Clear as mucky mind mud

You people are so very, very mucky and freaky, and I do love it so. I really should have just asked for those super tips months earlier.

Of course, as you all gave slightly varying tales of the methods you used for conceptual success, it would be impossible to try them all in one lifetime. I have therefore had to mould them into one foolproof method.

Baring that in mind, here is our plan of attack for this month, based solely on your input.

Firstly we need a head to toe lace body suit, I'm not sure if this was intended for the me or her, so two are on order.

ET needs to nag me, this may require intensive training. She must nag me something woeful until I freak out and offer to shag her out of the goodness of my heart.

We then need to have sex on the stairs, doggy style.

The problem there is that it is essential we try to not to get caught. I really should post a picture of our stairs to illustrate that we certainly would get caught, by the fire brigade who would have to come and cut us free from the sweaty semen dripping spiral mangled mess that would surely ensue.

All the while my shoes should be under ET's side of the bed.

Of course we would need refreshments, with the beverages of choice seemingly being 8 bottles of red wine and a bucket of margarita, preferably provided by the in-laws. Hers or mine, I'm not certain.

For an extra push to send the boys that extra mile, or inch, ET should have her pelvis realigned, go on the pill, go off the pill, sign up for adoption seminars, and smoke some dope. All this and the subsequent über shagging should be done under the watchful gaze of some Jehovah's witnesses, with my in-law's ears pressed up against the key hole trying to decipher our grunts over Jay and Silent Bob on the telly.

I do question the use of a movie featuring a mute to drown out sex noises though.

We'll have to make sure our passports are valid as this marathon knobbing festival will be like 'Live Aid', taking place all over the planet in Turkey, Eastbourne, some random lighthouse keeper's lodge, and in the in-law's basement.

They don't actually have a basement, but they do have a garage where they keep the beer, which would do nicely. Killing two birds, with one bone.

All of this, every last bit of it it seems, can be ignored under one circumstance, and one alone. Sex in the teenage single bed.

Unfortunately, as both our teenage beds are in another country, my alternative plan is to redecorate our spare room to be an exact clone of my childhood bedroom.

From the torn Elmer Fudd wallpaper, to the wardrobe whose door never shut, to the Kylie Minogue posters, to the New kids on the block albums, to the tattered underwear section of the 1989 'Family Album' catalog, to the teddy bears who witnessed sights no stuffed animal should ever have to.

I will get the theme tunes of Dallas, Dynasty, and Falcon Crest to waft up the stairs, to warn us we have 30 minutes more. The theme tune to the late evening news will mean it's time to zip up.

The bed will of course, have to have an amplified creak upon every movement, and a plentiful supply of questionable tissues shoved between pillows and mattresses.

All this, will certainly deliver Spencer to the holy grail on this, the twenty fourth time of asking.

P.S. I did have to chuckle at the notion of aiding and abetting 'extra' orgasms, you mean one at Christmas and on her birthday?

Keeping secrets

A thought occurred to me. I don't know what day it is. Cycle day I mean (does this must mean I'm relaxed?).

Or just knackered?

Okay, it doesn't need CERN intervention to deduce that it's CD07 or 08 or so, but not knowing exactly is unusual.

Within a week we will be hard at it once again, moaning, groaning, sweating, chanting, and swapping bodily fluids, all in the name of procreation.

For the twenty fourth time. I need a lie down at the very thought of it.

Maybe it's a stupid question, but I don't think I've ever asked, how did YOU get knocked up, how did YOU knock your missus up?

Did you chew gum? shake both your hips a certain way? sacrifice chickens?

Did you use accessories, foodstuffs, or woodland creatures? Was there a specific time of day, or night?

Did you make use of any particular soundtrack or background noise, jungle sounds or whales arguing?

Did you dress up, milkman, postman, flight attendant, vicar, or backstreet boy?

Don't be mean, don't hold back, don't be ashamed. I'm not sure if you've noticed but shame doesn't live here anymore.

In other news, this has now been long listed (as opposed to long, long listed) for the Irish Blog awards specialist blog category.
I think the swimsuit round is next, followed by a shortlist, and then a talent round. Anyone good at anal bleaching?

Wii need therapy

Leaving the obvious truth of the title aside for a moment, I'm about to give you wisdom that will save your relationship.

I think I could be responsible for putting 85% of couple counsellors out of gainful employment with the following information.

Forget about those two dozen Oprah recommended books on how to cope with wonky tubes and disorientated sperm. Don't even consider the 18 months of therapy with Doctor M.T. Belleh or Professor Nohorn.

Spend a little cash, once off, on a Wii, and go straight for the boxing games.

We stood with the controllers in our hands, grinning like two brazen children as the bell went.

DING DING.

Before I knew what was happening - Boof!

- "You seedless sonofabitch" she shrieked like a banshee on acid as she punched me square in the face.

Staggering, I gathered my bearings, looked at her smug smile and smacked her on the ear with a left hook.
- "Right back at you, you cervical cripple"

Barely affected by the retaliation, she started swinging like an electrocuted monkey, left and right, right and left, making repeated contact with both my ears.

Cries of "Broken balls!" rang out as she hit me over and over again.

- "Useless bigger bollock!" - Bang, with the left.
- "Useless smaller bollock!" - Whack, from the right.

I wasn't standing for this any longer and I decided to play dirty. - "Dented womb" I cried as I pummelled the aforementioned with lefts and rights.

To and fro we sparred, landing blow and insult upon blow and insult.

The seconds and minutes passed, and we continued, sweating like two whores at mass.

- "You barren bitch!" I yelled like Mel Gibson in Braveheart as I threw my hardest punch at her nose.

She stopped, staggered, wobbly on her feet. I thought I had her beat, that was until she moaned.

I'd know that fake moan ANYWHERE!

My realisation that she was bluffing came too late. Before I had a chance to protect myself, she had thumped me in the larynx and left me flat on my arse while screaming - "screw you jaffa ladyboy and the spastic spunk you rode in on".

Knocked out, in 2 minutes 51 seconds. She stood over me panting, sweat and saliva drooping and dripping onto my beaten body.

- "Cup of tea honey bunch?" she said, placing the controller on the table and wiping her forehead.
- "Oh yeah that would be nice" I replied. "Any biscuits?"