Sunday, February 28, 2010

Silence of the Boodwah

Chuck’s detailed and intricate diary entries describe Madame Boodwah’s disappearance from the airwaves and her time at a leading sanatorium.

December 8th, 2009

I received a call from Dr Clark yesterday to let me know that Madame Boodwah had been removed from solitary confinement and that a visitor may help to lift her spirits. Although I was impressed at MB’s fellating skills, I must admit that she took things to the extreme when she blew a catatonic dude. The drive to the facility seemed to take forever as my anxiety over my friend’s condition continued to rise.

I walked through the front entrance and immediately the smell of the place hit me. It had a pungent old person’s smell crossed with sweaty ball sacks. Delightful. Dr Clark greeted me warmly and ushered me into a side office. I was obviously keen to hear my friends progress and to get my hands on some vicks vapour rub to put under my nose in order to block out the smell of greasy nuts that was climbing into my nostrils. Dr Clark offered me a coffee and sat behind the desk staring at me as my eyes watered.

“I know it’s overwhelming the first time,” consoled Dr Clark.

“Look, I’ve been in environments similar to this before but I haven’t been as overwhelmed as today,” I replied.

“You’ve never been to a facility quite like this, we treat the very worst cases” continued Dr Clark.

“Oh, I was referring to the ball stench” I said while trying to reduce the airflow to my nasal air passage with the back of my hand.

Dr Clark looked at me, disgusted.

“So how is Boodwah coping” I asked hoping to change the subject.

“I’m not really at liberty to delve too deeply into her treatment but I will say that she may have one of the worse cases of sexual addiction that I have ever seen which has in turn completely overtaken every aspect of her life. Her every waking moment is fixated on sexual gratification” Dr Clark explained.

“What a life!” I exclaimed.

Once again Dr Clark looked disgusted.

“After last week’s episode, I have had Madame Boodwah placed into isolation. She is a danger to herself and others….”

I cut off the good doctor by pointing out that her actions had jolted some bloke out of catatonic state.

“ok, her reckless act may have assisted in one patient’s healing process” Dr Clark  conceded.

I was very keen to see my friend so I asked the good doctor to take me to her.

The Doctor frowned and said, “I’m afraid that she is on restricted access, meaning that you can only see her through plexiglass”

“Is this a prison?” I asked.

“Of course not, but the Madame is in a precarious state and we have to take every precaution to prevent relapse” the doctor offered.

I was led through a dank corridor and then down a series of stairs. By my count we were now at least 3 stories underground. We passed through a number of security doors and check points. After a thorough cavity search that had me thinking of my boarding school days, I was taken through one last iron door that opened to a cobblestone passageway that smelled of mould.

“Is this where you keep the sodomites and rapists? I asked Dr Clark.

The Dr shook his head and said “You may have watched Silence of the Lambs one too many times Chuck, this is a rehab facility, not an insane asylum or prison”

I was led through another door into a brightly lit room split in half by glass with tiny little holes at head level. I took a seat and nervously waited for Madame Boodwah. I was extremely excited to see her and hear how her treatment was coming along. I sat patiently for about 5 minutes when the door on the other side of the glass swung open and to my shock and horror Madame Boodwah was wheeled in on a trolley in a straight jacket and a Hannibal Lector face mask. I knew the doctor was lying!

Boodwah was rolled up to the glass, her straight jacket was removed and two ultra thick oven mitt looking things were strapped onto her hands. She stood there motionless looking off into the distance.

I immediately stood up to try and make eye contact but she looked straight through me. I said hello and complimented her on how well she looked (she had started to put some weight back on, although judging by the cotton wool in the crook of her elbow it was obviously due to an intravenous drip. For 10 minutes I carried on a conversation with a hollow shell. Finally I had enough of seeing my friend like this so I slowly made my way right up to the glass, put my mouth up to the tiny speaker holes and whispered:

“veuve cliquot”

Almost immediately Madame Boodwah’s eyes flickered, colour returned to her cheeks and she smiled, “Chuck darling, what a pleasure to see you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had begun to think that Madame Boodwah’s contribution to Reality Bytes was going to be finger painting.

“Darling, I would kill for a facial, a deep tissue massage, a packet of cigarettes and a cut and colour” Madame Boodwah offered.

“In good time” I countered. “What’s with the oven gloves?” I asked.

“No touching” Madame Boodwah said with a shake of her head.

“Well after the stunt you pulled in the first week” I teased.

“oh bugger the men in this place, I cant even touch myself!” Madame Boodwah responded slightly vexed.

“So what the hell is going on anyway,” I pressed.

Madame Boodwah rolled her eyes, “Oh sweety, they say that your dear friend here is a sexual addict. Can you believe it”?

Before I could respond, she cut me off, “don’t answer that!”

“How long do you need to be in here?” I asked.

“Oh Dr Clark says that a full rehabilitation should take 3 months” Boodwah responded. Madame Boodwah leaned forward to the glass and signalled for me to do the same. I was initially concerned that she planned to drag me through the speaking holes but one look at the thick gloves she was wearing reassured me that it wasn’t possible to get a grip. “Chuck, can you keep a secret?”

“Of course” I responded.

“The three months in this place may not be such a bad thing,” Boodwah whispered.

I was relieved that my friend had finally come to grips with her issues. Of course this relief was shattered almost instantaneously when she continued

“Because I just found out Tiger Woods is in this place too and I’ve never made love to a pro golfer!”

They say healing can take a lifetime I thought.

To be continued

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

One Blew the Cuckoos Nest

Try as Chuck Long might, it has been impossible to ignore the plethora of emails coming into the Reality Bytes inbox on a daily basis asking after the wellbeing of Madame Boodwah who suddenly went off the airwaves around November 2009. The Madame did manage one, last brave post from a smuggled laptop that an orderly managed to get into the sanatorium by stuffing it into an orifice but since that point communication has been limited. While Chuck respects his blog partner’s privacy, the readers who’ve been so loyal over the many years that Reality Bytes has been up and running deserve to hear her tale.

Late in 2009 Chuck began to notice a decline in Madame Boodwah’s mental and physical health. The vibrant woman with the ability to seduce multiple men in a room with her eyes and no spoken communication suddenly began to be clingy and overbearing. The elegant lady who set trends with her tasteful outfits suddenly began dressing like a cheap hooker. Never one to shy away from picking up the tab, Madame B began skipping out on restaurant bills and drink rounds.

Of course Chuck was perplexed at the sudden change in his dear friend’s state of being, yet no matter how many times Chuck tried to raise the topic, Madame Boodwah would raise her gloved hand and wave off the inquiry. Chuck attempted to offer support and direction but Boodwah was impervious to any assistance. The final straw came at a Sydney fashion event when Madame Boodwah in a drunken / Xanax induced stupor attempted to leave the soirĂ©e with a 15 year old boy that she was convinced was Daniel Johns from Silverchair. Chuck saw the 15 year old eagerly wave to his fellow wait staffmates, signalling that he needed a condom only to be rounded up by Madam Boodwah and pushed toward the exit. Realising that she was about to make a young mans evening / break the law, Chuck made a beeline for the Madame and tried to talk some sense into her.

“Madame, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  demanded Chuck.

“I’m going to show Mr Johns here how to make love like a rock star,” she responded.

Chuck looked at the kid and shook his head. Aside from being wafer thin, this boy looked no more like the lead singer from Silverchair than MC Hammer. The kid gave Chuck the old “please don’t fuck this up for me mate” look as Chuck reached for his wallet. Taking out two crisp $50 bills, Chuck handed them to the waiter and said, “this should more than cover for your lost wages, you now being unemployed and me cock blocking you”.

Chuck then hailed a cab, stuffed Madame Boodwah in and slipped the cabbie a hundy with instructions to take Boodwah home with no detours.

After that debacle, Chuck knew that the only course of action was an intervention. Arriving at Madame Boodwah’s abode at 7am, Chuck pounded on the door to no avail. Chuck was suddenly struck by the notion that perhaps in her stupor, Madame Boodwah had gagged on her own vomit Bon Scott-style. Chuck raced to the back of her house and forced his way through Kitty Farouche’s (Madames pet pussy) cat door. Chuck was relived and concerned that there was no sign of Madame Boodwah in her palace.  Chuck went to put the kettle on and couldn’t help notice that the once fertile home was now a stripped down squat with little to no personal touches. Gone were the crushed velour throw pillows and silk sheets hanging from the roof that gave the place the “I dream of Jeanie” feel.

As Chuck was jiggling his tea bag, the front door flew open and in stumbled Madame Boodwah holding an empty goonie bag. Her mascara was smeared all over her face making her look like she’d just finished cleaning chimneys and her once impeccable hair was a dishevelled birds nest. As soon as she saw Chuck she burst into tears and collapsed. Chuck effortlessly scooped up his compadre and carried her to her bedroom that now consisted of an old futon, a half dead pot plant and a 6-foot bong. Chuck placed her into her manky futon, tidied up some of the detritus that littered the floor, locked the window, closed the door and set up guard just outside her room.

19 hours later, Chuck heard stirrings inside the room and gently cracked open the door. Once again upon seeing Chuck, Madame Boodwah broke down. Chuck went to her and grabbed her wrists. “Look Madame, you’re at rock bottom right now, Chuck’s seen you in some fucked up situations (remember when you tried to sleep with the entire Welsh Rugby Union team during the world cup?) but right now, you cant go any lower and you need help.

Madame Boodwah looked at Chuck through cracked makeup and said, “I don’t know what to do”.

Comfortable in his role as beacon of light, Chuck touched Boodwah’s cheek and said “trust your old pal Chuck”. Chuck then led Madame Boodwah to the front door. “Wait, I need to pack, I simply cannot leave the house without my feather boa” wailed Boodwah. “Where you’re going, you wont need much” replied Chuck ominously.

Chuck put an emergency call into Mrs Long who raced to the garage and yanked the dustsheet off the 1973 Datsun that Chuck had procured the week before for this very occasion. Knowing Madame Boodwah’s fragile state, Chuck decided that the intervention would require special equipment and the orange ‘Dato’ was the cheapest road worthy clunker that Chuck could find.

Madame Boodwah immediately baulked when she saw her mode of transport, “I’m not getting in that thing!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been inside worse things my dear” Chuck retorted with a sly wink. Madame Boodwah fanned her fragile face with an old Chinese takeaway menu that she was clutching for some reason and shot Chuck one of her infamous ‘looks’. Chuck bundled an uncertain Boodwah into the Dato, closed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. As the engine roared to life and the old beast jolted ahead, Madame Boodwah leaned forward to enquire as to their destination.

No sooner had Chuck responded “rehab” did Madame Boodwah clamour for the door handle despite the fact that they were now travelling at 60kph. Fortunately there were child locks, preventing his friend from leaping from the vehicle. Boodwah began howling maniacally as Chuck concentrated on the road and headed for the Australian bushland. 

At this point Chuck needs to halt the story. Madame Boodwah has now been at Sydney’s leading sanatorium for more than 3 months and Chuck has only been able to visit his dear friend on an ad hoc basis as her privileges allow. Fortunately, Chuck is a man of meticulous detail and has kept detailed diary entries around each interaction with his troubled compadre.

November 24th, 2009.

The two and a half hour drive to the facility was excruciating as Madame Boodwah howled the entire journey. Her cries tugged on my heartstrings as she begged not to be sent away to rot in some ‘loony bin’. I tried to reason with her for the first hour, imploring her to see the benefits of taking some time out, to confront her demons and find her once bright inner light. When it became clear that she wasn’t interested in reason and began offering me road head (a blow job delivered to the driver) in exchange for turning back, I turned up the radio and blocked her out.

Upon arriving at the bucolic facility, the Madame went deathly silent and I could sense her already plotting an escape. I rolled the Dato up to the front door and was immediately greeted by 3 orderlies and a doctor. Boodwah refused to exit the vehicle, which prompted the largest orderly to remove his coat (revealing a chiselled torso) in preparation for physically removing her. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the sight of his well-defined physique had another effect on Boodwah who seemed to think it was the orderly coming on to her. The Madame began fluttering her makeup caked eyelashes and extended her hand so that the orderly could escort her out of the car.

I shook the Doctors hand - he introduced himself as Dr Clark - and wished him luck. Turning to leave, I tried to make eye contact with my friend who by now was whispering in the orderlie’s ear causing him to recoil in horror at whatever it was that she’d said.

I started the Datsun, praying that Madame Boodwah would be ok and the car would make the journey back to Sydney.

December 1st, 2009.

I arrived at the sanatorium excited to see what progress Madame Boodwah had made after a week of treatment. As I approached the front door, Dr Clark rushed out to meet me.

“Chuck, I’m afraid that Madame Boodwah’s visiting privileges have been revoked” an anguished Dr Clark blurted.

“Already? Fuck, I expected her to take at least a week to do something stupid,” I responded.

“Something stupid?” Dr Clark said incredulously. “In all my time in rehabilitation, I have never seen such an act of gross misconduct from a sex addict” he continued.

My interest was piqued, my friend had led an interesting life so for her to score this highly in the Doctor’s books, she must have done something that not even I could imagine her doing. “Do tell,” I asked.

“In the first 4 days of her stay here, Boodwah has performed fellatio on every male patient in exchange for cigarettes” a dejected Dr Clark offered.

I shrugged, she did try to sleep with the entire Welsh Rugby league team during the world cup after all. “How many durries did she collect?” I asked.

Dr Clark ignored the question and continued, “in addition to that she also provided oral pleasure to every one of my male orderlies and 2 junior psychologists, all of whom I have had to suspend pending further investigation.”

I smiled, I had to admit, that was impressive. She was using her skills to bust herself out.

“One positive out of the whole situation is that she did rouse a long term patient out of a catatonic state with one of her blow jobs. The man had not moved from his spot in more than 15 years. One of my nurses walked in as Boodwah brought him to orgasm at which point he clapped his hands, smiled and asked for a chocolate biscuit. The woman has a remarkable gift,” Dr Clark said as he shook his head in wonderment.

To be continued

The Cullen'ary Delight

Dear Madame Boodwah

Sorry to hear you’ve been in rehab. Chuck’s been doing a fantastic job of keeping up the fort but we are missing your insights so I was hoping you could help me about with a dilemma.

Basically my wife has gone Edward Cullen mad.

At first she added him to her screen saver, read stories of him in the New Idea, checked him out on the internet and we watch one of the Twilight series every night. Things are getting worse though - she now makes me douse myself in Johnson & Johnson’s talcum powder and put on her red lipstick so she can pretend I’m Edward Cullen!

At first I didn’t mind as I’m always up for spicing things up in the bedroom but now her obsession is taking its toll and I’m starting to feel inadequate. Even when we’re not role playing she screams ‘OH EDWARD!’ at the point of climax when my real name is Kevin.

Your help appreciated – I hope you get better soon!

Dear Kevin,

As a child you were clearly not loved. A parent who truly loved their child would not call them Kevin. Love is something you have craved all your life which explains why you are willing to do anything to keep the love of your wife, leaving you with little testicular fortitude to stand up to her.

Your letter couldn’t have come at a better time. Since being in Celebrity Rehab Madame Boodwah has had the time to catch up on various books and flicks which included Twilight.

One dark and gloomy afternoon while gazing out the window to an unforgiving stormy sea Madame Boodwah heard her name whispered as she sensed a cold presence behind her. She turned to see who it was but no one was there so brushed it off as a cool breeze from under the door.

Wrapping herself in a blanket, Madame Boodwah returned her gaze to the sea remaining transfixed on her thoughts of the uncertain future that lay before her when she heard a tremendous boom of thunder followed by a blinding flash of lightening that struck a tree outside her window. Screaming and confused Madame Boodwah fell into the strong arms of a person she could not see that frightened her even more.

‘Madame Boodwah, you are safe’ soothed the voice ‘you are safe’ repeated the voice as he laid her on the bed.

Madame Boodwah’s heart rate began to calm down. Her sight returned gradually to reveal a 6’2” young man with features that were perfect and angular, pale skin, topaz eyes and a slender yet muscular physique with unusual messy bronzed hair.

‘I have a package for you’ said the young Adonis as he sat down beside her on the bed sending her into a pliant daze.

‘What kind of package?’ said Madame Boodwah with a subtle pant.

‘This kind of package’ said the smooth young Adonis looking deep into her eyes as he unbuckled, delving deep into his pouch to reveal a big, thick, white………….box.

‘Oh, that kind of package.’ said Madame Boodwah in a soft but disappointed tone.

He gave wry smile. ‘I’ll be back’ he assured her through his blood red lips as he handed her the package.

Madame Boodwah bowed her head to investigate what and who it was from. She lifted her head to finish the conversation but he had vanished into thin air.

Overcome by an instant void she still managed to open the package that revealed a copy of the DVD Twilight and a pair of new knickers with a note that said ‘Dear Madame Boodwah, you have been in our thoughts. Get well soon. Lots of Love P-Club x’

Note: P-Club was a secret society Madame Boodwah belonged to who met every month to talk about Prose, Poetry and Pen*s over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. There was even a secret handshake. A hall of fame is yet to be established.

Although baffled by the new knickers her spirits were instantly lifted and she immediately placed it into the DVD player.

Madame Boodwah had tried to read the book a couple of weeks back but found it hard to keep focus as she felt as though she was reading re-runs of her ever dramatic life. She can’t even say the photos of Robert Patterson (yes I had to Google what his real name was) did it for her in New Idea or Who magazine.

Not realising it was humanly possible, half way through the movie Madame Boodwah started to eat her knickers. She now understood what the spare pair was for and what all the Edward Cullen fuss was about.

What makes Edward Cullen so attractive? Why has your wife become overly obsessed with Ed?

Firstly his name’s not Kevin.

Secondly he is everything a real man is not or could ever be which makes him the perfect fantasy. He may be psychically attractive but his attributes are what make him ‘impossibly beautiful’. If the average guy possesses at least three of Edwards attributes he’s doing pretty well.

If you don’t have any of the below and would like to lose your virginity, here’s a few tips on how to Edwardsize yourself;

Intelligence – there are places in this world called libraries, in there you will find objects called books and in these books they have things called words which are made up of letters. You are meant to read them. If your mum is reading you this post I suggest you just go to school.

Style – burn your high wasted jeans with your attached mobile pouch and the white trainers you wear with them. Throw in the multi coloured parachute suit too and remember Jerry Seinfield is funny not fashionable. If you invest in a decent haircut and clothes your chances of popping your cherry will increase by 50%.

Articulation – Edwards so awesome he can read minds so there is no need for him to pick up the phone. Scuse the cliche but reality bites so be a man, pick up the phone and call her. I dare you. Short texts are fine for logistical purposes but trying to have a whole conversation is a bit on the flaccid side.

Musical Aptitude – Burn your Knickleback CD, the wobble board and your recorder from grade 3. They don’t exactly say sex machine. Edward listens to Debussy and plays the piano. Good taste in music is vital. Most instruments require good finger work. Imagine what that says to her.

Mobility – Edward can dance. Like properly with a woman. It’s sad that a majority of Australian men today have lost this skill unless forced into it for their wedding day. Women love being flipped around. Invest in some dance classes as per Chucks advice in…

Chivalry – drop fuck from your vocabulary unless used in context. Don’t send her the porno jokes your mates send you. Pay for dinner, make sure she gets home safe, treat her the way you’d like your sister to be treated and don’t pressure her into sex. Ask her questions about herself and listen to what she has to say as you may find out something interesting about her. Manners are sexy too.

Endurance– Sure you will never have the speed, strength or the telepathic abilities of Edward but investing in fitness is a sure fire way to develop it. Not only will it make you feel better your lover will appreciate it too.

So you must all be pleased the size of his donga hasn’t even come into it! I could be forever adding to this list but I won't otherwise I'll be here all day.

To be honest Kevin I think your wife is in a fragile state. In my professional opinion I think your wife has decided to invent a new reality so she doesn’t have to deal with the trauma of being married to a Kevin anymore. If you want your marriage to work and for your wife to come out of her psychosis you are going to have to change your name. Trust me one name change and the talcum powder will be gone.

With love,
Madame Boodwah x

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Punishing the Little Man in the Canoe

Dear Chuck,

I recently had my first sexual encounter with a guy I’ve been seeing. He was going down on me (and doing surprisingly well I might add) when he looked up at me and said “mmm yummy”. I instantly thought less of him and have dodged his calls this week.




Dear Stacy,

Picture Chuck sitting at his computer wagging his finger and screaming “ooooh nooooo you dih’ant” while channelling the spirit of every stereotypical black female Jerry Springer crowd member.


Stacy, Chuck has read and re-read your email and each and every time gets that sticky hot sensation of embarrassment. Chuck is embarrassed, as a man for what that guy has done. Seriously, who does that?

Recently Chuck has received a few emails suggesting that Chuck has been erring towards the side of negative in posts, so in light of that, lets look for some positive in this situation.






Ok, so about the only positives that Chuck can come up with are the fact that he seemed to willingly go down on you during your first sexual encounter and that he was doing it well. Chuck has run into plenty of dudes in his time who flatly refuse to perform cunnilingus so finding one who readily dive bombs your poontang is definitely a plus. On top of that, you said he did it surprisingly well. We’re not at the stage where Chuck would call it a dying art form but for a first encounter, having a technique that pushes your buttons or having the nous to figure out what is making you tick is above and beyond what you could expect from most blokes. Chuck’s sure you were lying back and counting down the seconds until the mind-bending orgasm arrived.

Then his personality showed up.

It’s always a shame when you meet someone, things appear to click, they are decent in the sack and then WHAM – they do something fucking stupid that makes it hard for you to respect them again. Now many readers (more than likely those who haven’t ever found a man who could perform oral sex decently) will argue that one slip up shouldn’t be enough for you to cut him off but Chuck disagrees. If he thought uttering the immortal “mmm yummy” was appropriate what would this fuck knuckle say at other key moments? Chuck challenges the readers out there to poll friends and family on the use of that phrase at the moment it was used with Stacy (please oh please someone conduct the poll at a Sunday family roast – Chuck would love to see your dad’s reaction) and see how many people cringe in disgust.

Chuck cannot fathom what the hell was going through this dude’s mind that influenced his choice of words. He may have had a poor run of pussy – you know the kind, unkempt, unloved, and unwashed and yours was a breath of fresh air (literally).  Perhaps he was so enraptured by quality schmoo that all rationality went out the window and he was reduced to a boyish mental state, his primal instincts kicked in and he went cave man on you (or worse, your snatch reminded him of his mothers!).

Chuck’s sure you’d like to believe all of the above (well probably not the part about your vagina reminding him of his mothers) but the simple truth is that he’s likely an A1 cockhead. Seriously, in the throes of passion some odd things get said from time to time but “mmm yummy” is not one of them.

In Chuck’s opinion you are right to dodge this guy. It’s going to be tough to take him seriously ever again since he currently looks like an immature fuckwit. If things had been going well enough on the dating front you could possibly have a conversation with him and explain that taste testing your minge is out of bounds. That’s not going to be the most enjoyable conversation that you ever have, the awkwardness rating will be off the charts! The fact is, you saw a side of this bloke that you didn’t need to see. The good thing is it happened early on and you can either work to eradicate the behaviour or kick him to the curb before you get too attached.

The scary thing is that he probably meant it as some form of compliment. Traditional things like “you look wonderful tonight’ or “you’re incredibly sexy” typically get the job done. If you want to dig deeper and compliment a woman’s genitalia you can always use the tried and tested “your vagina is sensational”. Chuck would also encourage a bloke to offer the compliment once the sexual act is completed because it could very easily ruin the entire experience and kill the mood.

Even if this guy was trying to provide some perverse compliment, remarking on the taste and texture of ones vajayjay should never be used, especially on the first instance of sampling it. Mind you, you should take comfort in the fact that at the first tasting you received a culinary equivalent of a Michelin Star!

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Lobbing a grenade


On the weekend my wife walked into the living room wearing a pair of leggings – you know those skin tight stretch pants. We were heading out to a friend’s house for dinner. I love my wife dearly but after a couple of kids those pants do her no favours. I mentioned that she might want to put on something different and of course she totally packed the shits with me. I know its not just me, surely those pants are off limits for those not in shape?



Hang on, just let Chuck position himself directly under the hand grenade you’ve lobbed in this direction! There’s blood in the water and the readers are like sharks, circling Chuck waiting to take a chunk out of his arse with one false move. Luckily for you, Chuck has a large set of nuts and isn’t afraid to put them on the line.

There are plenty of women out there who should be morally obligated to hang a “viewer discretion advised” off their backside when they decide that they’re going to wear leggings in public. Please let Chuck clarify that we are referring to leggings without anything else over the top. You get a free pass if you have them under a dress or skirt. Lots of women wouldn’t dare wear bikini bottoms to the beach but think nothing of wearing figure hugging tights in public that merely coat all the lumpy bits black or navy blue rather than skin colour. The leggings don’t hide the evil lurking underneath, they just change the colour!

Now before office keyboards start to blow up as the ladies pound out hate mail to Chuck, let’s think this through. Would you want to see some dude with a monstrous boiler (gut) in a skin tight shirt waddling towards you? Of course not. Granted plenty of blokes don’t realise that they are now a size XXXXXL and don’t fit into the size Medium they currently have on but that’s because they’re too lazy to go shopping.

Chuck has noticed a lot of heavier set young ladies cutting about in leggings when they really have no business showcasing their roman pillars for legs. Many would say “oh, they are comfortable in their own body and don’t care what pigs like you say!!”.  Perhaps, but Chuck has another theory on this phenomena. In the old days (20 years ago) woman generally started out as regulation size and got through their teen and early adult years in decent shape. The burden of children and careers often led to weight gain later in life. In these instances, many women are conscious of their bodies because they realise that they have let themselves go and aren’t happy about showing it off.

Fastfoward to 2010 where children are no longer born with silver spoons in their mouth rather a gaming console and a can of coke wedged in their gob. Kids tend to grow up as porkers and move into adulthood like that. They aren’t embarrassed about the state of their body because they don’t know any different and all their mates are hefty bags too! Chuck knows he’s treading the fine line right now, but it has to be said. Perhaps women are wearing the skin tight gear because they are less aware of their body and don’t know any better. It doesn’t make it right or acceptable.

Ralph, you are not alone in feeling that leggings should not be worn if a woman isn’t in semi decent condition. What defines semi decent condition? Well for starters, if you get thigh chafe from walking then you are definitely prohibited from wearing leggings! Chuck isn’t trying to run a communist tight country here but some form of self-monitoring must be in place.

There are some exceptions to the rule: 
  • Any female can wear them in the gym. You are there to work out and they are extremely practical for the job at hand.
  • Pregnant ladies. Its hard enough getting dressed, let alone worrying about what some fuck knuckle writing a blog says – dress comfortably.
  • Olympic athletes. If you have buns of steel you are almost legally obligated to show them off in skin tight clothing. 

Of course all three exceptions to the rule still must abide by Chuck’s fundamental rule – g-strings are mandatory! If you’re going to wear skin tight pants, no one wants to see your granny knickers crawling into your arse crack (this includes pregnant women).

This all may sound very harsh and judgmental and it probably is but the simple fact is that no one wants to see out of shape women in clingy clothing. You look like a lumpy condom and no one wants that.

There is one greater sin however…

Blokes in leggings.

About the only time it is marginally acceptable is if the dude is world class athlete (Chuck includes ballet dancers in this group) but even then who wants to see vacuum packed sausage?

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Valentines Day Massacre

Dear Chuck,

I had been single for 5 years until I met my boyfriend about 8 months ago. We get on really well and he is a special guy. Imagine my surprise AND horror on Sunday (Valentines Day) when he didn’t get me a gift / flowers / card or even acknowledge that it was Valentines Day. I was so looking forward to it and had to hide my devastation.

Am I wrong to feel so let down?

Thank you


Dear Rachelle,

Yes you are wrong to feel let down.



Ok so if Chuck left it at that you’d be fairly pissed off the next time you have to pay your Reality Bytes subscription fee wouldn’t you?

Never one to state the obvious, but surely if you had a semi decent relationship with this ‘special guy’ you guys would have discussed things like gift buying philosophies and sentimental sappiness.  What does Chuck mean by this? Well buying philosophy refers to a person’s thoughts around A) buying gifts and B) the level of effort and creativity that a person puts into said gift purchases. So in the 8 months that you’ve been dating, Chuck would assume that you’ve had some insight into ‘special guy’s’ buying philosophy. Does he remember family birthdays and actually make an effort to procure gifts that resonate with those he cares for? If he doesn’t then you can hardly be surprised that he gazumped you on V day?

As for sentimental sappiness, it’s a measure of a person’s emotional reaction to significant (both real and perceived) moments. There are plenty of guys out there who put a huge amount of stock in Christmas and act accordingly – buying gifts and making sure that a big deal is made around families and friends etc. Sentimental sappiness can even be assessed during movies. For example, Chuck can guarantee you that any dude who became a blubbering mess during the movie “Marley and Me” is the first guy at the florist buying his woman a dozen long stem roses. He is a guy in touch with his emotions (and a sucker for weak as piss movies).

So if in the 8 months you have dated ‘special guy’ you have not noticed any of the above-mentioned traits then you really have only yourself to blame. He gave no indication that he was into things like gift buying and Valentine’s Day but you ignored that in the hope that it was a ruse and he’d pretended to be an emotional wasteland for the entire time just so he could make your life by buying you a gift on a commercially produced day designed to celebrate love?

It just strikes Chuck as a little odd that you would be caught completely off guard by this. Do you two even talk? On top of that, you said you had to hide your devastation. What’s wrong with calling him out? “hey fuckface, haven’t you forgotten something today?” - A subtle little statement like that will either send him reeling, especially if he forgot, or at least shed some light on the situation and force him to explain what’s going on. You may not like what he has to say “I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day” but at least you’ll know. Instead, you stumble around all day clearly gutted but pretending otherwise. Chuck’s guessing that ‘special guy’ even asked you “what’s wrong?” to which you responded “nuthin” in your best shitty voice. He would have then repeated the question at least 15 times throughout the day.

If he didn’t, he may be emotionally retarded and you should probably be single again because he’s going to shatter your dreams. Chuck doesn’t get paid the big bucks for nothing so its time for a diagnosis – you two may have a communication issue.

Look, ‘special guy’ may have forgotten that it was V Day although unless he is over 40, married with 3 young children this is highly unlikely. Most young guys know what day it is, especially since flowers, chocolate and balloons start being sold the day after Xmas.

The two most likely reasons for his actions are that he doesn’t believe in the occasion at all (in which case you two should have definitely spoken about it since you are acting as if it is as big a deal as your wedding day) or he doesn’t like you at all and is only using you for sex. Fortunately for you, the second reason is highly unlikely since you refer to him as ‘special guy’ which means that he must be treating you somewhat ok although after a 5 year drought perhaps your radar is a little off. Speaking of which….

Chuck will acknowledge that you were single for 5 years prior to this, which means that rationality may have gone out the window. V Day was your chance to shine, walking around the city holding hands, showing everyone that you managed to pull after all that time. Maybe you ignored some of his faults or ignored some compatibility issues because you wanted it badly. Only you can know this.

At the end of the day, it’s only Valentine’s Day. If he pulls the same stunt on your birthday or Christmas then you have a legitimate beef in Chuck’s opinion. Without coming off like a curmudgeon, it’s a made up day that holds no real significance. A birthday or anniversary carries significantly more weight and value and should be celebrated accordingly.

The most interestingly tid bit in all of this is your failure to mention what you got for ‘special guy’ on V Day. Is Chuck to believe that you didn’t get him anything at all or that you swallowed your gift the instant you realised that he wasn’t forking over anything for you? The poor fucker is probably sitting at home penning a letter to Chuck lamenting how his ‘special’ girlfriend of 8 months shafted him on Valentines Day by failing to purchase a gift or even acknowledge the occasion and then spent the remainder of the day acting like a miserable shit!

Sunday, February 14, 2010

The Biggest Loofah

Dear Chuck,

I’ve been seeing a guy for about four weeks and we have just started having sex. When he removed his underwear for the first time I was confronted with the biggest penis I have ever encountered. I must admit I was taken aback but I recalled Madame Boodwah’s advice ( on tackling a well-hung man and besides I was intrigued.

We got down to it and it started to take shape although it never got really hard. He kind if ended up stuffing it in which was somewhat disconcerting but we had drunk a bottle of wine so I put it down to that. He did manage to finish the deed. Anyway, we have had sex a few times since and he has never managed a full erection.

What is going on?


Dear Sheena,

What a let down for you! You open the refrigerator crisper hoping to find the freshest and firmest cucumber and instead you end up with a limp and soggy excuse for one. Your vagina is more than likely thanking God that he couldn’t crack a bone but nonetheless, he got your hopes up only to dash them. Totally devastating.

A keen fan of John Holmes would know that even the king of porn suffered from a similar affliction. Despite being blessed with a 13 inch donger, Holmes often struggled to bring the thunder and his co-stars likened intercourse with him to “doing it with a big soft kind of loofah” (Which would probably have been a good thing if they were shooting an anal scene). Some context should be put around this however since Holmes was snorting cocaine every ten minutes, severely impacting his ability to achieve the necessary levels of wood for a money shot.

Now Chuck’s not suggesting that you’re currently dating Pablo Escobar the conquistador of cocaine, but would it hurt to sneakily take a sample of his blood and have it checked out? Fuck knows how you’re going to get him to take a drug test without him knowing, but think of the benefits if you could pull it off! Ok, so Chuck’s not one to leave you hanging so the best way to get a drug test out of him without him knowing is to either payoff someone at the Red Cross and then tell him that you’re a social crusader who gives blood regularly and that it would be cool if he did it as well. The downside to this is that at least once a month you’ll have to perform some wanky altruistic act like marching through a national park picking up rubbish to keep up the ruse.

Or, you could tell him that you hate using connies and that if he gets a STD and drug test you’ll allow him to plough you rubber free. Most guys will cut off their left arm for the pleasure of the no condom root so you’re definitely on a winner here. Make sure you get the test done on a Saturday morning since cocaine goes out of the system fairly quickly and you’ll need to pin him down close to a potential use date. If he comes back clean and you have to go on the pill, enjoy the weight gain and moodiness coupled with his semi aroused trouser snake.

If it turns out that he isn’t contributing 1/3rd of Columbia’s Gross Domestic Product, then what on earth is causing his inability to snap off a rock solid boner? Well age may be a contributing factor. You didn’t indicate whether or not you were dating a senior citizen but as the ads will tell you, as you get older there is less sizzle in your sausage – why on earth do you think there are so many old timers knocking off beers at their local pubs at 11am during the week? Drowning their sorrows at not being able to pop a fattie! If your boyfriend is getting on in the years, you may need to knock him up a Viagra smoothie and see if that rights the ship.

Other problems like diabetes; kidney disease or alcoholism can cause erectile problems. If you notice him scarfing M&Ms and washing it down with a beer that may be your answer. Additionally smoking and being overweight can cause a bloke to have crankshaft issues. What a killer combo: an obese alcoholic smoker – you’ve stumbled into mister right!

Chuck would like to believe that your man couldn’t get a screamer because he is hung like a Shetland pony. It sounds so much more romantic than some of these other bullshit afflictions. However, before we progress, we should also consider that his inability to get a marble bar might be some psychological issue like stress, anxiety or guilt. Perhaps you are particularly frail and he is freaking out over the possibility of tearing you in half! If it is psychological, you’ve only been dating 4 weeks or so (unless you failed to mention that you’re devoutly religious and 4 weeks ago was your wedding night), so give it another crack with a lot of encouragement and if that doesn’t work, kick him to the curb. You don’t want to be fucking a mental midget.

There is the remote possibility that he isn’t that interested in you but Chuck is going to discount this for 2 reasons: 1) you only just started seeing each other so if he wasn’t attracted to you he wouldn’t have tried to chop and 2) Chuck has never met an unattractive Sheena.

Chuck has done a cursory 15 minute search online for other possible causes and cant really find anything other than people writing in to say that they are 10 inches long and 7 inches in diameter and they hurt their partner if they penetrate too deep. So either Chuck’s search ability has diminished or the problems listed above are the main causes for your mans flaccidity.


Since Chuck is always here to help, his web-based research did find a cure:

A Mechanical vacuum device!

This contraption causes erection by creating a partial vacuum, which draws blood into the penis, engorging and expanding it. Jump on EBay post haste and get one in the mail as soon as humanly possible. After your next dinner date gets a little hot and heavy, tell him that you want to role-play. You play the parched stranded desert explorer; he plays the well that needs to be pumped!