to you, without the noise and confusion of the copious information that is available. Most bipeds golf just fine using their natural swings, after a couple of starter lessons, and a bit of practice, as longs as they do not have expectations of playing like Tiger Woods.
Just grip it and rip it. Unless you have no hand eye coordination, in which case, this technique can be applied to male masturbation, regardless of gripping gender.
While I can get it in most holes in par, it is rare I do it during the same round. I have yet to get it in the hole in 1.
Beaverboosh
Friday, July 18, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
Count Me Out
The world’s population is set to rise from 6.5 to 9.1 billion people by 2050, an increase of 2.6 billion people.
That’s a lot of fucking.
It took since the beginning of human kind to the 90s to get the population to 2 billion. I wonder if the hippies in the 60s preaching sexual revolution realised what a mess they would get us into. Hippies, free love and mathematics eh. Toxic.
I hope to personally contribute to this growth at some point. Mrs BB and I moved to Norway with starting a family in mind. So far we have managed to start new jobs, a family war, a mountain of debt, and our car each morning.
Oh, and I have started to learn Norwegian. Hey, it’s a long starting stage.
Norwegian women are baby factories. A weekday trip to the cafe mid morning finds gaggles of yummy mummies chatting frothily and breast feeding. No wonder lattes are so popular here with the kids.
I attribute the Norwegian birth rate to the ‘shagability factor’. Norwegian women are both gorgeous and lovely. It is more likely that additional factors such as social benefits are at work.
Mom gets a year off work at 80% wages. Dad gets 4 weeks paternity leave and it is mandatory. Kindergarten is free for all children and starts at the age of 1. Of course, all is funded by the taxpayer. It is the family side of social democracy.
Thank goodness for social benefits, Huggies are twice the price here than anywhere in the known world and Norwegian babies are weaned on designer clothes. It is a zero sum game.
The population explosion is set to take place in the developing countries with the world’s poorest nations contributing the greatest. The developed countries will stay static with at 1.8 billion people, a neutral birth rate.
I can understand this. At the rate the missus and I are moving, by the time our 2.x children can vote, we will be scheduled for hip replacements.
I consider fiddling the statistics by moving to Burkina where the birth rate is at epidemic proportions. Mrs. BB can have 12 children and then we can move back to the developed world. If I can get 500 million people to do the same, we can do something about the static birth rate.
I moot the idea with her. She is uninterested. I add that she can put her most excellent French to good use and will have a permanent tan. I am not getting anywhere. It can see it is not exactly a persuasive argument.
At any rate, it is unlikely we will be around to be counted in the census in 2050. We will focus our attention on a procreation displacement strategy. We must ensure we are doing our bit for the continuity of the developed world’s birth rate.
Beaverboosh
That’s a lot of fucking.
It took since the beginning of human kind to the 90s to get the population to 2 billion. I wonder if the hippies in the 60s preaching sexual revolution realised what a mess they would get us into. Hippies, free love and mathematics eh. Toxic.
I hope to personally contribute to this growth at some point. Mrs BB and I moved to Norway with starting a family in mind. So far we have managed to start new jobs, a family war, a mountain of debt, and our car each morning.
Oh, and I have started to learn Norwegian. Hey, it’s a long starting stage.
Norwegian women are baby factories. A weekday trip to the cafe mid morning finds gaggles of yummy mummies chatting frothily and breast feeding. No wonder lattes are so popular here with the kids.
I attribute the Norwegian birth rate to the ‘shagability factor’. Norwegian women are both gorgeous and lovely. It is more likely that additional factors such as social benefits are at work.
Mom gets a year off work at 80% wages. Dad gets 4 weeks paternity leave and it is mandatory. Kindergarten is free for all children and starts at the age of 1. Of course, all is funded by the taxpayer. It is the family side of social democracy.
Thank goodness for social benefits, Huggies are twice the price here than anywhere in the known world and Norwegian babies are weaned on designer clothes. It is a zero sum game.
The population explosion is set to take place in the developing countries with the world’s poorest nations contributing the greatest. The developed countries will stay static with at 1.8 billion people, a neutral birth rate.
I can understand this. At the rate the missus and I are moving, by the time our 2.x children can vote, we will be scheduled for hip replacements.
I consider fiddling the statistics by moving to Burkina where the birth rate is at epidemic proportions. Mrs. BB can have 12 children and then we can move back to the developed world. If I can get 500 million people to do the same, we can do something about the static birth rate.
I moot the idea with her. She is uninterested. I add that she can put her most excellent French to good use and will have a permanent tan. I am not getting anywhere. It can see it is not exactly a persuasive argument.
At any rate, it is unlikely we will be around to be counted in the census in 2050. We will focus our attention on a procreation displacement strategy. We must ensure we are doing our bit for the continuity of the developed world’s birth rate.
Beaverboosh
Friday, July 4, 2008
Oh Bugger
‘War for the most part is boring with occasional outbursts of violence.’ General Bernard Law Montgomery, affectionately known as Monty, could have been speaking about my experience of working through the lazy hazy summer holidays.
The silly news season is upon us. Unfortunately to the untrained eye, it looks no sillier than the rest of the year.
Malaysia's opposition leader Anwar Ibrahim has been accused of sodomy, an offence which if convicted could carry a prison sentence of 20 years, and surely more sodomy. He denies the allegation.
I am slightly concerned having spent much time in KL years past. My Bumiputra girlfriend enjoyed the occasional irregular position but never mentioned it in respect of the law. This could upset any plans I have for running for public office in Malaysia.
It is a good thing that the UK repealed its buggery law for consenting adults many years ago. Half of the House of Commons and most of the House of Lords would likely have been prosecuted, in many instances by each other, and then where would we be.
The bible, one of the best historical fictions of its epoch, dispenses harsh justice. Leviticus defines sex between men as a capital punishment. Thankfully it says nothing about sex between Canadians and Bumiputras.
The Romans looked down on same sex sodomy in the ranks, however, it was commonly accepted to use your slave as a sex object, as long as the slave was on the receiving end.
Mesopotamian law meted out a harsh penalty to the well hung caught sodomising brothers-in-arms allowing them to turn him into a eunuch. Contrary to popular belief this did not produce the sublime soprano voices of the castrati who were castrated at birth, but rather a gruff nasal whine.
Sodomy still carries a serious offence in many countries. Same sex sodomy is punishable by death in Iran. Thankfully this will be avoided, as their President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stated during his recent visit to Colombia University, ‘there are no homosexuals in Iran.’
Consenting sex between adults in many western countries is legal. Canada’s most famous Prime Minister, Pierre Trudeau, when repealing archaic sodomy laws proclaimed ‘there’s no place for the state in the bedrooms of the nation.’ The law provides that consenting adults can do what they wish, provided no more than two people are present.
I doubt this law will get in the way of most Canadian men’s fantasies, especially where twins are involved. It is on the top 10 list of things Canadian men must do before they die.
Beaverboosh
The silly news season is upon us. Unfortunately to the untrained eye, it looks no sillier than the rest of the year.
Malaysia's opposition leader Anwar Ibrahim has been accused of sodomy, an offence which if convicted could carry a prison sentence of 20 years, and surely more sodomy. He denies the allegation.
I am slightly concerned having spent much time in KL years past. My Bumiputra girlfriend enjoyed the occasional irregular position but never mentioned it in respect of the law. This could upset any plans I have for running for public office in Malaysia.
It is a good thing that the UK repealed its buggery law for consenting adults many years ago. Half of the House of Commons and most of the House of Lords would likely have been prosecuted, in many instances by each other, and then where would we be.
The bible, one of the best historical fictions of its epoch, dispenses harsh justice. Leviticus defines sex between men as a capital punishment. Thankfully it says nothing about sex between Canadians and Bumiputras.
The Romans looked down on same sex sodomy in the ranks, however, it was commonly accepted to use your slave as a sex object, as long as the slave was on the receiving end.
Mesopotamian law meted out a harsh penalty to the well hung caught sodomising brothers-in-arms allowing them to turn him into a eunuch. Contrary to popular belief this did not produce the sublime soprano voices of the castrati who were castrated at birth, but rather a gruff nasal whine.
Sodomy still carries a serious offence in many countries. Same sex sodomy is punishable by death in Iran. Thankfully this will be avoided, as their President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad stated during his recent visit to Colombia University, ‘there are no homosexuals in Iran.’
Consenting sex between adults in many western countries is legal. Canada’s most famous Prime Minister, Pierre Trudeau, when repealing archaic sodomy laws proclaimed ‘there’s no place for the state in the bedrooms of the nation.’ The law provides that consenting adults can do what they wish, provided no more than two people are present.
I doubt this law will get in the way of most Canadian men’s fantasies, especially where twins are involved. It is on the top 10 list of things Canadian men must do before they die.
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 27, 2008
Hot Dog
Hot Dogs are a national delicacy in Norway. They can be purchased in every paper shop, confectionary and gas station throughout the country. On many an inbound flight, Norwegians jostle to get off of the plane and charge to the 7 Eleven in the airport lounge for their hot dog fix.
Of course, they are the best hot dogs in the world.
This is of little comfort as I sit in the airport lounge at 6:30 AM, drinking my double espresso while hoards of Norwegians chow down on hot dogs washed down with a pint of beer awaiting their charter flights to the Costa del Chav.
My stomach, robust in most situations, bar road accidents or train wrecks, is feeling a little sensitive. This is an unpleasant sight. My mother would be disgusted.
I read the analysis of the Irish referendum on the Lisbon Treaty. This is the last ditch effort for the European Union to seize greater federal power, and it requires unanimous approval by the remaining countries.
Most importantly for the treaty, it will put into law that future treaties will not require country referenda. Ratification will be left to the sovereign authorities, not the people. After the Rome treaty, Lisbon’s predecessor which was rejected in referenda by France and Denmark, the politicians have learned!
The Irish, whom have benefited greatly for 30 years of European Union membership have spoken, and spoken for many Europeans. They are the only country to hold a referendum on the Lisbon treaty. The NO vote means the treaty now looks dead in the water. Back to the drawing board for the EU centralists.
So why NO?
Most Irish claimed they did not understand what the treaty meant, so felt compelled to reject it. This is a great insight into democracy where a referendum is concerned.
Power to the people. It is a timely slap in the face to European leaders.
Few would argue that the free movement of people, capital, goods and services have not been beneficial to all members of the European community. However, when membership translates into ceding further sovereign powers to Brussels, it is a sensitive subject with the vox pop!
Bravo Ireland!
Norway is not a Member of the European Union, but participates as a member of the European Economic Area which is essentially a trade agreement. The people of Norway were twice asked in referenda to join, on both counts the majority said NO.
Bravo Norway!
It would have more than likely meant giving away most of its precious oil revenues to poorer member states. Worse, the EU may have legislated to prevent the consumption of hot dogs and lager before 10 AM.
Beaverboosh
Of course, they are the best hot dogs in the world.
This is of little comfort as I sit in the airport lounge at 6:30 AM, drinking my double espresso while hoards of Norwegians chow down on hot dogs washed down with a pint of beer awaiting their charter flights to the Costa del Chav.
My stomach, robust in most situations, bar road accidents or train wrecks, is feeling a little sensitive. This is an unpleasant sight. My mother would be disgusted.
I read the analysis of the Irish referendum on the Lisbon Treaty. This is the last ditch effort for the European Union to seize greater federal power, and it requires unanimous approval by the remaining countries.
Most importantly for the treaty, it will put into law that future treaties will not require country referenda. Ratification will be left to the sovereign authorities, not the people. After the Rome treaty, Lisbon’s predecessor which was rejected in referenda by France and Denmark, the politicians have learned!
The Irish, whom have benefited greatly for 30 years of European Union membership have spoken, and spoken for many Europeans. They are the only country to hold a referendum on the Lisbon treaty. The NO vote means the treaty now looks dead in the water. Back to the drawing board for the EU centralists.
So why NO?
Most Irish claimed they did not understand what the treaty meant, so felt compelled to reject it. This is a great insight into democracy where a referendum is concerned.
Power to the people. It is a timely slap in the face to European leaders.
Few would argue that the free movement of people, capital, goods and services have not been beneficial to all members of the European community. However, when membership translates into ceding further sovereign powers to Brussels, it is a sensitive subject with the vox pop!
Bravo Ireland!
Norway is not a Member of the European Union, but participates as a member of the European Economic Area which is essentially a trade agreement. The people of Norway were twice asked in referenda to join, on both counts the majority said NO.
Bravo Norway!
It would have more than likely meant giving away most of its precious oil revenues to poorer member states. Worse, the EU may have legislated to prevent the consumption of hot dogs and lager before 10 AM.
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 20, 2008
Midnight Sun
Summer solstice is upon on us. I look forward to frenzying with the Scando pagans around a bonfire in the sacred forest. Witches were traditionally the first choice for the blaze. With the way the economy is going, I fear this year it may be foreigners. I make preparations to peroxide my body hair and hone my Norwegian accent. From today, I call myself Bevermunn!
It is light here all day in Oslo. The sun disappears just before midnight but a permanent dusk remains until sunrise at 4. 10 pm can feel like the late afternoon. There is a tinge of madness in the air. Six months ago, you were lucky to see the sun for a few hours. The hoards on the streets at midnight look a little wild eyed!
I awake to find an industrial team with drilling apparatus on my front lawn. The noise of the drilling fractures my peaceful sleep and reminds me I should have passed on that last glass of wine. I know there is an oil crisis, but urban drilling rigs? They leave a small but very deep hole in the garden and disappear quickly. Dry I guess. I prepare myself for a visit from the corn planters.
It is swim suit season. I notice that a small but perfectly formed love handle has pierced the side seam of my golf shirt. Back to the gym I am afraid. I try on my fashionable swim suit in anticipation of a weekend at the beach. I secure it just below my tits. That will keep the feisty little mound in place.
I have also noticed my penis is frequently getting more chubby. I fear this has nothing to do with the gym and more with the nubile peaches out in full summer dress. At this time of year I must wear dark sunglasses for fear of embarrassing myself. It is of little help as they are usually steamed up and I cannot see a thing. I have run into more breasts than you can shake a thing at.
In preparation for summer holidays, people are in a festive mood and the restaurants and bars in town are heaving until the early hours of the morning. In Norway as in many parts of Scandinavia, most office workers take the full month of July off and head to their summer houses on the fjord. As most people in Norway work for the government in some capacity, Oslo will be vacated by 1 July, save the daily cruise ships, and the prostitutes.
No rest for the wicked, I am off to London and will work my way through most of the holiday period! Some of us must try to keep the economy going through this mad period!
Beaverboosh
It is light here all day in Oslo. The sun disappears just before midnight but a permanent dusk remains until sunrise at 4. 10 pm can feel like the late afternoon. There is a tinge of madness in the air. Six months ago, you were lucky to see the sun for a few hours. The hoards on the streets at midnight look a little wild eyed!
I awake to find an industrial team with drilling apparatus on my front lawn. The noise of the drilling fractures my peaceful sleep and reminds me I should have passed on that last glass of wine. I know there is an oil crisis, but urban drilling rigs? They leave a small but very deep hole in the garden and disappear quickly. Dry I guess. I prepare myself for a visit from the corn planters.
It is swim suit season. I notice that a small but perfectly formed love handle has pierced the side seam of my golf shirt. Back to the gym I am afraid. I try on my fashionable swim suit in anticipation of a weekend at the beach. I secure it just below my tits. That will keep the feisty little mound in place.
I have also noticed my penis is frequently getting more chubby. I fear this has nothing to do with the gym and more with the nubile peaches out in full summer dress. At this time of year I must wear dark sunglasses for fear of embarrassing myself. It is of little help as they are usually steamed up and I cannot see a thing. I have run into more breasts than you can shake a thing at.
In preparation for summer holidays, people are in a festive mood and the restaurants and bars in town are heaving until the early hours of the morning. In Norway as in many parts of Scandinavia, most office workers take the full month of July off and head to their summer houses on the fjord. As most people in Norway work for the government in some capacity, Oslo will be vacated by 1 July, save the daily cruise ships, and the prostitutes.
No rest for the wicked, I am off to London and will work my way through most of the holiday period! Some of us must try to keep the economy going through this mad period!
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 13, 2008
Feet In Mouth
I am on business in deepest darkest Norway, the Christian bible belt. I have an important meeting with a new banker. My associate introduces me to the new banker and his colleague. A conversation ensues, in Norwegian, which I do not understand fully. My associate chuckles.
The new banker says, ‘they are laughing because I come from a small island that is famous because we do not drink alcohol and sex before marriage is not permitted.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I quip, ‘ where I come from we have as much sex before marriage as we can because once we get married we don’t get any so we drink a lot.’
He does not find this funny. My associate tries to keep a straight face and snorts an occasional chunk.
During pre dinner drinks with business associates a couple of weeks ago, I meet a lovely American who has been working in London for many years. His professional pedigree is world class. He is a grand old gentleman of the old school.
‘I just don’t get this online chat thing,’ he says, ‘I am ok with email and texting, but why would you not just phone someone to have a conversation instead of chatting online?’
‘I agree,’ and add, ‘except when I am in a sex chat room chatting online with some dirty little bitch from the suburbs.’
The whole room instantly goes silent and all eyes are fixed on me. I casually sip my whisky and move the conversation on to the commodity markets. An associate shakes his head and waggles the finger at me.
In a former life, I was in a colleague’s office for a morning coffee chat. She was gorgeous and talented and we were quite fond of each other, professionally of course. She stepped out of her office just as her phone rang. I answered it. It was her boss, a man whom she despised. A sexist mcp who was always making inappropriate remarks and salivating over her.
‘I am sorry Bill,’ I said, ‘she can't come to the phone right now, my cock is in her mouth,’ just as she walked back into the office.
My mouth is big enough to accommodate both feet. Unfortunately, like a pool ball, I cannot get them back out with medical help. Thankfully I went private many years ago.
Beaverboosh
The new banker says, ‘they are laughing because I come from a small island that is famous because we do not drink alcohol and sex before marriage is not permitted.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I quip, ‘ where I come from we have as much sex before marriage as we can because once we get married we don’t get any so we drink a lot.’
He does not find this funny. My associate tries to keep a straight face and snorts an occasional chunk.
During pre dinner drinks with business associates a couple of weeks ago, I meet a lovely American who has been working in London for many years. His professional pedigree is world class. He is a grand old gentleman of the old school.
‘I just don’t get this online chat thing,’ he says, ‘I am ok with email and texting, but why would you not just phone someone to have a conversation instead of chatting online?’
‘I agree,’ and add, ‘except when I am in a sex chat room chatting online with some dirty little bitch from the suburbs.’
The whole room instantly goes silent and all eyes are fixed on me. I casually sip my whisky and move the conversation on to the commodity markets. An associate shakes his head and waggles the finger at me.
In a former life, I was in a colleague’s office for a morning coffee chat. She was gorgeous and talented and we were quite fond of each other, professionally of course. She stepped out of her office just as her phone rang. I answered it. It was her boss, a man whom she despised. A sexist mcp who was always making inappropriate remarks and salivating over her.
‘I am sorry Bill,’ I said, ‘she can't come to the phone right now, my cock is in her mouth,’ just as she walked back into the office.
My mouth is big enough to accommodate both feet. Unfortunately, like a pool ball, I cannot get them back out with medical help. Thankfully I went private many years ago.
Beaverboosh
Friday, June 6, 2008
Sex In The Cinema
Mrs. BB and her girlfriends are moist with anticipation awaiting the premier of Sex in the City in Norway. 4 of them have planned to dress to the nines, don their Manolos, outdo each other’s handbags, and sip Cosmos prior to the big preview. I am sure this is a scene being played out by women around the world.
Not since the village got a new gynaecologist that looked like George Clooney have I seen so many women queuing in anticipation.
What the girls talk about over Cosmos does not merit consideration for men folk, for the most part. However, hidden deeply in the bouffant of dialogue lie many a great insight to what grooves the truffles of the fairer sex. It is a bit like the DaVinci code – it takes patience and perseverance to decode, but what you finally get is a pleasant surprise.
Many heterosexual men I know have never seen the series, and laugh at the idea. They are a bit too macho for this sort of girly thing! I disagree. I have seen but a few of the programmes which have provided a cornucopia of helpful insights to better understanding women.
Let me share a few with you:
Not since the village got a new gynaecologist that looked like George Clooney have I seen so many women queuing in anticipation.
What the girls talk about over Cosmos does not merit consideration for men folk, for the most part. However, hidden deeply in the bouffant of dialogue lie many a great insight to what grooves the truffles of the fairer sex. It is a bit like the DaVinci code – it takes patience and perseverance to decode, but what you finally get is a pleasant surprise.
Many heterosexual men I know have never seen the series, and laugh at the idea. They are a bit too macho for this sort of girly thing! I disagree. I have seen but a few of the programmes which have provided a cornucopia of helpful insights to better understanding women.
Let me share a few with you:
- All women want to be seen as beautiful and desirable by their suitors. To furnish this desire they shop. Men do not appreciate the extent of this effort and cannot tell a Prada from DKNY. Women immediately asses each other and rank themselves on the suitor hierarchy based on this appearance. It is nice when a man comments on a woman’s appearance, but much nicer when women in the know comment
- Professional women want it all – the high profile job, the wardrobe, the social life, the trappings, the dream husband, and the family. More than often, they have gone to a good university, get good jobs, have careered, are single in their 30s, and are critical of men. This is often because they have dedicated so much time to their pursuits that they have little experience with men and by the time they are in their 30s have had few meaningful relationships
- Women are more sexually adventurous than men think. Using the programme as a barometer, 1 in every 4 women are into tea bagging, 2 in every 4 are into A levels, and 4 of 4 orgasm regularly during passion. Most men would dream of this but not believe this to be statistically reliable, even discounting the Samantha factor
- All women want a prince and believe there is one out there for them. They are delusional and sailing down a big river called ‘de nile’. 1 in every 1000 men are princes, the rest are frogs. 999 men make no pretence about being princes, the belching should be evidence of this.
I have not seen the movie, but read of the ending on a blog this week. For those that have not seen the film and do not wish to know the ending, link away now:
http://www.hbo.com/city/.Charlotte is happy with Harry and finally conceives their child, Amanda and Steve are happier than ever and he constantly dotes on her, Samantha and Smith take loving making to new levels and commit to each other for an eternity and Big softens, marries Carrie, and they live happily ever after in a castle in the Hamptons.
Beaverboosh
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