» Cougars and Sugar Daddies

I don't have a story this week.
_{Any allusions to truth in the following are grossly misrepresented.}

Was but a boy of seventeen,
Still innocent, and still so keen,
The physics that this teacher taught,
The laws revealed, equations wrought,
The scientific method made,
The new altar at which we prayed,
The woman with the deep dark eyes,
With short brown hair and full, firm thighs,
In someone twice as old as me,
An unexpected fantasy,
I told myself this was not right,
...but why I else did I think about physics each night?

Yet one day as the class did go,
She asked, "Do stay a moment, Crow,
She smiled and said "No need to fear,
Why, no one even knows we're here."
I pondered every variable,
If we were caught, there'd be such trouble,
Such thoughts flashed by in but a second,
As her experienced lips a-beckoned,
Common sense could not prevail,
My variable resistance failed.

She climbed on me and made to straddle,
I stroked the contours, found the saddle
point between those buttocks firm,
And probing fingers made her squirm.
In a quantum of uncertainty,
Clothes disappeared quite rapidly.
Her eyes lit up as she disrobed,
My swollen, sweating, young Hall Probe.
I begged, "the pressure is too great,
"I'm going to...supersaturate..."
She smiled, "Well, let's relieve that first,"
Opened her mouth and let me burst,
And swallowed then so artfully,
My column's potential vorticity.

She did not gag, she did not gurn,
But kissed my neck and said "Your turn,"
And begged that I should use on her,
My huge interferometer.

And so I found myself a-rising,
Beyond her moist event horizon,
Trapped inside so tight a hold,
By the pull of this black hole.
She goaded me and cried for more,
As she enticed me to explore,
And find within this no-pants dance,
A frequency of resonance.
Our sinusoidal oscillations,
Hurried on a strong sensation,
Wishing it would not be over,
But soon this mass went supernova,
And with a gasp, she seemed to lift
Up on my violent Doppler shift.

And the woman with the deep dark eyes,
With short brown hair and full, firm thighs,
This psiren, twice as old as me,
My unexpected fantasy,
Just caught her breath in time to say,
"Why can't they make all men this way?"

...Well, how else do you think I got an 'A'?
(Tue 9th Dec 2008, 10:39, More)

» Best and worst TV ads

Case Study: Head and Shoulders
Specifically, this saucy little number here.

The purpose of this advert is to encourage men to buy a particular brand of anti-dandruff shampoo. Right from the off, we can see several clear signs that this advert is designed to trigger certain elements of the male psyche: a young man is in a locker room with several of his peers. This suggests he has just participated in some sort of team sport, because that is what men (GRRRR) do. His face is dirty, which suggests it was an outdoor sport, which is, as everyone knows, far more manly (GRRR) than any of those girly indoor sports.

He enters a shower cubicle carrying a bottle of the product in question. The scene cuts to him moments later, his face cleaned of the very manly (GRRR) dirt, opening the bottle and taking a sniff. He sees a bright light from the other side of the shower curtain and immediately throws the shower curtain back to investigate.

Such behaviour is, in real life, foolish. Any normal human being would have assumed that the scene on the other side of the curtain would still be much the same, save for the additional light source, and so whilst throwing back the curtain would, granted, allow him to see what was occurring, it would also result in him exposing himself to his rather surprised team-mates.

He's quite fortunate, therefore, that the scene has completely changed and his team-mates have been replaced by a gaggle of attractive women. Dressed as nurses, no less. And not the sensible, blue-clad NHS ones, oh no, proper Carry On-style nurses with short skirts, seamed stockings and all the rest. All of a sudden this advert has departed completely from any sense of reality and into the realms of deluded sexual fantasy that even most QotW regulars would stop and think twice about. Suddenly, I like where this advert is going.

Even better for him, the nurses are unsurprised by the presence of this partially washed, naked man. Some might even say they were expecting him, as they do a little dance and sing a little song for him. The little dance leads to a group pose cleverly (mercifully) designed to obscure this chap's tackle, as one of the nurses leans in close and sings
"Don't you just love moments like these?"

Well, don't you? Actually, I'm not sure I've had enough experience to say. The closest I've had to such an experience was one week when no fewer than four female doctors ended up examining my testicles. "Doctor" and "Nurse" are two distinctly different professions, and even if any of them had been nurses, I somehow doubt they'd have done a dance or sung me a song whilst feeling them. (One of them did slather a load of cold goo over them, but that's a different story altogether...)

So based on that experience: no, I probably wouldn't love "moments like these." If anything, I'd probably be slightly alarmed that I'd just inadvertently exposed myself to a group of beautiful women, which would have led to even deeper embarrassment as the dance routine broke down in fits of giggles relating to my pitiful genitalia. (Though if you pause the video at 0:04, it does look as though the blonde and the redhead at the back are trying their best not to laugh at his...)

But then perhaps I'm missing the point here: clearly the implication of the advert is that the shampoo will make you irresistible to women (even nurses, who you'd normally expect to be more professional about this sort of thing), even though all it actually does is smell nice and clear up your dandruff. Clearly, they've learnt from the Lynx deodorant adverts that impressionable young men will buy your product if they think it will improve their chances of regular, hot, steamy nookie. To such young men, I have some bad news, and it's probably best that you hear it from me, because goodness knows I had to learn it the hard way: not having dandruff and not smelling funny do NOT automatically make you an irresistible lothario. Not having dandruff and not smelling funny are basic prerequisites to being socially acceptable, and they will certainly be necessary steps on the road to becoming passably attractive, but unfortunately, women are not going to fall at your feet and suck you off just because you've been good enough to try and mask your Eau de raging hormone with a can of something which makes you smell like a teenage boy's bedroom.

In fact, it's only just after the "moments like these" line that we get an aerial shot (complete with conveniently placed, todger-obscuring steam) of the ensemble, with the subtitled disclaimer:
"Claim based on visibility of flakes at 2 feet when used regularly,"
and as they all look up at the camera, around 0:18, their faces are almost saying to me,
"Come on, look closer, you can still see the dirty bugger's dandruff!"

And then they all disappear, as the poor lad realises he just imagined it. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm not sure I would trust a shampoo that makes me hallucinate sexy, dancing nurses, especially if it would lead to me deludedly throwing back the shower curtain and exposing myself to my peers whilst in the middle of some cheap wank fantasy.

Finally: 0.23. Watch the bottle. See what it does at 0.25? Come on, that's not even subtle. I had barely managed to yell "Fnar Fnar!" at the television when the drop landed in that chap's hair.

Based on all the evidence before you, I put it to you that this advert is hilarious, more than a little camp and ever-so-slightly arousing. A bit like watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first time, you know, before you get the horrible surprise of realising the tall one is Tim Curry. Personally, on account of my naturally dry skin, I've been using various anti-dandruff shampoos for years and whilst they seem to fulfil their basic function, I've yet to encounter any nurses in the shower. Sod it, I'm off to the hospital to see if a female doctor can fondle my bollocks again.
(Fri 16th Apr 2010, 11:06, More)

» Professions I Hate

Estate Agents are going to get a lot of stick this week
So before it becomes tiresome, Scaryduck's entertaining exchange of letters has reminded me of the last time I moved house. The old place wasn't even rented from one of the bigger and notoriously cunty agencies, but they tried it on all the same when it came to returning the deposit. If I may crave your indulgence, I'm quite proud of the angry email I concocted, so I'd like to share it with y'all...

In which CROW gets all 'Honda Accord' on his old estate agents
October. CROW checks his bank statement online to find a large sum of money has been transferred electronically to his account. It has the Estate Agent's name attached to it, but is somewhat smaller than the total deposit he and his housemates had originally paid two years ago. Trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, he sends the following.
Dear Arsehole-Estate-Agent, (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent)
I've received a payment from Arsehole Estates for £2640 - I presume this is the returned deposit?

Best regards, Crow

Later that afternoon, AEA replies...
Yes indeed,
Arsehole-Estate-Agent

CROW tries to give them the benefit of the doubt - though he suspects otherwise, perhaps this is no more than a simple mistake.
Ok, many thanks for that. However, according to the paperwork, the total deposit should be £3000.
Crow

AEA replies soon afterwards
Absolutely right Crow but we had to get the place cleaned, which cost £360. It took 4 of them 6 hours, including cleaning the carpets. I can send you a copy of the invoice if you'd like.

CROW is, to say the least, not impressed, having spent all of the previous weekend with his housemates cleaning the place. CROW leaves his computer and goes for a walk to calm down. He knocks on the door of a friend's office and they go for a cup of tea. Calmed, but still sufficiently indignant, CROW pens the following reply.
Dear Arsehole-Estate-Agent,

Whilst I appreciate the need for the property to be in a suitably clean state for incoming tenants, I do not agree that it is our responsibility to pay for it be cleaned professionally. We were only contractually obliged to clean the property to the extent that it was left in the same state as we found it. When we first moved into , the condition in which it had been left by the previous tenants was entirely unacceptable and it was only after some weeks that Arsehole Estates arranged for the property to be cleaned. At the end of our own tenure, we made sure to clean the property to the best extent we could, and I would argue that, some standard wear and tear notwithstanding, it was left in as good a state as, if not better than, that in which we found it.

Furthermore, you have deducted the sum of £360 from our deposit without any prior notice. Proposed deductions should be identified to all parties involved before they are effected.

Whilst the following are perhaps less relevant to the matter, I feel this is a pertinent time to raise them. I would remind you that, during the course of our tenancy, part of the kitchen ceiling collapsed and had to be replaced, due to a problem with the insulation of the upstairs bathroom. It took several months for Arsehole Estates to arrange for this be repaired, during which time we were unable to make use of the upstairs bathroom and had to use the kitchen without any guarantee that the remainder of the ceiling was secure. Following the repair, there was some concern when another prominent damp patch appeared on the new kitchen ceiling. Later, water from the bath/shower was observed to leak through this damp patch into the kitchen. Whilst this, fortunately, did not culminate in a repeat collapse, the response from Arsehole Estates was again slow, and we were again forced to annexe the upstairs bathroom for several weeks.

In February, it was bought to your attention that the main heating element in the oven had failed. Obviously, this severely restricted our ability to cook within the property and, despite repeated emails and telephone calls to your office on Rectum Street, the problem was not fixed until the end of June. A problem with the back gate was also raised around the same time, and it was again some time before a repair was carried out, preventing a potential safety hazard to anybody requiring access to the garden or shed during this time.

Such incidents put us in a very strong position to demand at least a partial refund of the rent we paid for certain months. The agreed rent was for a house with 5 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, with a fully fitted kitchen. For several months over the last two years, we found ourselves with only one safe bathroom and only a partially functional kitchen, which itself presented a possible safety risk before the ceiling was repaired. In spite of this, we waited patiently for the problems to be rectified, making no such demands, let alone withholding any rent. It would be greatly appreciated if you were to show us a similar courtesy with respect to our deposit.

Yours sincerely,
Crow

An hour later, CROW receives a reply. Simply reads:
Crow,
I think your comments are fair. We will reimburse the rest tomorrow.
AEA.

Smugly, CROW parallel-parks his Honda Accord whilst casually lighting a cigar before inviting some passing supermodels to have sex with him on the back seat.
(Thu 27th May 2010, 14:14, More)

» School Projects

Saved by ACCIDENTAL BEE!
I've just remembered a story from my primary school days, when, as I mentioned in a previous post, I was at a C of E school. (Well, tambourine-banging evangelism masquerading as C of E...) I don't remember much of the work we did in the first few years...mostly just sheets full of sums to complete or handwriting exercises. But I recall one afternoon when the teachers got the paints out. I think we'd been studying Noah's Ark, because we were set up round a table with the watercolours and told to paint animals. I could only have been about 6 years old at the time, and the class was taught by Ms J, who was lovely.

The assistant teacher, Mrs S, however, I was slightly afraid of. She was alright really, but had a tendency to be a bit shouty if she didn't like you. When it came to my turn to paint, she was supervising the group. I wasn't too worried to start with and just started dawbing at this piece of paper, absent-mindedly.

After a few minutes, I realised I was daydreaming. As I'm often wont to do, even to this day, the part of my brain in charge of regular, rational thought just departed this world and disappeared off into some fantasy world which probably involved dinosaurs and my cat, Morris. (I loved my cat. He was awesome.) Morris and I had likely just hitched a ride on the back of a triceratops when I heard a voice cutting through the fabric of my Cretaceous wonderland.

It was Mrs S.
"So, what animals are you all painting?"
Oh crap. Oh holy fucking crap. I've been daydreaming.
My heart did not so much skip a beat so much as a Gene Krupa drum fill. My hand had just kept daubing at the paper as my brain had imagined me climbing a tree with Morris to escape a hungry megalosaurus. I'd forgotten I was supposed to be painting an animal and I'd just wasted a load of time and paint and Mrs S would be angry and shout at me because I hadn't done as I was told...

Time ticked away. Johnathan was painting a lion. Kirsty was painting a horse. There were only a few more kids left between me and the wrath of Mrs S.

I had to think fast - and not about the possibility of being saved by a conveniently placed and benevolent ankylosaurus - could I turn this collection of daubs into an animal of some, any description?

Christopher was painting a pig.
Fay was painting a zebra.

I looked down at the piece of paper. What had my hand been doing all this time?

Robert was painting a bird.

I looked down and saw a series of yellow and black lines.
Oh god oh god what's yellow and black and striped and...well, it's just yellow and black stripes, like...a zebra covered in wee...or...
"A BEE!" I said.

Fuck knows how, but my brain had managed to save me by drawing Accidental Bee. At least, brain had painted something which I could turn into a (very long) bee. I could paint a bee and then Mrs S wouldn't shout at me.

I resolved to finish my bee and return to my Cretaceous paradise at a later date. That was too close. Thank goodness for Accidental Bee.
(Wed 19th Aug 2009, 12:23, More)

» Siblings

I wish I could remember more of these
I've always been very close to LittleSisterCrow - certainly it surprised me that most of my friends didn't get on with their siblings. So obviously, I have tried to be understanding and behave myself when she asks that I do not let on to her friends that her nickname amongst the family is "Moose."

She does, however, have a peculiar and scatological outlook on life, (which I have been told is similar to mine...should I have been offended by that?) which has led her to come out with some rather 'special' little quotes. Sadly many of them escape me right now, but I shall tack them on to the end of this post if I remember more:

"Do bears eat trees?"

"So was Jesus...a Jew?"

And upon hearing that my housemate had borked his leg:
Moose: "So has he got a wheelchair?"
Me: "No, he's on crutches. Wheelchairs cost a small fortune"
Moose: "Can't you make him one?"
Me: "Make him one?"
Moose: "Yeah. Make him one. Out of physics."

More to come when I remember them. If anyone cares, that is.

Update: Just remembered a recent one. She commented that the gas bill in her student flat was surprisingly high one quarter:
Moose: "We're just surprised, 'cause we haven't had the heating on, and the oven's electric."
Me: "What about the hot water?"
Moose: "Does that use gas as well?"
Me: "Yes, it comes from the same boiler as your heating."
Moose: "Oh..."
Me: "Where did you think it came from?"
Moose: "...water company...."
(Mon 5th Jan 2009, 13:56, More)